The Story Factor

The Story Factor Plot Summary

Introduction

Imagine sitting in a tent in Jonesborough, Tennessee, surrounded by 400 people from all walks of life. An African American storyteller begins weaving a tale about a night in 1960s Mississippi, describing activists gathered around a campfire, their fears palpable as they prepare for the next day's march. The story feels so real you can almost see the flickering flames. Then, remarkably, the storyteller asks everyone to join in singing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." The tent transforms into a 400-voice choir, and looking beside you, you notice a tear rolling down the cheek of a man who just moments ago seemed closed and unwelcoming. This is the transformative power of storytelling—bridging divides that facts and arguments cannot. The art of influence isn't about having more information or making logical arguments. People are drowning in information yet starving for meaning. What moves mountains isn't facts but faith—faith in you, your vision, and the story you tell. Stories create paths to the human heart that bypass resistance and skepticism. They help others reach the same conclusions you have, but in a way that feels like their own discovery. When someone makes your story their story, you tap into the powerful force of faith, creating influence that requires little follow-up and may even expand as people retell your narrative to others. Throughout this journey, we'll explore how stories connect us to our common humanity, clarify complex ideas, inspire action, and transform resistance into understanding.

Chapter 1: The Six Essential Stories: Your Narrative Toolkit

Skip looked into the sea of suspicious stockholders and wondered what might convince them to follow his leadership. He was thirty-five, looked thirteen, and was third-generation rich. He could tell they assumed he would be an unholy disaster as a leader. He decided to tell them a story: "My first job was drawing electrical engineering plans for a boat building company. The drawings had to be perfect because if the wires weren't accurately placed before the fiberglass form was poured, a mistake might cost a million dollars. At twenty-five, with two masters' degrees, I found drawing these plans rather mindless." He continued, "One morning I got a call from a $6-an-hour worker asking if I was sure about my plans. I was incensed. 'Just pour the damn thing,' I said. When his supervisor called an hour later asking the same question, I had even less patience. It was the call from the company president that finally got me to the site." Skip then described how, as he began explaining the drawing to the worker, his voice weakened as he realized he had transposed starboard and port, creating a mirror image of what was needed. "Thank God this worker caught my mistake before it was too late," he admitted. "The next day I found a box on my desk. The crew had bought me remedial tennis shoes—a red left shoe for port, and a green right one for starboard. These shoes don't just help me remember port and starboard. They help me remember to listen even when I think I know what's going on." As he held up the shoebox, the stockholders relaxed. If this young man had already learned this lesson about arrogance, perhaps he had learned other valuable lessons about running companies too. This story illustrates the power of what I call a "Who I Am" story—one of six essential narratives that can serve you well in your efforts to influence others. The others include "Why I Am Here" stories, "The Vision" story, "Teaching" stories, "Values-in-Action" stories, and "I Know What You Are Thinking" stories. Before anyone allows you to influence them, they want to know who you are and why you're here. If you don't provide positive answers to these questions, they'll make up their own—usually negative ones. People value their own conclusions more than yours. They'll only have faith in a story that has become real for them personally. When you demonstrate who you are through a story rather than telling people who you are, it becomes much more believable. A story lets listeners decide for themselves whether to trust you—one of the great secrets of true influence. Other methods like persuasion, bribery, or charismatic appeals are push strategies. Story is a pull strategy that invites listeners to join you on their own terms, creating a connection that serves as a conduit for your message.

Chapter 2: Truth in Story: Beyond Facts to Meaningful Connection

Truth, naked and cold, had been turned away from every door in the village. Her nakedness frightened the people. When Parable found her, she was huddled in a corner, shivering and hungry. Taking pity on her, Parable gathered her up and took her home. There, she dressed Truth in story, warmed her and sent her out again. Clothed in story, Truth knocked again at the villagers' doors and was readily welcomed into the people's houses. They invited her to eat at their table and warm herself by their fire. This Jewish teaching story has been told and retold since the eleventh century. When a story has survived for almost a thousand years, it must contain something valuable. Clothing truth in story provides a powerful way to get people to open the doors of their minds to you and the message you carry. Consider your own experience with naked truth. More than likely, many truths you've offered directly to coworkers, bosses, or family members have been met with resistance or rejection. Story doesn't grab power; it creates power. Like King Arthur's Excalibur, story conjures a magical influence that doesn't need formal authority to work. It creates another kind of status entirely. As a storyteller, you borrow a story's power to connect people to what matters and help them make sense of their world. They often attribute the wisdom of your story to you. But like Arthur with Excalibur, if you abuse this power or lose sight of your cause, you risk losing everything. A good story simplifies our world into something we feel we can understand. This can be wonderful when a Christian uses Jesus' teachings to navigate daily life compassionately, or when a mother draws on her grandmother's wisdom to balance discipline and understanding with her children. Stories can also be dangerous. Some people want to understand the story of their lives so desperately that once they find a narrative, they allow it to drive their interpretation of reality rather than vice versa. Stories transcend rational analysis by incorporating aspects of truth that can't be expressed in statistics or bullet points. Truths like justice, integrity, and compassion are too complex to be expressed in laws or facts alone. Facts need context—the when, who, and where—to become meaningful Truths with a capital T. Stories weave together relationships, space, time, and values, holding the complexities of conflict and paradox in a way that linear thinking cannot. Through story, we can navigate the ambiguities of human experience and find wisdom that transcends mere information.

Chapter 3: Crafting Compelling Stories: The Art of Engagement

A long time ago, there was a master archer who began to search the land for an archer of even greater talent so that he might study, learn, and improve his craft. After many months of walking through forests, meadows, and towns, he came upon a tree with an arrow in the exact middle of a painted target. He became curious as he walked on and saw another tree with a perfectly centered bull's-eye. Soon, he saw more trees displaying straight arrows perfectly centered within round targets. Suddenly, he entered a clearing and looked up to see a barn with row after row of perfect bull's-eyes. He knew he had found his mentor. He began asking everyone, "Whose barn is it that displays so many perfectly centered arrows?" When he found this man, he saw that he was a simple man, slow of speech, and seemingly awkward in his movements. Unperturbed, he asked the man to share his secrets. "How do you do it?" The man explained: "Anyone can. After I shoot the arrow, I take some paint and draw a target around it." This Jewish teaching story captures the irony of learning storytelling. What you think you want to learn and what you ultimately find useful may not match. Many people approach influence by asking, "How can I make them listen to me?" But that's the wrong question, because you can't make anyone listen. You can only entice, inspire, or fascinate them. The secret is creating curiosity and catching attention—like the teacher who uses an intriguing opening to capture her colleagues' interest. When telling a story, your body and voice become the stage, actors, costumes, music, and props. Even a one-sentence story involves more than just your chosen words. The narrative people receive is a composite of every aspect of your visual, auditory, and kinesthetic presence. Not only do you want to be engaging, but you want your story to be congruent. A story about courage told with shuffling feet and a timid voice becomes a mixed message. A story of humility delivered by a puffed-chested executive rings false. Your hands can speak volumes through gesture—not by turning you into a caricature of an excited fashion designer, but through subtle movements that add meaning to your story and create a stage upon which your narrative plays out. Facial expressions communicate emotion at a level deeper than cultural norms, registering feelings like anger, fear, and love instantly. Body language can replace many words, allowing you to play multiple characters or set scenes without explicitly saying "he said" or "she said." The most important aspect of oral communication is tone. It overrides every message your gestures, body language, or words convey. Your overall tone can make or break your power to influence. If it communicates resentment, self-righteousness, or arrogance, people will put up walls. Clear up any negative emotions you feel toward your listeners before telling your story. Don't try to fake a positive tone—work on your feelings, and your tone will naturally follow. Authenticity matters more than perfection, and a flawed story that feels alive is more powerful than a "perfect" narrative that lacks heart.

Chapter 4: Emotional Intelligence: The Psychology of Story Influence

Shiva and Parvati, the Hindu god and goddess, were exasperated with their sons, Ganesh and Maruha, who constantly competed for their attention. To settle who was their favorite, they devised a test: "The son who first travels three times around the world and returns will forever hold our esteem as favorite." Athletic Maruha smiled confidently, while chubby Ganesh looked despondent. The next morning, Maruha jumped on his peacock and flew off like the wind. Ganesh just sat glumly. Then suddenly, he stood up, jumped on his little red mouse, and rode it in circles around his parents three times. When asked what he was doing, Ganesh explained, "You ARE my world, and now I have returned, having traveled three times around my world." Charmed by their son's devotion, Shiva and Parvati declared him their favorite. This ancient Hindu tale demonstrates how stories can reframe challenges and reveal unexpected solutions. The psychological goal of influence is to connect your objectives to your listeners' self-interest. However, this "self-interest" is a kaleidoscopic target—partly conscious, partly subconscious, and often not what it appears to be. Traditional influence models focus on force—a push strategy. Story operates more like a powerful magnet—a pull strategy with very different dynamics. When you want to influence others, try approaching it like an Aikido master. In this martial art, you learn to use another person's momentum to move them where you want them to be. Rather than struggling against resistance, you move closer, get leverage, and redirect their energy. Similarly, everyone you wish to influence already has their own momentum—their existing motivations and desires. Your story is the bait that helps you hook into their momentum and redirect it toward your goals. What makes good bait? What do people want? That's the real question. Most people don't actually know what they want. They want things for what they think these things will give them. "I want a million dollars." Why? "Then I won't have to work for someone else." Why? "I don't like someone else telling me what to do." So it isn't money this person wants—it's personal freedom. If you peel back anyone's "want list" to its core, they all look surprisingly similar. In our technological economy, human attention has become the scarcest resource. People crave it, need it, and will pay for it with their cooperation. Almost anyone you want to influence is operating under a deficit of human attention from those who matter to them. They have enough information—they're drowning in it. What they need is to know what it all means. They need a story that explains the meaning and makes them feel like they fit in somewhere. When you tell a story that touches another person, you give them the gift of human attention—connecting them to you in a way that makes them feel more alive. This connection happens at the level of our shared humanity, both the good/bad duality of our condition and our common experiences. Everyone has known a school bully, a failed love affair, someone who believed in them, a cherished pet, or a really good friend. Tell your story about any of these experiences, and you can connect through your listener's recognition of your shared humanity.

Chapter 5: Navigating Resistance: Stories for the Unwilling Audience

Once upon a time, a tiny village was cursed by a ferocious monster who blocked the only road leading in and out. Many knights tried to fight the monster, but it would always match their weapon with double the power. A knight with a wooden club was flattened by a club twice its size. Another who tried to burn the monster was sizzled by fire twice as hot. A third with a steel sword was sliced in half by a sword twice as sharp and long. One day, Jack, the village fool, announced he had a new idea to vanquish the monster. Though most laughed, a few curious villagers accompanied him. When they reached the monster, Jack approached with an apple and asked, "Are you hungry?" The monster sniffed the apple and took it from Jack's trembling hand. Then it raised its fist and brought it down before the amazed crowd. Opening its fist, they saw two apples, juicier and redder than the first. Similarly, a clay urn of water was replaced with two golden urns filled with sweeter, clearer water. The people realized this monster could now be a blessing rather than a curse. This adapted folktale illustrates a profound truth about influence: your desire to be "right" can become your greatest obstacle. The firmer your conviction that you know better, the more likely you are to label those who disagree as wrong, stubborn, or unintelligent. People rarely respond well to someone who believes they're wrong. Whether you're trying to influence a leadership team, government employees, or a neighbor who lets their dog mess in your yard—once you cast them as the enemy, you create an adversarial dynamic that undermines your influence. Consider the dilemma of environmentalists opposed to a chemical weapons incinerator on an army base in their community. They see the army as insensitive bullies ignoring risks. Meanwhile, the army needs to dispose of these weapons to fulfill international treaties and believes the process is safe—their own children live in the community too. Each side has labeled the other as wrong or misguided. This "we are right; you are wrong" approach sabotages the ability to connect and convince. When you're demonizing a group as "the adversary," your strategies tend to become push strategies—control, threats, or manipulation—which may initially inspire compliance through fear or shame but ultimately generate resistance. The negative energy of an adversarial story risks creating paranoia, counterattacks, and hopelessness. I've seen people with good intentions fail repeatedly because they're caught in negative war stories that inadvertently wash everyone around them in negativity. Storytelling offers a distinct advantage in high-risk situations: you can't lose. You may not succeed immediately, but because story operates outside the adversarial dynamic, you never truly lose either. When you rely on facts, rational reasoning, or authority, you draw a line in the sand. They either cross to "your side" or they don't. Once that line is drawn, the win/lose dynamic takes over. Crossing your line (admitting you were "right") involves a loss of face that can sabotage genuine agreement. Telling a story is like building a sandcastle instead of drawing a line. You invite curiosity, build interest, and encourage participation. In their enthusiasm, your listeners may end up on "your side" without ever having to acknowledge crossing a line. If your story doesn't engage them, there was no clear rejection, and you're free to try again with a new narrative. Without an us/them boundary, there is no adversary, so no one loses face. Even when a person secretly wants you to fail, a good story can earn you the right to tell another, gradually building trust where none existed before.

Chapter 6: The Listening Edge: Becoming a Story Collector

Long ago, a monk devoted to finding wisdom sought a guru who lived in a faraway country. After months of walking, he found the guru's tiny hut. Inside was a small table with a pot of tea and two cups. Being thirsty, he poured himself tea. Almost immediately, the guru appeared, looked at the monk, looked at the cup of tea, shook his head, and left. The next day, the same thing happened. This continued for days until finally, the monk begged, "Please, I have traveled far to learn from you. Don't walk away again. Teach me." The guru turned, walked to the table, and began pouring tea into the monk's already full cup. The monk jumped back as tea cascaded over the lip, onto the table and floor. The guru said, "Your mind is like this cup of tea. It is already full. You must first empty your mind before anything new can enter." New ideas need room to grow. When old beliefs crowd out new ones, the fresh concepts wither and die. Listening to people helps them pour out their current thinking so they can make room for new perspectives. Sometimes, listening alone is enough to change someone's mind. When you deeply listen to another person, they often listen to themselves in a new way and may even talk themselves into a different viewpoint. Most people who think they listen well don't, or are doing it badly. One client defined listening as "waiting for my turn to talk." At least he was honest. We know we need to listen more skillfully, yet in a world that values only observable, measurable outcomes, we've crippled our attempts to learn this essential skill. "Active listening" approaches often emphasize behavioral components like eye contact, nodding, and reflective rephrasing. This superficial approach merely teaches us to fake listening, which, granted, is better than not trying at all. Genuine listening has a deeper, transformative power. Think about a time when someone truly listened to you—you probably remember your mental defenses slowly cracking and falling away. The safety of being listened to likely enabled you to authentically express both what you did and didn't understand about your situation. Genuine listening gives you permission to wonder aloud about your uncertainties. Influence becomes much easier when you gain access to the place where people hide their doubts and questions. Frozen certainties are hard to shape, but uncertainties are malleable. One of the most rewarding outcomes of listening comes from the bonding it creates. An email from a participant in one of my workshops described how, after our storytelling session, a previously closed and distant group was transformed. One participant asked if others would donate some of their leave time to a coworker suffering from cancer. The result was hundreds of hours of donated time. This group of strangers had become enough of a family to give precious gifts to someone in need—sight unseen—simply because they had shared their stories with one another. Listening is essential for co-creating new future stories that pull people in the direction you desire. The "vision story" that will influence a teenager to embrace better choices, a team member to improve customer service, or a community to support a new initiative can only be constructed from an in-depth understanding of the fears, hopes, and dreams in their current stories. To tell an effective story, you must understand their story, their world, and how you fit into the narrative they currently tell themselves. The secret advantage of listening to stories is that it makes you smarter. Our intelligence is enhanced by the number of stories we know and how well we can access them when needed. Rules aren't as useful as case histories (stories). Harvard Business School has known this for decades. Successfully navigating reality demands more than rules. In fact, choices based strictly on rules breed a special kind of stupidity known as fundamentalism—a manner of interacting with the world that can only respond based on categories of black and white, right or wrong, with no room for the gray areas where most of life actually happens.

Chapter 7: Story Ethics: Power and Responsibility in Narrative

Icarus wanted to fly more than anything. He spent hours watching birds and dreaming of soaring above everyone, earning their admiration, and seeing what they couldn't see. He gathered twigs and feathers, using wax to fashion two beautiful wings. His father warned him, "Son, fly if you must, but never fly too close to the sun. Remember my words." Icarus nodded but was too excited to heed the warning. The next day, he took flight. At first his movements were awkward, but by midday, he was calling down boastfully, "Watch this!" and performing beautiful aerial spirals. His father tried to shout his warning again, but Icarus couldn't hear. In one grand spiral, he circled nearer to the sun. So lost in the glory of flight, he didn't notice the wax melting until huge chunks of feathers were falling away. His family watched helplessly as he plunged to his death, crashing to earth in a broken pile of flesh, wax, and feathers. Like Icarus, storytellers may become intoxicated by their own power. When you tell a compelling story, you'll feel a rush as you look out at captivated faces and realize you've gained access to a secret place in your listeners' minds where their imaginations paint new realities and draw fresh conclusions. Although you might not control the entire show, you are certainly one of its stars. This raises an important point: the skill of storytelling carries a burden of responsibility. Most good storytellers experience moments when they're frightened by their own influence. Looking upon a sea of rapt faces, a friend once prayed, "Dear God, I've got them in the palm of my hand...now what do I do?" Influence and power should be scary. My sincere hope is that you'll use your storytelling skills for good. If you use story to manipulate people for purely selfish gain, your own story will ultimately have a bad ending. Even if you're a superior storyteller, maintaining a respectful attitude of equality enhances your impact and inoculates you against that whole "fall from grace" thing. Any assumption of superiority is an act of disrespect. We must balance our desire to influence others toward a "better way" with respect for the choices they've made up to now. Approaching those we wish to influence from a position of superiority creates either resentment or dependence—both problematic outcomes. Dependence may initially look like successful influence. A significant portion of the population prefers not to think for themselves, and anyone who tells a moving "I have the answer" story can build a decent contingent of followers. But is that what you really want? In today's complex world, dependence on a "hero-leader" is disastrous. If you speak to 400 people, you want to inspire 400 creative ideas moving in the same direction, not 400 people asking, "What do I do next?" Your stories should focus listeners on how smart they are, not how smart you are. The greatest crime a storyteller can commit is boring the audience. Telling stories that are too long, that go nowhere, forgetting your listeners, telling your story for your own therapy, or letting fear squeeze your imagination into a trickle makes both you and your story boring. Being interesting simply means staying connected to what matters to your listeners and what's meaningful about your story. The easiest way to do this is through our common humanity. Living life as a storyteller is fascinating. Once you realize you can move mountains, such problems no longer seem impossible. There's great peace in knowing who you are and why you're here. As a storyteller, your relationship with time changes—each moment is framed by what came before and what will follow. When you choose your story, life makes more sense. Ridiculous things still happen, tragedy doesn't end, but these events can be interpreted within your larger narrative. Every day becomes a new chapter in the story you tell through the life you lead.

Summary

The power of story transcends the limitations of facts, data, and rational arguments. Throughout human history, from ancient myths to modern boardrooms, stories have been our most effective tool for connecting with others and inspiring action. They bypass resistance, create meaning from chaos, and transform strangers into allies. While facts alone bounce off denial and skepticism, stories penetrate to the heart, allowing truth to be welcomed where it might otherwise be rejected. The most influential storytellers understand that their power comes not from manipulation but from authenticity—sharing experiences that resonate with universal human truths. The six essential stories—Who I Am, Why I Am Here, The Vision, Teaching, Values-in-Action, and I Know What You Are Thinking—provide a versatile toolkit for any situation requiring influence. By mastering these narratives and developing your listening skills, you create two-way connections that transform push-based influence into a mutual pull toward shared understanding. Remember that storytelling carries both power and responsibility. Like Icarus with his wax wings, the thrill of captivating an audience can lead to dangerous overconfidence. The most effective storytellers maintain humility, respect their listeners' intelligence, and focus on bringing out the best in others rather than demonstrating their own superiority. As you develop your storytelling skills, stay connected to what truly matters—building meaningful connections that help others find their own wisdom. In the end, the story of your life—how you live your values and pursue your vision—will be the most important story you ever tell. Make it one worth sharing.

About Author

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Annette Simmons

Annette Simmons is a vibrant keynote speaker, consultant and author of four books: The Story Factor named as one of The 100 Best Business Books of All Time, Whoever Tells the Best Story Wins , A Safe Place for Dangerous Truth (AMACOM, 1998), and Territorial Games: Understanding and Ending Turf Wars at Work.Annette started with a business degree from Louisiana State University in 1983, spent ten years in Australia in international business, attained a M.Ed. from NC State in 1994 and started Group Process Consulting in 1996. Annette is surprisingly honest, ferrets out hidden opportunities, joyfully takes risks and tells a good story.

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