Thursday, July 09, 2009

A Story about Storytelling

The last several weeks I have been thinking about storytelling. This isn't difficult in NYC because there are stories unfolding before us - and behind us, below us, and above us — everywhere we go. They begin and end on buses and subways, in the streets and in the parks, in cabs, pubs, diners, and even Upper East Side high rises.

Most of the time we miss these stories because we walk the streets with our mask of disinterest set firmly in place (If you are a New Yorker, you know what I mean). Recently however, I decided to remove my mask. I decided to look around as I wandered the City and even make eye contact with people! [yes, this is actually legal in NYC].

What first struck me was the sheer number of stories being told. Everyone, it seemed, was telling a story — even those trying their hardest not to tell a thing.

The vast majority of these stories seemed of interest only to the person telling it (or screaming/ranting/proselytizing it as the case may be). These stories either didn't attract attention at all, or attracted attention just long enough for us to realize the need to move quickly away.

Other stories attracted the attention of small groups, but failed to grasp the interest of the majority of people. The people telling these stories sometimes got our attention with gimmicks - jumping up on mailboxes, or playing guitar in their underwear — but the attention of those gathered quickly waned when the surface of the story failed to achieve any depth.

And then there were the stories we simply couldn't ignore. These very rare stories did more than just attract attention, they actually stopped dozens, and even hundreds of people in their tracks, who became emotionally involved and truly invested in the outcome. These stories shared a remarkable simplicity, and yet created boundless wonder and empathy. What these stories did was connect us to the one thing we all share - our humanity.

Later, tired from my wanderings, I stopped into a pub famous for their Guinness pours. I thought about how good that beer was going to taste, and about how cute the bartender was (please don't say anything to her, I am feigning disinterest so she'll be attracted to me).

As my Guinness settled I put words to something we all subconsciously know about stories, but seem to forget in the quest to over-hype audiences into the theater.

Tell a poor story and find yourself alone.
Tell a good story and find yourself some friends.
Tell a great story and find yourself an audience.


www.flatplanetfilms.com

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