Freek Vermeulen, professor at London Business School

The one that caught my eye was by a strategy prof I didn’t know personally, but I recalled hearing great things from those classmates who had taken his Introduction to Strategy foundation course:  Freek Vermeulen.  His enthusiastic scrawl went something like this:

“Have you ever wondered about the gap between how companies make, and how they pretend to make, big strategic decisions?  Or why our boards of directors are really a bunch of part-timers and amateurs?  Do you really think the “Chinese Walls” in investment banks are as impermeable as they say they are?  This book explores what really goes on in business… etc. etc.”

My new airplane reading

With a subtitle as enticing as “The Naked Truth About What Really Goes On in the World of Business”, it didn’t take me long to dart from intrigue to purchase.  “Business Exposed” promises to be a great read.  I have only just dipped in, but I can see already that it will offer lots of juicy anecdotes to enliven the observations, and am very excited about chewing through it over the coming days.

Why is this important?  Aside from the deliciously gossipy delight it offers by way of a sense of the inside track, I hope it will shed a lot of light on why so many business strategies, initiatives and plans go awry, despite the soundness of their logic, the robustness of their resource allocation and the best intentions of the people driving them.  By understanding how people and organisations really truly operate, we can plan and risk-manage accordingly – hopefully raising our overall game as a result.

Happy reading!

Wellcome Collection, London

I had a meeting recently in the coffee shop of the Wellcome Collection, a fascinating medical history museum near St Pancras station in London.

The Wellcome Collection has a bright, airy cafe in the front of the building that seamlessly flows into a little bookshop area about the size of a small London 1-bed flat, i.e. miniscule.  Yet somehow this little shop seems to have the most amazing selection of books including classics, modern fiction, science, philosophy, sociology, history, and some neat toys and gifts.  (My favourites on the latter side were the stuffies in the shape of various common microorganisms.)  Ten minutes in there and I wanted to take about ten different books home with me, but I managed to keep it down to three.

One of my picks that day was a featured book called “Contagious:  Why Things Catch On”, by Jonah Berger.  Berger is a professor at the Wharton School of Business who has studied how individual decision making and social dynamics generate collective outcomes, such as social contagion and trends.

Contagious book cover (UK edition)

Contagious is a well-paced, convincing and entertaining read, for a couple of reasons.  First, it is just interesting:    why do certain You Tube videos, or stories, or recommendations ‘go viral’ while others of superficially similar merit do not?  Second, it is important for people with a marketing or communications remit:  how can we design our message to increase the likelihood that it will cut through in a similar way?  And finally, it offers deeper insight into our own actions and behaviour, as driven by our underlying emotions and reactions.  This could help us to identify when we are being subject to deliberate manipulation (if that matters to us), and perhaps to make more conscious choices.

I see a few interesting parallels between what Berger has identified as the DNA of a successful word-of-mouth campaign, and what we hear about the characteristics of a good story, or good storytelling.  In Contagious he lays out and explains, with logic and great examples, the six ‘STEPPS’ of a successful viral idea:

• Social Currency
• Triggers
• Emotion
• Public (i.e. visibility)
• Practical Value
• Stories

Setting aside the obvious overlap with his last characteristic (Stories), there are three that really jumped out at me in terms of their relevance to storytelling:

Social Currency:  we often choose to tell the stories we do because they are personal anecdotes that somehow make us look good, whether that means cool, virtuous, smart or something else.

Emotion:  what good is any story if it doesn’t trigger an emotional response?  In Contagious, Berger takes this a step further by identifying more precisely which emotions are likely to make us want to share, and which ones aren’t.

Practical Value:  in a storytelling workshop I took in November 2012, this was maintained as an important consideration in choosing what story to tell.  We had to be clear on why our story was worth telling, or what the point of it to our audience was.  I suspect that many of us choose our stories based on Social Currency and Emotion, but not everyone thinks of the value to the listener beyond perhaps mild entertainment.

Quite apart from the relevance to storytelling, it is a fun read with lots of timely, relevant examples of viral ad campaigns, YouTube videos, restaurant recommendations and many other ideas that have proved to be catching.

One thing that has really struck me is that storytelling in organisations is a hot topic. It seems to be front-of-mind in a number of business and professional contexts, not just marketing and communications but also strategy, HR, line management and other areas. Storytelling training events are being offered on a regular basis, in many cities around the world. Opportunities for individuals to share personal stories are exploding with the likes of The Moth, TEDx events and PechaKucha. Business schools are apparently offering story modules as part of their MBA programmes. Last week I was in a restaurant in central London, and the navigation sign for one of the private events taking place there at the same time simply read, 'Story'.

At the same time, storytelling in organisations is nothing new. Many of the people I follow have been working in this area for years, even decades.

So what's going on? Why has it suddenly become so popular?

Theory 1: It has always been a big deal, but I just never really noticed. A bit like pregnant ladies, which somehow didn't really exist in my 20s (where were they all hiding?), and were then everywhere to be seen in my 30s. Or new words, that only once we learn do we notice being used surprisingly frequently.

Theory 2: Although it has always been fundamental for a few (e.g. writers, filmmakers), and there have always been a few people across all walks of life who simply have that natural instinct for using stories with purpose, it has expanded into many other professional contexts in recent years to become more 'mainstream'.

I have a few ideas on why Theory 2 might be the case.

1. The recession, and the associated disenchantment of many individuals with banks, capitalism, faceless corporations, structural dislocation and many other facets of the globalised market economy. Organisations have had to look for new ways to show their human side, to connect with their consumers, to personalise their offering – and to inspire people to part with their increasingly scarce cash.
2. The digital / web / content revolution, which has enabled so many more people to create and share stories so much more easily. Storytelling is no longer the purview of Hollywood or 'Big Media'. Organisations can no longer control the stories being told about them to the same degree as before. There is more information and clutter that must be cut through, which requires messages that are more meaningful.
3. The continued efforts and widening impact (again, reinforced by #2) of those who are spreading the word from within the storytelling community – like the bloggers and tweeters I mention trying to follow at the beginning of this post.

Any other thoughts on what might be driving the mainstreaming of storytelling? Please share!

Posted with Blogsy

Here's why I loved this post. Having followed this topic for a few months now, I have been struck by a couple of things:

• Lots of people talk about 'story' and how great and important it is
• Not very many people actually define it
• A few people bemoan the prevalence of ineffective storytelling, or of people trying to sell storytelling who don't really know what they're doing

It seemed a bit like sex appeal… we all want it, but we're not quite sure what 'it' is, or how we might get more of it.

So here comes a straightforward, simple blog post that defines a couple of the key components of good storytelling, gives two clear examples, and makes some concrete suggestions of how we can start to think about more effective stories within our own organisation.

Definitely worth a read!

Posted with Blogsy

Annenberg Hall, School of Education and Social Policy, Northwestern University

I came across an interesting piece of research the other day.  Beth Black, a then-Master’s student in Learning and Organizational Change at Northwestern University, had done a 9-month research project on storytelling in organisations.  She collected quantitative and qualitative data from 60 people who work in businesses or NGOs of at least 20 employees, across 12 different industries.  She also interviewed eight storytelling ‘experts’ for more in-depth views on what constitutes a proper story, i.e. a story that ‘sticks’.

Ms. Black’s findings are comforting, interesting and challenging all at once.  You can read her full summary here, but for quick reference I include the key points on the use of narrative in organisations below:

• Storytelling is widely perceived as a competency that has value for both individuals and organisations
• Executive leaders and trainers use stories more frequently than consultants, managers and employees
• Stories are more frequently told in formal work contexts than in team meetings or casual work interactions
• Stories are frequently used to transfer knowledge and reinforce organisational culture

I find this comforting because the belief in the power of story appears to be more widely shared than I might have otherwise expected.  (While there may have been some self-selection bias within the survey respondents, the range of industries and roles represented is encouraging.)

The results are made even more interesting by the many personal observations that survey respondents shared, lending depth, colour and variation to the results.

What I find challenging is that although the value of storytelling is widely perceived, the practice of it appears less so.  Why is it that executive leaders and trainers deploy it more often than consultants, managers or other employees?  Why does it not happen more frequently in team meetings, or even casual business interactions?  A few respondents described informal storytelling as a natural response to workplace stress or frustration, but some noted that this was not always positive for the organisation.

Photo source: Kwintessential

The survey respondents acknowledge the power of storytelling as a mechanism for transferring knowledge, reinforcing organisational culture or motivating employees.  Could it not be even more effective if used as frequently at the ‘front line’ as it is in more formal settings, and at more senior levels?  If so, what is holding it back?

A couple of respondents mentioned the need for better training or awareness on the effective use of storytelling at the operational and middle management level.  There may be many other reasons for which stories aren’t used more widely, but addressing the training / awareness gap sounds like a good start.

Sonoma City Hall

A few years ago my husband and I did a dream road trip – driving a Mustang convertible along the Californian coast, from Big Sur all the way up to Bandon Dunes, Oregon.  That part of the world is beautiful and we saw many gorgeous places along the way, but one that really stands out for me is the Sonoma Valley.  It’s a good bit quieter and smaller in scale than the neighbouring Napa Valley, but has all the charm and quality for which the latter is famous.

I particularly loved that every Tuesday from early spring to late fall, the local community gets together for an evening event in the square that feels like a combination of farmers’ market, family bbq, street party and music festival.  We felt very welcome there, even as outsiders, and very lucky to see this kind of relaxed community spirit in action.

While in Sonoma, I decided to take in a Bikram yoga class at a local studio.  The studio owner, Nada Rothbart, also led the class that day, and we chatted a bit about her background, her family and her passion for yoga.  She struck me as an engaging, energetic and loving person.

Nada Rothbart, Bikram Yoga Sonoma

Having filled in a consent form to be able to take the class, I ended up on a mailing list, and occasionally receive emails from Nada herself.  (In fact, since I have taken the same type of class in a number of different cities, I receive yoga studio emails from all kinds of places.)

These ones are different.  They are not just about seasonal offers or special events, and not just about the studio or about the yoga.  Nada’s emails are personal:  perhaps a tribute to an inspiring student, a mention of an article she found particularly interesting, or even her favourite recipe for chilled summer soup.

The last couple have been even more personal and memorable, although sadly for terrible reasons:  one of Nada’s instructors, Ruth Riffe, also a close personal friend, recently passed away.  The first email was mostly to let the community of students know what had happened, to express grief and sadness at the loss, and to acknowledge gratitude for having been able to know and work with that instructor in the first place.

It was the second email, which I received this week, that really got me thinking.  In it, Nada shared a beautiful story that Ruth had told her shortly before she died.  Its message was one we hear over and over – about the importance of living in the moment and expressing love for our loved ones every day – but given the particularly sad circumstances, it was very emotive and moving, and particularly compelling.  This story has stayed with me for days, even though I only met Nada once and never had the chance to meet Ruth.

A couple of things occurred to me that might apply more generally to organisations:

1. The difference a personal voice makes to an organisationally-driven communication.  The Sonoma studio really stands out for me, because I associate it with an individual whose personality and world have been shared with me to some degree.  It seems like a powerful way to help an organisation cut through noise and stand out among competitors.  Of course, some people would balk at the idea of sharing anything personal with a work-related community; however there may be others who could just as easily represent their organisation, and who would love to share their experiences and perspectives.
2. The opportunity a simple story can offer.  This story gave Nada the opportunity to express her continuing grief; to share something beautiful from and about the person she has lost; and to turn it into a broader message we can all relate to.  It also reinforces her identity and the position of her studio in the minds of her recipients, in a very positive way.  (I sincerely doubt this last point was even a consideration in the case of these particular emails, but I do think the impact is still there.)

I can’t help but think personal stories definitely have a place in business communications.

The Life of Pi / photo courtesy of PR

The movie beautifully illustrates the power of storytelling as a form of expression.  It is a compelling story and wonderfully told, so that I was both utterly gripped with anticipation all the way through, and hypnotised by Pi’s gentle and expressive way of narrating it.

But the movie goes a step further.  By employing the ‘story within a story’ format, it lets us observe the impact of Pi’s story on his listeners, while also feeling the impact on ourselves.  This parallel is important, as a challenge is posed by the listener that is as relevant to us as it is to him – quite simply, can a story help us believe in God?  Not something your average, modern-day secularist usually contemplates, and without that very obvious parallel, the opportunity to internalise it could easily be missed.

But it’s not just about storytelling.  The movie also illustrates the power of stories themselves, and more specifically, how much we are shaped by the stories we choose to tell, and choose to believe.

*** SPOILER ALERT ***

DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE OR READ THE BOOK!

Click to another post, close this window and switch to something completely different, or – better still – go read or watch The Life of Pi!

The Life of Pi / photo courtesy of PR

FOR THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY READ THE BOOK OR SEEN THE MOVIE:

We come to realise that the beautiful, imaginative, life-affirming story of Pi’s struggles to survive at sea in the company of a deadly carnivore are unbelievable.  An alternate version of what happened seems to originate almost as an afterthought – something Pi has to make up to satisfy the Japanese investigators at his Mexican hospital bed.  However this alternative story is not only more believable; it is told in such a convincing way that we are left in little doubt as to what actually transpired in the early aftermath of the ship’s demise.

This sets us up for what I think is the most amazing effect of both the novel and the film adaptation:  our own internal enlightenment, as we realise what must have happened, and why Pi comes to tell two very different versions of the truth.  Here is where The Life of Pi becomes even more beautiful and amazing:  it suggests what the human mind, body, spirit and imagination are all capable of in the name of both physical and spiritual survival.

As for whether a story can help us believe in God (however we might choose to define such a belief)?  I can not think of a more elegant way of answering such a question:  as a matter of which story we prefer.  The listener does not choose to deny the bare ‘facts’ of Pi’s ordeal, but he appreciates the beauty and inspiration of the alternative story.

I have written elsewhere about the importance of framing in determining the emotions we attach to particular events, relationships or personal qualities.  Isn’t this really a more powerful and beautiful expression of a similar concept?

I haven’t gotten very far in that line of thought, but meanwhile I experienced something that blew me away by putting me and hundreds of others into the role of Hero in a very recognisable story:  The Shawshank Redemption.

We had bought tickets to London’s Secret Cinema, an immersive theatre company that takes watching movies to the next level.  We had been to see one of their previous iterations, The Battle of Algiers, for which they had transformed the Old Vic tunnels near Waterloo station into 1950s Algiers and peopled it with street vendors, gendarmes, independence activists, suspects undergoing ‘interrogation’ – you name it.  Having been instructed to turn up in 1950s European garb, we enjoyed an evening of wandering and people-watching, punctuated by nibbles and drinks from the Milk Bar, before seeing the film – the overall effect was fantastic.

Trying to look serious, as befits a court date

This did not prepare us at all for last month’s experience.  We were given identities in advance (I was a 27-year-old male journalist from California), and instructed to dress in a dark suit, with long underwear underneath.  We turned up at Bethnal Green library for a court date.  I assumed we would be jurors in some kind of courtroom drama, but in fact we were all made to appear before a aggressive and foul-mouthed ‘judge’ and found guilty of various offences, with no sign anywhere of the fast-talking ‘lawyer’ who had been offering us words of encouragement beforehand: “You’ve got nothing to worry about!  You’re innocent, right?  You can count on me – I’ll get you off!”  (In case you were wondering, I got 6 years for armed robbery.)

We were then marched through the library to a back entrance and made to queue outside under the careful watch of a number of policemen, none the least bit friendly.  We were chain-marched a block or so to an amazing relic:  a 1940s bus with blacked-out windows that looked like something straight off a movie set.  On the bus, a policemen kindly shared his Top 5 tips for life on ‘the inside’:  obey the guards, don’t carry any contraband, work for extra benefits, stay out of the infirmary, and keep your ear to the ground.

After a few minutes of driving we arrived at another venue, much more cold and imposing than Bethnal Green Library.  We were marched in to a big gymnasium, told to strip off all but our long underwear, put on the prison suit we’d been given, and put all of our belongings (clothes, handbags and any other ‘contraband’) into canvas sacks, the numbers on which matched the prisoner ID numbers on our jackets.  Those were handed in for safekeeping for the evening.

Photo courtesy of craftivist collective

Now, I was uneasy enough already.  I knew it was theatre, I knew my stuff would be safe, but it was all still rather disconcerting.  It was perhaps made more so by the fact that I had assumed the long underwear instruction related to the weather or to ambient temperature, so I had worn my warmest wool tights. Tights!  Try explaining that to a hardened, verbally abusive prison guard…

Photo courtesy of craftivist collective

So we spent the next couple of hours as prisoners:  making candles or greeting cards to earn ‘points’; reading or writing letters (and collecting beer) in the library; eating very basic cafeteria food; wondering what had happened to the beaten and bloodied ‘prisoner’ being brought down from the infirmary; and generally trying to avoid getting into trouble.

By the time we were marched back into the gymnasium to watch the movie, we were already a bit sick of jail and well on the road to rehabilitation.

I must have seen The Shawshank Redemption half a dozen times, but this was by far the most emotional.  Secret Cinema gave me that inkling of what it might be like to be so marginalised, so disrespected by society, and so eager for a taste of freedom once again.

It was an amazing experience of being made, if only for an evening, a Hero in one of our all-time favourite stories.  I can’t wait to see what they come up with next!

Our fabulously engaging workshop leader, Sarah Bennetto, had us focused enough on the task at hand to be able to ignore the cold.  It was a Sunday afternoon Storytelling Workshop, put on at the Leicester Square Theatre by The Spontaneity Shop, and we were all discovering and practising the Art of the Story.

What struck me the most about the afternoon were two things:  first, the diversity of people who were interested in exploring the use of story in their professional lives, as opposed to seeing it as a leisure-time creative pursuit; and second, the idea that we really are ALL natural storytellers, and that even only mildly interesting events in our daily lives can serve as perfectly adequate raw material for the most gripping stories.

Why?  Because what makes a story great is not necessarily the awesomeness or unusualness of the facts, but the emotion and descriptive detail that go into the telling.

One of our exercises was to take turns telling the story of going into a cafe and buying a cup of coffee – each time, with feeling, and with a different feeling each time.  It was amazing to see how this one simple, mundane, forgettable event could be completely imbued with love, grief, anger, fear or excitement, depending on how it was described.

Over the course of the afternoon, we each took one simple anecdote from our own lives – no fiction required – and worked it up into a reasonably well-told story.  We thought about:

• Purpose:  why are we telling this story? what is the point or the moral we want people to take away?

• Starting point:  this was not always the chronological beginning of a sequence of events, but sometimes a more dramatic scene partway through that served as a good ‘hook’ for the audience to get their full attention

• Descriptive detail:  how could we make our listener see/hear/smell what we were seeing, hearing and smelling at the time, and feel what we felt?  How could we put them into the story, and into our shoes?

• Story editing:  what details were essential to the story, and what we could afford to leave out?  This tended to change dramatically from the first telling of each story to the last, as people thought more and more about the real purpose and message of the story.

This last point really made me think.  Many of the anecdotes we tend to hear (and tell) are selected to make the teller look good.  It reminds me a little of those Facebook friends we all have and love, whose posts are mostly about showing how wonderful and desirable they are, or what fabulous lives they lead.  But these stories are perhaps less interesting than the ones that show some kind of learning, or change of heart, or evolution of the human condition.  THIS is the kind of thing we yearn for – the stories that help us see the meaning in the human condition.

A great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, without a doubt.  Meanwhile, I can’t think of a better example with which to finish than ‘Brother’, a beautiful 140-word story by Amy Pearl on Cowbird, which is rapidly becoming one of my favourite daily email sources:

Brother, by Amy Pearl

Talk about a simple story made beautiful.  It made me send waves of love in the direction of my siblings.

This dramatic increase in quality time with my online world is all a bit ironic, because mobile phones actually annoy me quite a bit.  It comes down to four basic situations, listed below from mildest to most aggravating:

#1.  Seeing people with their nose buried in a phone, rather than participating fully in whatever they happen to be doing, such as having lunch, walking in the park with a friend, or visiting a museum.  This is more sad than annoying.  Every once in a while I see a story or an email about someone who has worked out the 10 (or 5, or 50) secrets to living a happy and fulfilled life.  Being able to live in the present is always on that list, in some form or another.  To my mind, ‘the present’ is not just about living in the moment – ‘now’ as distinct from the past and the future.  There is also a physical / geographical component to presence, and if you are mentally somewhere else in cyberspace, you are not present.

There is also a social element to this.  Two recent studies at the University of Essex showed that even the mere presence of a mobile phone can reduce people’s ability to connect or empathise with strangers.   What do we miss as a result of this, and what must it mean for our interactions with non-strangers?

#2.  Seeing people with their nose buried in a phone rather than watching where they are going.  First, it just looks moronic (actually, this applies to #1 as well).  Watch Amy Cuddy’s TED-style talk on power poses and ask yourself if there is anything powerful about hunching over a 4-inch screen.  Second, it is a bit anti-social.  London is a busy city and we often have to step aside to avoid colliding with someone.  If both of us are present and aware, then we enjoy a polite, non-verbal exchange of necessary signals (‘are you moving? shall I move? thank you! sorry! etc. etc.).  However if one of us has a nose buried in a phone, this exchange doesn’t happen; we either avoid a collision more narrowly, or one person feels forced to move aside, as if for a robot.  It is a very small matter, but I suspect that all these little nicks we take out of our humanity add up.

#3.  Listening unavoidably to half of someone’s often loud, often inane conversation, for example in a shop, on the bus, at the gym, or in a restaurant.  It sets my teeth on edge.  I felt quite alone and curmudgeonly on this particular matter until a couple of years ago, when I stumbled across* a story about a Cornell University research paper which explained a bit of the science behind my aggravation.  Basically, overhearing half a conversation forces your brain to work harder to try to fill in the gaps, which is cognitively stressful.  That’s on top of the very mild but very common emotional stress caused by being forced to listen in the first place.  Again, this all adds up.  (*By ‘stumbled across’, I mean I found it after having Googled ‘why cell phones are so annoying’.  I found LOTS of hits on that search.)

#4.  Being with someone and playing second fiddle to their phone.  It’s not even really playing second fiddle – it’s more like standing outside the auditorium in the cold, waiting for the concert to end.  There is nothing new about this, and I have learned not to take it too personally when I am ‘put on hold’ while someone attends to a text, email or phone call in my presence.  But the camel’s back gave out a couple of weeks ago, and my lovely other half bore the brunt of it.  It was our anniversary, a Monday night, and we had just come back from out of town.  We were in a taxi heading home – it was going to take about 45 minutes – and he innocently thought he might catch up on a few emails.  Instead he got a Miss Manners lecture on how important it is to consider the person you are with, and politely ask permission first.  Of course I would have told him to go ahead, but that would have made me complicit in the annoying behaviour, so he’d be off the hook.  As it turns out, Debrett’s is completely with me on this one… see their guide to mobile phone etiquette here.

Mobiles are a well-entrenched fact of life; I’d hate to be without mine, and there is no avoiding them.  That said, I am committed to being much more considerate in how I use mine in the presence of others.  Meanwhile I hope the psychologists and sociologists continue to investigate their potential downsides, and we all become a little more mindful of how and when we use them.