What makes a story a story? Dictionary definitions may call it a narrative, a tale, a report, an account, and that would seem to cover it. But hold on. When we think of a story, true or imagined, we do not consider someone sitting in front of us reciting a series of events like a robot: "This happened, then this happened, and then this happened." Hardly anybody ever narrates the events in their lives without some good reason for it.

We believe all stories are told to make a point. Most human stories follow the pattern of describing a desire, taking us through the action that desire led us to perform, and what realization came about as a result of our experiencing the events of our actions in relationship to our original desire. By point of view, we primarily are addressing this issue of defining the specific realization you, as an author, are trying to communicate within your story. Because every part of the story can service this point, it becomes imperative to define this goal in order to direct the editing process.

We need to look no further than proverbs to illustrate what we mean by a point of view. "A stitch in time saves nine." "A penny wise and a pound foolish." These are the points of stories, what somebody realized is the actual result, versus the desired effect, of a planned action. We may have forgotten the stories, but we remember the point. In novels or theater, another way of expressing the point of the story is the central premise. For example, in King Lear, the point or central premise is "blind trust leads to destruction." In Macbeth, it is "unbridled greed leads to destruction." Every part of the dramatic action can be boiled down to serving these points of view, and our connection with the story often succeeds or fails in how we understand the central premise as the operating context for the story’s action. In well-crafted stories, the point may be a little less apparent than the moral of a fairy tale, and it might require some thought, but if the story touched you, chances are you can define some central points or the transformative realizations the author intended.

In 1994, we assisted on a project called The Answer, created by the husband-and-wife team of Rob Decker and Suzanne Serpas. They were both psychologists with an interest in the potential of autobiography as a therapeutic tool. They came to us with a large box of stock commercial images and an ambitious concept to provide a metaphoric look at the importance of a humanist perspective on the world, a kind of commercial for their brand of psychotherapy. We felt that they had defined their subject so broadly that they would not be able to complete the project over the weekend. We also felt that their personal connection to the point of the story was lost. We suggested they narrow the subject and asked if they had an example of the kind of realization they wanted their audience to experience. Rob subsequently offered the story that became the script of the final piece. They simply juxtaposed Rob reciting the story with the standard family images and home video and voilà: a powerful little tale about their realization about how we define our essential human values from an early age.

In thinking about the point of a story, we should also be considering the reason for the story. Why this story, now, for this group of people? Defining these issues inevitably helps to define which of the many proverbial summations we might take from a given story.

Here is a typical give-and-take situation on defining the purpose of a story:

I want to summarize a recent conference I attended abroad as an interesting story. My initial approach is to show some material from the conference, talk about the highlights, and how it failed or succeeded at meeting or exceeding my expectations. I run this past my boss, who reminds me that the presentation is for a specific group in the company working on issues that were only addressed in a single workshop. A general summary is too broad. So I adjust my story again, describing the give and take between participants and a balance of positive and negative insights about the subject being addressed in the context of the larger conference. But my boss suggests that the purpose of the presentation is not dry analysis, but inspiration, so could the positive, or particularly inspiring, insights be highlighted from the session? So I adjust the story and remove the critical or negative feedback. Finally my boss says, "Well, that is kind of boring and dry, can’t we spice it up?" I scratch my head. "Spice it up," I think. "Heck, it just wasn’t that spicy. But, hmm, that gives me an idea."

I remember, during the informal sightseeing part of the trip, hearing someone talk about the maritime history of the city and its involvement in the spice trade. A critical innovation in the design of the merchant ships led to their capturing a large part of the spice trade and turned the city into a thriving metropolis. I think, "What if?" and go back to work.

The final piece is about innovation: mixing sightseeing scenes, a few old historical photos, and images of people attending the conference into a story about this maritime innovation and a script that extends a few nautical metaphors to set up the sound bites of the conference highlights.

 

The point of this story may be that it is best to please your boss, but you can see also how a specific definition of the project’s intended uses drives your definition of the central premise, which then prescribes all of the editing decisions.

We believe all stories are personal. Even our rather straightforward corporate report carries with it the indelible stamp of the author. For most storytellers, couching the story in the first-person point of view, either throughout the story or as a frame around the story, is an invitation to hearing the story in a more personal context. This tends to increase our attention as we look for insights about you as a storyteller. That is, "This is my version of events and my realizations, and I am self-aware about how my own prejudices, expertise, and frames of reference affect the ‘truth’ about the story." We are becoming increasingly sophisticated at discerning the authenticity of information. In general, we prefer the frank admission of responsibility that the first-person voice provides to the authoritative, seemingly neutral, but nevertheless obscure stance of the third-person voice.