The Magnificent Seven

A chapter from my upcoming book—The Story Story: A Voyage Through the Islands of Connection and Engagement for Writers, Speakers, Professionals, and Visionaries

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The Metaphor skated through a mangrove-bordered entrance into a harbour embraced by traditional white colonial buildings and coconut palms and watched over by a tall, red and white candy-striped lighthouse.

After dinner, the Happiness Congress convened in its traditional configuration—scattered about the deck with cushions and blankets. “Who’s got Man-O-War Cay stories?” asked Strider.

Doug looked at Vincent. “Go ahead; you tell it Vince.”

“We found the baseball field while we were walking across town to the beach. You weren’t kidding about the reef being in a rage. The exploding waves out there were spectacular. One of the locals told us about the Adirondack, a ship that wrecked out there in 1862. Apparently you can still see her canons and boilers down there. We started talking about how totally nucking futs you were, Strider, to row out there in those conditions, when some wacko came blasting across the scene—on a windsurfer! We watched him dancing and playing in the waves, having the time of his life. I mean—the guy obviously knew what he was doing, but….”

“So far, that’s an anecdote,” said Strider. “It’s a potent one, but in this story—our story—the one where I dupe a bunch of castaways who came to study happiness into studying stories instead—the one where you all become master storytellers—you have not yet achieved transformation.”

Vincent looked flummoxed. “I don’t know where to start. I just found it impressive that that guy was out there sailing…”

Strider interrupted. “I think you found it meaningful. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have remembered it or told us about it. Did everyone get a good look at the reef today? Can everyone picture the conditions this windsurfer was out facing today?”

The happiness delegates all nodded.

“Take a minute and let your imagination wander. Create a story. What’s the reason for him to be out there doing that?”

“But how are we supposed to know why he’s out there, Strider? We don’t know anything about him.”

“Ah, but we are not his biographers. We are simply observers of the universe. This guy inadvertently shot a flare over your mind’s horizon. Let something about this man windsurfing over a hazardous reef pique your curiosity. Whatever that triggers beneath the surface of your own psychic water is not required to dovetail with Mr. Windsurfer’s personal set of factoids. Don’t let the truth stand in the way of a good story.

Lenore put up a finger. “Is there any possibility he went out there and got in over his head—maybe he wasn’t expecting the conditions to be quite so hazardous—and then he managed to sail his way out of a bad situation?”

“No way,” said Doug. “You should have seen this guy blasting back and forth across the reef with waves exploding all around him. He was definitely out there on purpose.”

Audrey raised her wine glass. “Maybe he lost a loved one on that reef—and now, whenever the sea gods get angry, he goes out there to tease them—to challenge them?”

“That’s it,” encouraged Strider. “Find the stories.”

“I say he’s the world windsurfing champion,” offered Micky Tomm. “He’s won every contest and beaten every record. There’s nothing else left to win so he’s out there pushing his limits. He’s no longer content to win trophies; he needs to find ways to impress himself and keep the adrenaline flowing—even though he knows it will kill him one day.”

“A few days ago, he got really drunk,” said Kaitlin. “He bet $100,000 that he could windsurf up and down raging Man-O-War reef ten times without wrecking. If he loses, he’ll lose his house and his fortune; his family will have nowhere to live—and he’ll probably die. If he wins, he’ll find his confidence, make amends to his family, and never drink again. This is his day of reckoning.”

“Anyone else?” Strider looked around the circle.

“I think there was a hot girl on the beach who wouldn’t pay attention to him,” said Doug. “Some meathead was bragging about his car and asking her to keep count of how many pushups he could do in the sand. Mr. Windsurfer’s no bodybuilder, but he knows what he’s good at. Next thing you know, he’s rocketing through the coral heads and exploding waves out on the reef. Now all the ladies are cheering and paying zero attention to the hunky guy.”

“He’s got to be a motivational speaker,” said Walter. “The NSA holds a big convention every year. This is the National Speakers Association—the NSA that talks, not the NSA that listens. Some of the best speakers in the world attend, and so do a lot of up-and-coming newbies—which is all well and good. This convention is an absolute freak show. It’s full of brilliant and talented artists, scientists, thinkers, teachers, trainers, entrepreneurs, masters of inspirational hot air, narcissists, egomaniacs, and some of the most amazing and wonderful people you could ever meet. ‘Finding your story’ is a big theme within NSA, especially for new speakers who feel called to the platform but don’t necessarily have any idea what to speak about. You can have an absolutely outrageous story and then find the person you’re seated next to at dinner was born with no arms or legs, got burned in a fire, was wrongfully imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, went blind, and then climbed Mt. Everest naked with his upper lip. He’ll sell you his international bestselling book, too. Someone at NSA will have you beat by a mile. Like I said, it’s a freak show. I have a good friend in the speaking business who’s in a wheelchair because of a plane crash. The joke he hears over and over—and it’s told as friendly sarcasm; people are not being insensitive—is that he’s lucky to have had his story find him. Everyone else has to figure out their stories and speaking topics on their own.

“I think Mr. Windsurfer is out there on the reef trying to find his story. He’s been cleaning up the park and changing out the trash bags, but he wants to inspire people. If he survives his trip across the reef, he’ll have the requisite bragging rights to exchange stories with the rest of us wackos at the next NSA convention.”

“You know,” offered Vincent, “it could be that this guy is just a really good windsurfer who has been sailing these waters for years. Maybe what’s extraordinary to us is just old hat to him. I have a friend who runs marathons all the time. I can’t begin to imagine myself running 2.6 miles—never mind twenty-six, but that’s just what he does. He’ll pop off 15 miles as a typical workout and think nothing of it.

“I know that’s a boring story, but take Strider for instance. Everything he does is new to us—sailing, rowing, baking bread, navigating—and talking about all sorts of stuff that has no business floating around in the head of a guy who grew up in a small town in Oklahoma. We’re all on an epic, mind-blowing journey through a world that’s as common as air to him.”

Strider crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back against his sailbag seat. “I’m so proud of you all. You’re all telling stories. Let’s explore a few ways to think about them.

“Traditionally, it’s been taught that story plots all revolve around a conflict between an individual and one or more of seven forces: the individual themself, another individual, nature, the environment, technology, the supernatural, or a higher power.”

“There’s a lot of overlap there,” observed Kaitlin. “Why have a separate category for nature and the environment?”

Strider tossed his hat over the compass. “Some stories take place in cities or schools or other non-natural settings. Out here, there’s not much difference, but you could conceivably write a story about a confrontation that took place here in Hopetown. Your conflict might be with the townsfolk and not with the natural environment.”

“What about the supernatural versus a higher power. What’s the difference?”

Strider stroked his chin. “I think a ‘higher power’ is usually thought to be benevolent. If you write about witches or evil spirits, you’re closer to supernatural. Though … the supernatural isn’t necessarily evil. You might write about an earth spirit or an ocean goddess or a mermaid—and though that entity might be more powerful than you, it wouldn’t be a ‘higher power’ unless its role is to guide you or teach you or let you use some of its power so you can achieve transformation.”

Lenore extended a wine glass for refilling. “What were the conflicts on your list again?”

Strider counted them off on his fingers. “The individual, another individual, nature, technology, the supernatural. I left out ‘a higher power’ and ‘the environment,’ because I think ‘nature’ and ‘the supernatural’ have those covered for our story’s purposes.

“Let’s list the stories we have so we can see what the conflicts are:

“Lenore suggested he got stuck out there and had to make it home alive. I say that’s man versus nature.”

“Audrey said he lost a loved one on that reef, and now he goes out to challenge the sea gods.”

“That would be man against the supernatural,” suggested Doug.

“Or maybe it’s man against himself,” said Audrey. “He’s out there trying to deal with his own anger and grief.”

“I’ll do you one better,” said Strider. “What’s the difference? Most supernatural forces in a story are just personifications of some aspect of human consciousness.”

Audrey mulled that idea over for a minute and then nodded gently.

“Micky Tomm thinks Mr. Windsurfer is an adrenaline junky. He’s reached the top but still needs to climb.”

“Man against himself,” said Kaitlin.

“Kaitlin says Windsurfer dude’s drunken ways have caught up with him. He has one last chance at salvation.”

“It’s the new testament,” said Doug.

“So it’s man against himself,” said Walter.

“Or,” said Audrey, “it’s God’s law personified as the individual’s inner conflict—man against a higher power.”

“I guess we needed ‘higher power’ after all,” said Strider. “Good."

“Doug thinks Windsurfer dude wants to impress the ladies. What’s the conflict?”

Kaitlin jumped in. “This one is Mr. Windsurfer against another individual … though if you want to get psychological, you could say it’s man against nature. On a biological level, the women are attracted to a muscular man who can provide for them and their offspring. Windsurfer stud challenges the idea that brawn and braggadocio are ideal mate selection criteria.”

“That’s great,” agreed Audrey. “This is all pretty simple but not quite as cut and dry as I expected.”

“Walter, I love your story,” offered Strider. “I like it because it’s a story about someone trying to find their own story—and I like it because most people have no idea that professional speakers have a community and an annual convention. You made it funny and colorful. You made me want to check it out.”

Walter smiled. “It’s man versus himself, I suppose—in the story, I mean.”

“Or if the guy feels peer pressure to find his story,” asked Audrey, “could it be man versus the environment?”

Strider gave his guests a moment to test-fit that idea into their fast-expanding perspectives on stories.

“The right answer is the one that feels right to you,” he reminded them. “It’s not like scientists autopsied dead stories and created a taxonomy of seven precise story ‘blood types.’ All this stuff comes from people pondering the universe and trying to write an engaging story about how their own stories work. Linguists analyze stories and graph the frequency with which specific words appear. They produce graphs of ‘emotional arcs’ and other interesting tomfoolery. It’s a bit like trying to measure the interior volume of a football with a ruler, but you can’t fault anyone for using whatever tools feel comfortable in their hands to try to sneak a peek at the essential absurdities.”

“Where does my story fit in?” asked Vincent. “What if we’re making much ado about nothing? What if the people of Man-O-War go play on the reef every day? What if it’s our own perspective that’s limited?”

Strider exhaled deeply. “I think your story is the best of all, Vincent. You didn’t feel comfortable writing a story about Mr. Windsurfer’s conflicts so you wrote one about your own conflicts. Your story suggests that we can find extraordinary magic in ourselves if we stop thinking everything that impresses us is beyond our reach. Your story is a very upbeat take on ‘man versus himself.’”

“And that’s a powerful story theme,” added Kaitlin. “Harry Potter lives in a dingy room under the stairs at his abusive aunt and uncle’s house. The next thing he knows, he’s being whisked off to wizard school to study the magic arts. Readers ask themselves, ‘I wonder if I have any untapped magic potential?’ and the books sell by the millions.”

Walter raised his hand over his head. “I thought I was doing so well, but I’m back where I was before. I understand how to do this but I have no idea what to use it for. I’m not going to be teaching English any time soon.”

“Walter, as a speaker, if you understand your audience’s pain points, you understand their conflicts. These seven conflict categories we just discussed are universal themes. Use them to think about who and what your audience members are in conflict with. Tell stories that work with those conflicts. If you’re talking about teambuilding and conflict resolution, tell stories about an individual versus other individuals. If you’re talking about ethics, tell stories about man versus a higher power or the supernatural. If you want to motivate people, challenge them to think of extraordinary achievement as ordinary. If you want to teach them not to dump waste in the river, tell them a story about man versus the environment.”

“Okay, I get it,” said Walter, but how do I reconcile the seven types of conflict with the four elements of story?”

“First, you don’t have to reconcile anything. Study the story—or the listener—through the telescope and then through the microscope. Use either or both perspectives—or follow your gut if it says to use neither.”

“Okay, but…”

“Walter, when you’re hired to speak to an audience, how long do you talk for?”

“Usually about 45 minutes.”

“Why does a company put you on a plane, rent you a car, put you up in a nice hotel, and cut you a check for 45 minutes of talking? What do they expect you to accomplish in that short time that they can’t accomplish with all the talent and expertise they already have on board? I’d bet your hourly rate is often higher than the CEO’s”

“I think I get it,” said Walter. “I’m the fairy godmother. They don’t want a new planning process or a new technology initiative. They want someone to inspire them. They want fast transformation.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Strider raised his hands heavenward. If you understand what they really want to achieve, you understand the transformation—and that has to be meaningful. Beating last year’s numbers is important, but not meaningful. You have to be a good enough storyteller to figure out where the real story of human struggle is—how showing up for work on Monday morning and punching a clock can somehow connect people to the essential absurdities. That’s transformation. If you tell a story in a way that demonstrates your understanding of the real path from conflict to transformation—in a way that connects with the types of conflicts your listener is confronting—you’ll be trusted and listened to because you’ll be perceived as authentic. Show them how to navigate from conflict to transformation in 45 minutes, and you will have delivered powerful, undeniable, real-life magic that changes lives and fortunes.

“Kaitlin, summary time.”

Kaitlin stood up. “Strider, we’ve got eight different stories here about one anecdote. I’m going to keep this super simple. We didn’t talk about it much; we just did it—but we took that windsurfer anecdote and each of us used it as the basis of a story. That took a lot of pressure off of me as a writer. I don’t have to find fully formed stories in my surroundings and write them down; I just have to take whatever the universe gives me and create a story around it. Given what we talked about back in Green Turtle—that there’s no such thing as absolute truth—that we can’t see anything but a tiny fraction of what reality contains—everything is fiction anyway. If the purpose of a story is to connect a listener to its meaning, as long as that story isn’t expected to be a journalistic recounting of facts—which suggests it isn’t really a story, anyway—it makes no difference whether the narrative is true or not.

“Once we shared our stories, we got into conflicts. Story plots revolve around a conflict between a person and one or more of seven elements: the same person who faces the conflict, someone else, nature, the environment, technology, the supernatural, or a higher power. You gain insights into stories by examining the types of conflicts they present.

“When it comes to connection and engagement, use the seven conflict types to shape your story so it resonates with the conflicts you’re listener is confronting. Feel free to mix and match. Invent new kinds of conflicts or cross a few off the list as needed.”

As night fell, the light at the top of the Elbow Cay Lighthouse at the west side of Hopetown Harbour turned on and began to rotate slowly.