The First Attempt at my Story

About a decade ago, an opportunity opened up in my life that allowed me to finally launch the book-writing career I had dreamed about since I was nine years old.

One sunny spring morning I drove to our local library in suburban Washington, D.C., with my laptop and a stack of canary colored Levenger notepads. I found an isolated corner desk near a large sunny window overlooking a grassy park, turned on the computer, and typed "Draft I.”

When I returned home for dinner, I opened the front door to see the beautiful smile of my wonderful wife. "How did it go?"

"Well," I sighed, pausing for a moment as I stared down at the hallway's hardwood flooring. "This writing thing isn’t working," I declared, unable to allow my eyes to meet hers. "I’ll start looking for a new job first thing tomorrow."

Thoroughly disappointed with myself, I had spent six hours in the library staring at my laptop screen. The total output: two sentences.

I was a failed author.

We still laugh when we recall that day. Even though I had spent more than 14 years as a journalist and several years directing communications in the U.S. Senate, I was incredibly naïve about the intricacies of crafting a novel. During my newspaper days, I could bang out two or three 800-word stories a day. I assumed an entire book outline would be done in an afternoon.

After all, it was just a story…

My trip to the Arlington, Va., County Library was in 2003, a time when the nightmare of 9/11 was still vivid in the minds of those who lived, worked, and went to school in the nation’s capital. I was working in the U.S. Senate the day the planes crashed. One in New York, one into the Pentagon, and a third—intended for the Capitol—on a farm in Pennsylvania. As I crossed the Potomac River on my drive to work that morning, I saw smoke over the Pentagon. I had known people who died in the Pentagon fire. For the next two weeks, as we took our two young children to bed and said their nightly prayers, we could look out my daughter’s bedroom window and watch the smoke rise from the gaping hole in the north side of the Pentagon. We lived less than a mile away.

Like millions of Americans, I was appalled at the events of that fall. The world had changed and not for the better. I worried what the future held for my daughter, 5, and my son, 3.

Most of all, I wondered why a group of people from thousands of miles away had become so filled with hate and rage against our country that they chose to intentionally kill thousands of innocent civilians. Why did they think this way? What could be done to change that thinking?

Within a couple of years I started a new phase of my career as a consultant to the Pentagon. I found a job where I could use the analytical, trend-spotting, and creative writing skills that made me a good reporter to advise the Defense Department and intelligence agencies on ways to think more creatively about detecting future threats to the country.

Part of that job involved looking into the roots of radicalization. What caused so many smart, educated, middle class young men from the Middle East and parts of Europe to seemingly turn into terrorists overnight? What motivated them to don suicide vests, stand in a market crowded with civilians and blow themselves up?

The full answer, of course, is complex. Even after decades of study, the intelligence community and researchers do not fully understand why seemingly normal, average, intelligent people seem so willing to turn to violence in a very short time period. Part of the answer lies in the grievances they hold, many of them legitimate, against their own society and government. And part of lies in the complaints they hold against U.S. foreign policy, some legitimate, some not.

One thing that is clear is that terrorists—those individuals who chose to kill innocent people for political ends—are shaped by their own cultural image. They are influenced and motivated by their own narrative, the stories told to them.

Throughout my years of reporting and interaction with the public I saw firsthand how a finely crafted story can impact readers. A well-told tale, filled with conflict, a major challenge, twists and turns, a hero, and an enemy, could truly move people. It changed their minds and influenced decisions.

Sophisticated terrorist leaders, like those that created Al Qaeda, are very aware of this. They spend significant amounts of time and energy creating a very specific type of strategic narrative—a body of stories, essentially—to win over the the hearts and minds of their target audiences. Only their ultimate desire is to sow more hate, breed more violence, and recruit more impressionable and angry men and women to carry out their political goals.

Osama bin Laden was a highly successful author of a narrative designed to amplify the feelings of oppression and victimization that exist in some parts of the Muslim world. What was needed was a counter-narrative from other Muslim voices who did not see the killing of innocent people as the tactical solution.

And that got me thinking about my novel again.

Escape from the City

A few years ago, our family took a major step to escape the frenzied life inside the Beltway and move to the Midwest so that I could make a serious stab at a my book while continuing to consult part-time in public relations.

Armed with a new IMac, Scrivener (the best book writing software out there), numerous plot ideas, character sketches and about 10 books on how to write books, I launched into my first real novel.

Along the way, I've stumbled over a plethora of challenges, fears, road blocks and self-doubt. I’ve seriously thought about quitting this crazy train ride a few times. Well, I need to be honest here, a more accurate number is around 14.

The truth is, I can’t quit. There’s a few stories in me, somewhere, and they have to be told. And if you’re a recovering writer, struggling to sneak some time and get your writing fix, you can’t quit either.

It is brutally clear to me that I’ll never be a Joseph Conrad, Charles Dickens, H.G. Wells, or Victor Hugo—some of my personal favorites. But us writers still clack away on our keyboards in dark rooms late on cold winter nights, gathering courage to type out a story that might bring a smile, a tear, or, perhaps, trigger empathy in a reader. We have something important to say.

Stories, you see, are very powerful. What we are trying to accomplish has implications far beyond our home office. We can’t quit.

The Effectiveness of Storytelling

A significant aspect of my career—whether as a journalist or as a consultant—often focused on the question of what motivates people to action.

What I and others have found is whether they are employees in a company or federal agency, members of a private organization or even terrorists planning attacks, people are mentally, emotionally, and politically impacted when they read or hear a great story.

Early on in my consulting career, when my team attempted to influence a client or change their way of thinking, we would arm ourselves with facts, figures, charts, and scientific studies. Logic, Mr. Spock and the latest technological advancements always win in the end, right?

I’ve seen this effect up close and personal dozens of times. Companies or government agencies hired us to find creative solutions to challenging problems. After months of study, we would build massive PowerPoint presentations filled with bullets, facts, and numbers to reveal a set of options. But more times than I care to count, the cold hard facts did not motivate our clients to change, even if the organization was staring into the abyss of its own demise.

In the mid-2000s, some of us found a much more effective approach. We still conducted interviews, research and formulated solutions that made sense. The method of analysis remained largely the same.

What did change was the way we presented the solutions. When we told our clients a well-designed story that illustrated a list of potential solutions, there was an incredibly marked difference in reception. As we developed this narrative or story-based approach, we saw employees, corporate executives and military leaders far more receptive and motivated to make the changes necessary to succeed.

Other consultants were also discovering this style of storytelling to solve problems and change the world. Nancy Duarte, a highly regarded communications expert who has advised companies like Apple, Cisco, Facebook, GE, Google, HP, TED, Twitter, and the World Bank, is a stellar leader in this practice. Her firm, Duarte, Inc. is one of the largest consulting firms in Silicon Valley, as well as the fifth largest woman-owned employer. Her TedX East Talk from 2011 on the secret structure of great talks details fascinating insights about the power of story.

Ironically, these same storytelling techniques designed to motivate our clients also hold interesting implications for understanding the deep power that telling a story holds for readers and societies at large. A body of scientific evidence developed over the past 15 years reveals that making deep shifts in our thinking requires the same techniques that authors, screenwriters and movie directors use in their various forms of storytelling.

The Impact of Fiction

Lisa Cron, a story consultant, literary agent, and writing instructor at the University of California-Los Angeles, recently published a book, Wired for Story, where she noted: "Recent breakthroughs in neuroscience reveal that our brain is hardwired to respond to story; the pleasure we derive from a tale well told is nature’s way of seducing us into paying attention to it. In other words, we’re wired to turn to story to teach us the way of the world."

Some very recent studies confirm this. MRI images reveal that our brains act very differently when you show a fact-filled slide presentation than when you tell or read a story. Flash a boring slide of facts to an audience and only one area of the brain—the part that processes words—is affected. When narratives utilize literary tools like metaphors, allegory, and parables, the test subject's brain lights up.

The effect is quite profound. Utilizing certain literary techniques that have been around for thousands of years, telling or reading a story, has an enduring impact on our brain and influences the way we act.

In 2012, Annie Murphy Paul wrote in The New York Times, "Fiction — with its redolent details, imaginative metaphors and attentive descriptions of people and their actions — offers an especially rich replica. Indeed, in one respect novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people’s thoughts and feelings.

"The novel, of course, is an unequaled medium for the exploration of human social and emotional life. And there is evidence that just as the brain responds to depictions of smells and textures and movements as if they were the real thing, so it treats the interactions among fictional characters as something like real-life social encounters. "

Even more profound, and critically important to fiction writers, is the notion that the most powerful, long-lasting effects of storytelling follows a particular pattern.

The Patterns of Story

In the early stages of outlining my novel, I ran into a roadblock. Ever the strategic thinker, I preferred creating a rough outline of my book to give myself a general map of where I was headed. After drafting a few early chapters, I realized that something was wrong with the plot but couldn’t put my finger on it.

A friend recommended a book I had never come across before, The Hero has a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell. A mythologist and writer, Campbell spent decades gathering and categorizing ancient fables from civilizations throughout history and discovered a recurring structure. He argued this basic story structure is a component of human nature, a set of principles that guides our lives.

When I read through the basics of Campbell’s paradigm of the monomyth, I spotted a key element was missing from my novel. I was also quite surprised to find I had subconsciously embedded most of the essential elements of the monmyth in my book without ever having heard of it before. (To learn more details about the Campbell's hero’s journey see here.)

Willa Cather once wrote “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.” In that same manner, all the great stories—the myths, legends, and epics that have survived through the ages and continue to be repeated today—do have an essential underpinning, a form.

The Power to Change the Future

Late last year, those same serious doubts I had back in the Arlington library crept in again, leading me to wonder if I was just wasting my time trying to write a novel. Today, I know much more about writing than I did during my first attempt in 2003. I was particularly attune to the fact that the odds against me are outrageous. The vast majority of first-time novel writers spend thousands of hours burning the midnight oil only to find themselves unable to find an agent willing to take a chance on their book. Those lucky enough to win representation must cross a second major threshold—winning over an editor to champion their cause. Actual publication is the equivalent of winning Campbell’s supreme ordeal—an epic battle won by only a worthy hero.

On one of the darkest nights of this winter’s polar vortex, I struggled with the overwhelming reality that the epic challenges facing beginning authors like me were futile. Trying to maneuver through the churning forces roiling the book publishing industry was far too great a obstacle for a deeply flawed mortal such as myself. Perhaps I should consider self-publishing? The independent knight in shining armor, Hugh Howey, does it, why can’t I?

After stirring up from my warm bed to face another day of -20 degree wind chills, I ran across a news report showing that even the vast majority of self-published writers make under $500 a year.

Really? $500 per book? That did it, and I decided to take a break from writing.

That was until I ran across an article on the 30th anniversary of the now famous 1984 Macintosh Super Bowl ad. For those of us who can remember the 1980s, this was one of those watershed events. The ad was so successful, it led to what is now an American tradition of launching high-profile advertising campaigns during the most-watched annual sports ritual each winter.

I was surprised to read the McIntosh ad almost never aired. It reminded me of the unique abilities of Steve Jobs, who turned the hero’s journey into an art for selling not only his product, but, as Carmine Gallo puts it, revolutionized the art of corporate storytelling.

While Jobs was never quite the genius of a master inventor like Einstein, Robert Goddard, a Larry Page or Sergey Brin, he was a true visionary who understood the importance of story. Jobs epitomized the hero of the hero’s journey. No matter the odds stacked against him, Jobs never gave up on his vision, even after being fired a few times.

Jobs also understood the tremendous pull of stories—whether they are used to win votes in the board room or in a Super Bowl television ad. They help us see that the common problems we face today are similar to the ones our ancestors faced. They also provide an inkling, a spark, an inspiration of where to find the solutions. Perhaps not the exact answer, but the key principles that can guide us.

Writers like us have something important to say. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be staring bleary-eyed at IMac screens, trying to figure out how our hero will face her challenge, defeat the villain and save the human race from the looming apocalypse.

So you see, I can’t give up. And if you’re writing a novel, or a poem, or short story, you can’t either. No matter how hard it might be. Perhaps what you have to say will change the direction of our future, or our children’s future. The epic novel you are writing today, your story, may be the source of legend tomorrow.