Curing Storyteller's Block

Skylights, Reality Bites and "the perfect story"

I’ll be honest. Between my first letter and this one, I got some new subscribers, and I like you all SO much, so I want to do a good job. This week I kept starting to write but then thinking: “no that’s boring,” or “no they KNOW that,” or “no no they don’t want to hear about the cultural constraints of situated stories, Micaela, please save the sociolinguistics for your journal.”

Putting aside that the voice in my head is wrong and you WOULD enjoy hearing about Norrick (2007)’s concept of tellability, because it’s PRETTY interesting (snorts knowingly, pushes glasses up): feeling stuck is a problem that you might relate to. So instead of pretending I lost my laptop and cancelling the Story Letter entirely, which I was tempted to do: let’s talk about it.

This will be just the tiniest bit “meta,” because guess what? I went to college in the 90’s, and that was what we did then.

Troy Dyer: the original toxic slacker boyfriend

One of the most common things I hear walking into a storytelling workshop or coaching session, is “I don’t have any stories.”

And of course that’s almost certainly not true: we all tell stories all the time. But what people sometimes mean is: “I don’t have any stories that seem right for this.”

So if you’re feeling stuck on choosing a story for a workshop, a larger project, an essay, or a show, here’s what might really be going on.

Are you putting too much pressure on this one story?

You might feel like you have one shot to tell a story. So it has to be the best, funniest, most engaging story you’ve got.

Here are your magic words: FOR NOW. Try out a story — FOR NOW. Tell it this way — FOR NOW. It’ll get you started. You can always change your mind.

Also, stories change as we do, so the “right story choice” is going to be different in five years, a year, a month. It helps me to think about any story as a snapshot of what I think and feel right now, rather than some mythical Perfect Story.

My friend Jason Griffith calls this emotional timestamping and we’ll definitely be talking about it more in future letters, because this concept has changed the way I tell stories AND the way I live my life.

Are you clear on who you’re talking to? Are you trying to talk to everyone?

What do you want to tell? Depends on who’s listening.

So if you haven’t really considered your audience, or you’re thinking “everyone,” your brain can short circuit a little, because it’s just imagining everyone you ever met and most people you haven’t. And there’s no one story that’s going to work for all of them. So you go on this loop of “not that, not that, not that…” Just like I did this week.

This is how the internet looks in my brain. (Photo by Anna Sullivan)

So… who are you talking to? What would you want to share with them, specifically? And listen, if it is actually “possibly everyone” because your story will be on the internet— pick some people and decide you’re talking to them. If this still has you feeling stuck, try practicing with a trusted listener who can help you think about your audience and your own boundaries.

I figured out that I’m talking to people who feel stuck on a story choice. And everyone else can just enjoy the photos.

Do you feel like it has to be super MEANINGFUL?

I get it. But story choice isn’t actually what gives your story meaning. You can tell a pretty boring story about the most important day of your life. And you can discover so much about what matters to you, in the story of a seemingly small experience.

But— “HOW?” You ask. “How do you find meaning in small stories?” And I nod sagely and reply: “Subscribe, because we’ll talk about it in a future Story Letter.”

I have an analogy for you. Imagine a tiny skylight in an attic, late at night. The window frame is small, and you can just see a patch of stars through it. But the whole universe is out there, and if we look closer or turn our heads, we can see more and more of the stars. That’s us listening to your “small” story. The frame is the story, and the universe is you. You’re not hiding or ignoring the stars beyond the frame, you’re actually just giving us (and yourself) a way to see them.

So here’s what I did to write the letter you are reading right now.

• I talked to friends and former students who subscribe to this newsletter, to remind myself who’s listening and what I might want to say. (Thanks, Charlotte!)

• I took the pressure off by titling my doc “FOR NOW,” and writing a very messy version, knowing I could edit later. I also confirmed that there is a delete button on Substack.

• I decided not to try to tell you EVERYTHING in 900 words. It hurts a little, but I’m saving Norrick’s “tellability” for later.

So…what about you?

Did you see yourself in any of these challenges? What’s something you might want to try, next time you’re feeling stuck on choosing a story to tell? I would love to hear about it! You can reply to this email to talk to me directly, or leave a comment on Substack.

I might share some readers’ thoughts (with permission) in a future letter.

See you in a couple weeks!