William Shakespeare knew that if you want to motivate, you inspire with a story, a new one suggesting the way things will be . . .
King Henry stands before his ragtag army. They are vastly outnumbered. Every man knows and fears that, but they also have long bows. Their bows can give them advantage over the horse mounted French, if they stand. Henry must make them stand and fight. How does he do that? By telling them a new story–the one that will be told of their victory. The story that will be repeated every St. Crispin’s Day from this time forward.
Do stories matter? Ask Shakespeare.
PS: Check comments for video of an even better performance of St. Crispin’s speech!
Had I shown that a person, given enough resources and discipline, could vanish from one life and reinvent himself in another? . . . More than all that, I’d discovered how quickly the vision of total reinvention can dissolve into its lonely mundane reality. Whatever reason you might have for discarding your old self and the people who went with it, you’ll need more than a made-up backstory and a belt full of cash to replace them.
There are wild horses on Easter Island (Rapa Nui), one of the most isolated places in the world. They wander amongst the Moais and gallop the beaches.
Wow, I think, there has to be a story behind that.
So I check. There are wild horses in Hawaii, Fiji, American Samoa, Indonesia and just about everywhere else. The Kathaiwari breed, with their distinctly pointed ears, came from wild horses in Kathiawar, India. With the exception of Przewalski’s horse, which may of have always been wild, the story is the same. Settlers brought horses with them; lost them or turned them loose. Those that survived, formed herds and ran free.
Why did I think otherwise? Because I grew up in the American West where wild horses are iconic. I confused that with unique. Truth is, all stories are the same, except for the details.
The same can be said for family stories, family photos, other mementos.
Crypt of Civilization interior
We keep trying. The Crypt of Civilization, also located at Oglethorpe University, is a swimming pool size time capsule sealed in 1940 to be opened in 8113. The walls are covered with pictographs because it is assumed that by 8113 even the known languages of our world will be forgotten.
The future beckons. The day-to-day is hard to ignore. The past? What do we lose when we lose the past?
Every story has a subtext–a story within the story. Sometimes there are several, and often subtext reveals more than the story itself. How do we know? The details give us hints and our imaginations fill in the rest.
Want an example? Follow the link and ask yourself–how the good sisters know what they know about which way a penis should point? What other layers of story are implied by this clever bit of advertising?
OK, this one is so good you have to read the complete post. Every word!
Dr. Kiki
Dr. Kiki Sanford is self-described as PhD scientist (neurophysiology) who escaped the lab to be a science writer. Recently she blogged the fundamentals for good science communication.
Edward, the heir to a trust and estate law firm, discovers that his father has been raiding the accounts. When confronted, his father shrugs. He’ll eventually get it all right, he says. He always does. This is just a reversal–the result of some bad investments. Unfortunately he dies leaving the son the problem. Edward can expose the shortage, ruining his father’s good name, and leaving many penniless. Or he can continue to juggle the books and hope to get things right, or righter than they currently are. Whose interests should he put first–his family’s, close friends, small investors, the law? Even ledger books are never black and white.
Besides money, the play raises the question of why we allow cycles of economic corruption and collapse. Does history inevitably repeat? Or does it repeat because we all keep hoping for an economic advantage, meaning we’re willing to look the other way?
A good story raises those kinds of questions, which is why a good story tells us more than figures in a column, no matter how they add or don’t add up.
Every four-year-old caught with a stolen chocolate has the right instinct. Go with a whopper.
Given a choice between a contrite confession or a good story, most of us will take the story. Why? Because stories are elastic, creative, and, if inventive enough, we can’t help ourselves. We admire the effort.
Writing for the Denver Post, a friend, Claire Walter, gathered some wonderful stories about keepsakes and how they keep us healthy. Check out the article; there are medical studies that indicate that keepsakes aren’t just kitsch. Because they mean something (have a story attached), they help us stay balanced, in-touch-with-our-past, and healthy. As an example, Walter lets Hollis Brooks tell the story of her lamp:
“There is a pretty lamp in my life that I inherited from my mother . . .. It was her favorite lamp, and I have recollections of her standing by it, admiring it and saying aloud to me, ‘Oh! This little lamp gives me pleasure every time I look at it.’ “
“It has a porcelain base, painted with a peacock. It is colorful and somewhat distinctive, but not the sort of decorative item that brings the word ‘wow!’ to mind. After my parents died, the lamp came my way, making the journey from Connecticut to Colorado. I have placed it by my bedside, so it’s the last thing I see before I close my eyes to sleep.
“I have moved seven times since my mother’s death, and wherever I live, the lamp is the first item I place in my new nest. What makes the lamp extra-special: there is a tiny scrap of paper nestled in the lamp underside. It reads, in my mom’s distinctive handwriting: ‘For Hol. xx.’ Sometimes when I need my spirits lifted, I sit by the lamp and turn it upside down to read the note. And I always feel my own light go on again.”
After a fire, flood or tornado, there’s a deep reason why we are willing to sift through the rubble looking for the keepsakes. We need them.
A hundred years ago, there was a legendary “tie yourself down” stretch of railroad along Beaver Canyon, one of the places my great grandmother, Sophia, worked as a cook for the railroad crews laying track. The road was so rough, several men were stationed there with the sole purpose of cleaning up the box cars that weren’t tied down and therefore tipped over and smashed on the rocks below. “Tie yourself down,” meaning prepare for a rough ride, is a phrase I whispered, to give myself courage, long before I knew the term probably originated with my family’s railroad background.
Stories are so powerful we don’t have to remember how or when we heard them only that they work. In this case, the family mantra for courage was just there, often repeated, not explained, until I asked.
There are wild horses on 
So I check. There are wild horses in Hawaii, Fiji, American Samoa, Indonesia and just about everywhere else. The 
Why did I think otherwise? Because I grew up in the 
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Every story has a subtext–a story within the story. Sometimes there are several, and often subtext reveals more than the story itself. How do we know? The details give us hints and our imaginations fill in the rest.
“There is a pretty lamp in my life that I inherited from my mother . . .. It was her favorite lamp, and I have recollections of her standing by it, admiring it and saying aloud to me, ‘Oh! This little lamp gives me pleasure every time I look at it.’ “
A hundred years ago, there was a legendary “tie yourself down” stretch of railroad along 
