Soundbites vs Story: The Fear Factor
By Lisa Cron | November 10, 2016 |
There is a lot of fear in the world these days. More lately. Much more. Story can help.
Stories ask us to slow down and take stock. Twitter, screaming headlines and clickbait encourage us to do the opposite. And sheesh, that’s a strategy that plays into Mother Nature — our biology. We don’t respond to bumper stickers and soundbites because we’ve been dumbed down; we respond to them because we evolved to live in a much simpler world than the one we find ourselves trying to navigate. In other words, for eons we honed the ability to respond to “Lion, RUN!” the better to avoid becoming lunch. Because back then what you saw really was what you got. The point is: it’s damn hard to undo all that fine-tuned (and previously life saving) wiring.
So how do we uncouple our urge to react to the first thing we hear? By taking a deep breath and searching for the real story. Story is our superpower. By digging beneath the surface action, the statement, the apparent “truth,” story often unearths something very different.
Story questions everything. The surface explanation. Authority. The “official” response. Decorum. Euphemisms. The cover up.
It’s the job of story to rip that cover off, and expose what’s really happening, why and what it means — and that is almost always different from what it looks like from the surface.
Let me give you two examples. Last Saturday someone sprinkled a powdery substance in the orchestra pit during the second intermission of the opera Guillaume Tell at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. That can’t be good, right?
According to Associated Press here’s what happened next:
“Sam Neuman, a spokesman for the Met, said the “as a safety precaution, the Met cancelled the remainder of the performance.”
“A police spokeswoman said the person who sprinkled the powder fled and was being sought.
“The Met also cancelled Saturday night’s performance of L’Italiana in Algeri because of the investigation.”
Wow, I thought when I heard that. Anthrax! (That’s what the musician who saw it happen thought.) Terrorism! (That’s what the police suspected.) No one is safe. It felt like one more scary thing, and from there it’s easy to begin to see a world out of control, one where we all need to protect ourselves from crazy people out to harm opera-loving strangers (who are elites? It’s so easy to run with the surface story…).
Except, that’s not what happened. The actual story is fascinating, and personal, and the opposite of what it seemed.
That white powder? It didn’t turn out to be Anthrax at all (my bad). Instead it turned out to be . . . human ashes.
Here’s what really happened: opera lover Roger Kaiser, the man who’d sprinkled those ashes, had made a pact with his opera mentor before the man died. Roger had promised to sprinkle his ashes in all the opera houses he visited across the country. He’d just done so – happily unseen — in Denver. There’s even a picture of Roger on his Facebook page with an apple on his head (a reference to William Tell, which is who Guillaume Tell is about), declaring that the Met was next.
Now, that’s a story. It’s simple, it’s human, and it’s surprising: it’s about the last thing anyone would have supposed watching Roger surreptitiously wafting a suspicious looking white powder into the orchestra pit. It’s deeply heartwarming. It’s oddly beautiful, which is the best kind of beauty.
This is not to say that the police didn’t do the right thing, or that the people who’d traveled miles – and gotten really dressed up for a regular old Saturday afternoon – weren’t legitimately put out by what happened. It’s just to say that what things look like on the surface, is often very wrong. And what they really are tends to be something so specific, so unique, so unexpected that we’d never “automatically” think of it. Because the true meaning of things lies deep beneath the surface of the human heart.
I was telling that story to a colleague, and he said, “Wow, that reminds me of something that happened to me last week. I was in San Francisco at a bakery, and suddenly I noticed that the people behind the counter had stopped what they were doing and were staring intently out the window behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a row of ATMs across the street where someone was hurriedly going from machine to machine spraying something on the screens. The cashier in the bakery scooted over to the door and locked it, as bank employees rushed outside. The man vanished, and a minute later the police appeared, swarming the ATMs. What they soon discovered was that the man had been homeless, and was suffering from OCD that propelled him to clean the screens of ATMs across the city. He hadn’t been spraying some kind of poison. It was Windex.”
Like Roger, in his own very human way, he was trying to do a nice thing.
But on the surface, it had looked like another scare. Yes, better safe than sorry, for sure. But . . . when we’re on high alert, we tend to read scary motives into the actions of strangers. And yes, there are mean idiots out there, no doubt. But probably not as many as it seems. And the only way to find out is to – yes – dive into their story. Not just the story of what they do. But the story of why. And maybe we can begin to find the those human places where we’re much more alike than we thought.
I’m reminded of a movie I loved as a kid – and maybe one that it would be fun to revisit now in a very retro sort of way, especially since it’s a comedy and sheesh, comic genius Carl Reiner is in it. It’s something you can relax, enjoy, and sink into without worrying about getting clobbered from behind. But it makes the point: what unites us is stronger than what rips us apart (especially when a cute little kid is in danger). It’s called The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming.
And it reveals how, sometimes, love can trounce hate. But not always.
What about you? How are you feeling now? Is there a story that has helped ease your pain during this very difficult season? [coffee]
Lisa Cron is the author of Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers From the Very First Sentence and Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste 3 Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). Her video tutorial, Writing Fundamentals: The Craft of Story, can be found at Lynda.com. Her TEDx talk, Wired for Story, opened Furman University’s 2014 TEDx conference, Stories: The Common Thread of Our Humanity. A frequent speaker at writers conferences, schools and universities, Lisa’s passion has always been story. She currently works as a story coach helping writers, nonprofits, educators and journalists wrangle the story they’re telling onto the page; contact her here.
Fear is such a primal thing. We can use it to fuel hatred. I think of the genocides of the 20th century. I still remember reading Anne Frank’s diary at the age of 10 and bawling at the end. But she left such a beautiful story of her short life. It stays with me always, “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
That’s hope. Feeling at peace and very hopeful right now.
Lisa,
What powerful (and heartwarming) examples of digging deep to get to the real story. Often, in hindsight, I’ve learned that nothing is what it seemed at the time … or at the very least, not all of it.
I’m an observer by nature and play a game while I people watch. I’ll create scenarios behind their observable behavior and make up accompanying dialog whenever they talk. It’s fun. Of course, I usually create absurd situations that are probably far-removed from the actual story.
Unless those two men in the pointed hats really were wizards.
It’s so good to see you at UnCon again! I actually need to get my tail down to your class (yesterday’s four-hour session was fantastic!), but I just don’t see it happening this morning. I slept in to catch up on the sleep I’d lost the night before and haven’t even gotten out of my pj’s yet.
Digging deep conquers fear. Isn’t that another way of saying knowledge is power?
Thank you, Lisa. I needed the reminder to look deeper, to remember that the story always has layers. Your examples are resonant and very human. I was feeling shaky yesterday, but today I feel re-energized and re-committed to becoming a better storyteller. I loved ‘the Russians are Coming’. I remember being moved by it, expecting a comedy, but getting hit with something much deeper. And I fell in love with Alan Arkin.
Hello Lisa,
I see you are again focused on getting at the true story behind a surface reality. In your example, you’re talking about the story behind white powder sprinkled in the orchestra pit at the Met. But why do you stop there? Have you actually “drilled down” (you and Don Maass must love fracking) through the enamel and pulp to the nerve of what actually happened?
I don’t think you have. All you’ve done is to provide a little surprise, a frisson. From what you recount, the “real” story doesn’t have much to do with a promise made to a dying opera “mentor.” It has to do with the motives behind someone taking actions that ultimately drew national attention to himself, at the expense of hundreds of opera lovers’ good time. Someone who coyly offered a comic “clue” to what he was up to on his Facebook page. Doesn’t sound all that beautiful to me. It sounds like soap opera.
For me, the essence of a story isn’t what people tell us (I promised someone I’d sprinkle his ashes all over various opera houses). In this instance, it’s about self-dramatization masked as loyalty and love.
You ask us what we’re feeling today, which happens to be the day after the day after President-elect Donald Trump’s victory. Sometimes, what you see is EXACTLY what you get. You don’t have to do any mining or drilling to know why Trump won. His supporters didn’t actually have a collective delusion about their candidate. Nor is he going to whip off a mask and reveal himself to be Tinker Bell or Captain America. His followers saw exactly what he was, and chose him. No ashes, no Windex. Just Trump being Trump.
I’m fascinated by what you’ve said here:
“For me, the essence of a story isn’t what people tell us (I promised someone I’d sprinkle his ashes all over various opera houses). In this instance, it’s about self-dramatization masked as loyalty and love.”
The reason I take note: I can actually visualize a sweet-but-misguided man (I would be upset if he ruined my opera night) sprinkling ashes with great care, maybe even a wry smile on his face or a glistening eye … whatever. But if I close my eyes and think about “self-dramatization masked as loyalty and love” I can’t visualize anything at all, which makes it conceptual. I would like to ask if you could give a couple specific sentences showing us exactly what you mean. It helps to visualize it as a scene instead of telling us a concept. Perhaps this is one of the meanings of show don’t tell? I’m not sure.
I admit that without more context, I don’t think I can show those concepts so precisely in scene … That’s kinda why I’m interested in your comment and would appreciate an example of exactly what you’re talking about … if you have the time.
Chris, I think you see what you want to see. The words you use make this obvious: sweet but misguided, great care, wry smile, glistening eye. I imagine you can’t see anything related to what I’m saying because it’s at odds with your own comforting acceptance of Lisa Cron’s story. Lisa offers it as evidence to support her call for digging below surface reactions–fear that the powder was toxic–to the reality of a man’s last wish that his ashes, etc. I know her example is meant to make a point in a short essay, but for me, it’s a shallow example of “digging for the truth,” not a deep or thoughtful one.
Thank you Lisa for the perfect inspiration at the perfect time. I really needed the reminder to dig deeper – not to react but to investigate. And I will be checking out the movie. I don’t remember it, but I could use some non-clobbering distraction!
Wow, thank you for this. What a powerful reminder to look deeper.
As someone who has never seen his candidate make it past the primaries, I assure you I am a subject matter expert at easing the pain. I like to read books about the founding of our nation, the forming of the Constitution (now that was brutal!), and the challenges we’ve faced since. What I learn, with each of my defeats, is that it is the diversity of opinion that makes this nation so strong. We quarrel, we debate, we even get angry. But after the dust settles, we care for and defend the very people we’d been in heated battle with only days before. Every two years, we are offered a bloodless revolution. Reading about revolutions past, those often of the bloody variety, is a reminder to me that I will be free right up until the point where revolutions are no longer an option.
THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING, one of my favorite movies of all time. Yes, fear when we hear it in sound bites or experience it in the first moment can undo us. Dig down to what is really happening and things can change–and should before someone reaches for a gun. Like the WILD WEST. Writers use fear in their stories to pull the reader deeper into the story. After all, it’s fiction. Politicians sometimes use fear to bind a listener to them. That’s manipulation. Writers are allowed some of that, politicians need to speak the truth. Thanks for this post.
It’s amazing to think that violent crime has been going down for decades, and yet the base perception is that the world is descending into anarchy. In part because media coverage of those crimes has gone up exponentially.
My very first book idea was an idea to spend one summer hitchhiking across Canada during the late 1990s, and then write a memoir about all the fascinating people I met and experiences I had along the way. Several thought I was nuts. The heyday of hitchhiking was during the ’60s and ’70s, and many regarded it as a good way to get mugged or murdered.
In the end, I spent four years on the road, largely because of all the heartwarming encounters I had with people. Many who picked me up invited me into their homes, and often I ended up staying for several days as they showed me around their city or small town, introducing me to friends and relatives, and giving me real insight not only into the mosaic that is Canada but also into just how generous and warm-hearted people can be when given the chance. The book was published in 2004 and went on to do quite well. But even more important (in my mind), was that many who read it said my story had, to a certain extent, restored their faith in humanity.
So, yes, I agree. Perceptions are often so different than reality, and I’ve come to believe that part of my job as a writer is to bring that side of the story to light.
I loved this, Lisa. It was a nice reminder that we need to dig deeper and look past the fear. Thanks!
You provided several ideas for stories with this post, Lisa.
What am I feeling today? I’m a Canadian, but the U.S. election concerns me. Five presidents who received the popular vote lost to their competitor. Story fodder: what would today and tomorrow and the 365 days after be like if Hillary had been elected?
We live in a strange world. If any of us had written the story of the last two years, readers would have dismissed it as unbelievable.
Fear–the great human equalizer. I think we all fear change; but I feel hope after this afternoon’s meeting between President and President Elect.
What are my fears? Mainly that the people who need to stop and think before reacting already do. Those who simply react without any thought to reason, or perhaps finding out if what they are reacting to is true, will continue no matter how many wise people, like you, Lisa, remind them otherwise. So many of my writer friends, whom I admire greatly, have written terrific posts on how we might go forward from Tuesday with some sense of decorum and responsibility, but, sadly, the people who need to read those and absorb the messages probably won’t.