The Story You Keep Not Telling

By Sofia Navarro · Finding Your Voice

A familiar pattern when someone talks through a talk they are preparing: they describe the structure, the slides and the argument, and then at the end, relaxed, mention something offhand. A moment. A thing that happened.

It is very often the best material they have. And it is very often not in the talk.

Asked why, the answer tends to be one of two things. "It felt too personal." Or: "It is not really about anything, it is just a small thing that happened."

Why the good material gets cut

The first objection, too personal, usually means "it makes me look uncertain, or foolish, or like I did not know something I feel I should have known."

Which is exactly why it can work. Audiences do not connect to competence alone. They connect to recognition, and what they recognise is the not-knowing, because that is the state they spend much of their own lives in.

There is an old and much-cited experiment on the edge of this. In 1966 Elliot Aronson, Ben Willerman and Joanne Floyd played students a recording of a candidate for a quiz team.1 In some versions the candidate answered almost everything correctly; in others, only some. In some versions the candidate then clumsily spilled coffee over himself. The highly competent candidate who spilled the coffee was rated as more likeable than the one who did not. The mediocre candidate who spilled it was rated as less likeable.

The detail matters. A small, human moment helped the person who had already shown they were capable. It did not rescue someone who had not. For a speaker, the lesson is about placement: the story of not knowing works best inside a talk that otherwise shows you know what you are talking about. It is a crack in something solid, not a substitute for it.

The second objection, too small, is a misreading of how scale works in speaking. Large claims need small evidence. "Teams communicate badly under pressure" is unarguable and unmemorable. "The two of us wrote opposite things in the same document for six days and neither noticed" is the same claim, made unforgettable by being tiny and specific.

Why a small story does more than a big claim

Melanie Green and Timothy Brock called this transportation: the experience of being absorbed into a narrative, so that attention, imagery and feeling are all directed at what happens next.2 In their studies, people who were more transported by a story came away holding beliefs more consistent with it, and were less likely to pick holes in it. Being told the story was fiction rather than fact did not remove the effect.

That cuts both ways, and it is worth taking seriously. A story is persuasive partly because it lowers the listener's guard. That is a reason to tell true stories and to draw honest conclusions from them, not a reason to avoid stories. There is more on the research in why a story argues better.

The practical point is that transportation depends on detail a listener can picture. "There was a breakdown in communication" gives the imagination nothing. Two people, one document, six days: that is a scene.

The test

If a story still makes you slightly uncomfortable to tell, it probably has something in it. Comfortable stories have usually been polished until the edges are gone, and the edges were the content.

None of this is an argument for confession. There is a real line, and it is this: you are telling the story for the audience's benefit, not for your own.

A story where you have already done the thinking, and are offering the conclusion, is a gift. A story where you are still raw and the audience ends up managing your feelings is a burden. Same events, different readiness. If you are not sure which you have, you probably have the second one, and it will keep until you do.

Getting it out of your head

Write these down without editing:

  • A time you were wrong in a way that cost something
  • A time someone said one sentence that changed how you work
  • A time you did not speak up, and what happened
  • The moment you realised you did not know what you were doing
  • The smallest specific thing that made a big decision finally make sense

Most of what you write will be unusable. One or two will make you slightly reluctant. Those are the ones.

Telling it properly

Three rules that carry most of the weight:

Start in the scene. Skip "I want to tell you about a time I learned about feedback" and start with "It was a Thursday and my manager had left a document open on her screen." Context can follow; entry should be immediate.

Keep the detail that seems irrelevant. The specific brand of coffee. The fact that it was raining. Irrelevant detail is what makes a story sound remembered rather than constructed, and it is what gives a listener something to picture.

Say what you think it means once, at the end, briefly. One sentence. The most common failure is a good story followed by four minutes explaining it, which teaches the audience they were not trusted to understand it.

Where it goes in the talk

A good story is usually strongest next to the claim it proves. Put the six-day document story directly before or after "teams under pressure stop reading each other's work".

Two other positions work well. As an opening, a story buys attention before you have earned it; see the first fifteen seconds. As a return at the end, a brief callback to a story told early gives the talk a shape the audience can feel without being told.

What to do with your next talk

Find the moment you would mention afterwards over coffee, and ask whether it belongs in the talk itself. Tell it out loud once to one person, starting in the scene, and stop after a single sentence of meaning. If they ask a question about it, it is working.

References

  1. Aronson, E., Willerman, B., & Floyd, J. (1966). The effect of a pratfall on increasing interpersonal attractiveness. Psychonomic Science, 4(6), 227–228. https://doi.org/10.3758/bf03342263
  2. Green, M. C., & Brock, T. C. (2000). The role of transportation in the persuasiveness of public narratives. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 79(5), 701–721. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.79.5.701