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Danny Brown

Danny Brown

podcaster - author - creator

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Can You Tell Your Story Without Using Words?

A little while back, I took my daughter Salem to the local library, where we played games, made little toys, and read books together.

My wife was at an event all weekend with her publisher company, and my son was playing at the weekly sports curriculum at our local community centre.

Given my daughter loves her books at home, the library was an obvious choice for us to hang out while Ewan did his sports thing (the fact it’s in the same community centre didn’t hurt).

As we were browsing through the books in the children’s section, we came across a shelf marked “Wordless books”. On it were several books where, as the shelf sign suggests, pictures replace words to tell the story.

Salem chose The Boy and the Airplane, by Mark Pett, and we sat down on one of the little sofas and began to read. Or view. I’m not sure what the right term for the activity of going through a wordlesss book would be.

And it was magical.

A Picture Paints a Thousand Words, And More

Before picking up the book, I’d heard of Mark and his reputation as a writer and illustrator. As an introduction to him and his work, The Boy and the Airplane had me wanting more.

As Salem and I turned each page, the story of a young boy’s attempts to retrieve his stranded toy airplane from the roof of a house held the two of us enthralled.

Boy and the airplane
The Boy and the Airplane – Copyright Mark Pett 2013.

Even though Salem was only three at the time, and wasn’t quite at the stage where she can read for herself, the book’s beautiful illustrations made sure she understood what was happening.

When she saw the images above, she looked to me and said, “He’s happy.”

When the boy’s plane landed on the roof in the image below, her demeanour changed and she said, “Oh no, boy sad.”

Boy and the airplane on the roof
The Boy and the Airplane – Copyright Mark Pett 2013

As we made our way through the book, and the various things the boy tries to get his airplane back, we shared little looks and words with each other, and what the boy was going to do next.

When the boy finally resolved his problem (and I won’t spoil it for you – seriously, get out and buy the book, even if you don’t have young kids!), Salem looked at me and said, “Aww, that was a good story, daddy.”

And it was. And it showed how a simple book, with hand-drawn pictures, could tell a story many other books would need several thousand words to do.

How Does Your Story Get Told?

One of the things we’re constantly being told online is that we need to “tell our story” to connect with those we want to connect with – blog readers, business customers, potential employees, etc.

And it’s true – after all, if we don’t connect with the person or business that’s looking to attract and retain our attention over the countless other options?out there, why should we bother?

As a tool to help foster these connections, storytelling is a great tactic to have in our arsenal. Of course, it can be easier said than done.

My friend Mark Evans, one of Canada’s leading tech and startup advisers, has a new book out, Storytelling for Startups, that looks at this in more depth. In it he shares examples of how storytelling can work for pretty much any brand.

Gini Dietrich believes this too, and often shares examples of how storytelling has helped shape a brand’s voice and direction.

So, it’s clear – storytelling can play an important role in any goal we may have when it comes to growth.

The question is, of course, how does your story get told? Is it through words? Pictures? Videos? Testimonials? Employee advocacy?

There are many ways for a story to be told, but only one way for a story to be heard – and that’s through the eyes and ears of your audience as the path to capturing their hearts.

Much like Mark Pett’s wordless book, get that part right and you’ve almost won the battle before it’s even begun.

Conversations of Distraction

Listening

As part of my daily routine traveling to work, I take the subway.

As I sit in my little part of the train, I can?t help but overhear the conversations around me. Dialogues, actually ? the majority aren?t very conversational.

[Read more…] about Conversations of Distraction

Excuses and Explanations

Excuses are what you offer when you do wrong but don?t really care.

Excuses are the shoulders of the junior on your team.

Excuses are the lame attempts to cover your tracks.

Excuses are the charlatan?s way to pull the wool over our faces.

[Read more…] about Excuses and Explanations

Perhaps Tomorrow

Homeward bound, to the clackety???clack of the track.?Strangers all around, though not by sight. Tired eyes, looking for the landmarks that signal home.

The windows beckon, offering stolen glances of a landscape we knew much better in the light of half a day ago.

Muted notes from bands we?ll never know, headphones offering solace from the silence that engulfs.

Stolen glances. Untold stories. Lives crisscrossing, yet not.

The city lights near. The shuffled gait begins. Together we move, but as individuals.

Disembark and depart. The white lined boxes empty one by one, until as barren as the opportunity to connect.

Home. Sanctuary. Familiarity. Warmth.

At least for some.

Perhaps tomorrow we?ll learn another?s life. Perhaps tomorrow we?ll offer up a smile. Perhaps tomorrow we?ll unburden the burdened.

Tomorrow?s another day, after all. No need to change today what can wait until tomorrow.

It?s not like tomorrow will never come, after all.

Yes, perhaps tomorrow.

One Way Conversations While Sitting on Park Benches

Memories

When I had just turned 30, I lived and worked for a while in a place called Thurso, at the top of the Scottish mainland.

It’s primarily a fishing town (or, at least, it used to be) and, as such, has some wonderful parks and coastal areas lined with walkways and benches.

One of these areas lies on the road out of Thurso to Scrabster, which is a small harbour town that helps connect that part of the world to the North Sea and all the trade that comes from it.

Every weekend, I’d jump on my bike and cycle over to The Ferry Inn in Scrabster, as they have some of the best steak and seafood you’ll get anywhere.

On my return, I’d always stop at a little bench just off the main road, and look out to the sea and the islands of Orkney, Hoy and beyond.

For about six weeks or so, without fail, there’d be an elderly gent there, perhaps about late 70’s or early 80’s, staring out to sea.

I’d sit beside him, and attempt to strike up a conversation, but I never got anything but perhaps a nod or a grunt to whatever I was talking about.

It didn’t matter if it was the beautiful views, the weather, the local elections, the dwindling workforce as they moved south of Inverness, etc. – it was always the same result.

Until one day near the end of the summer.

The Timing of the Moment

It’s not that I thought the old man was ignorant. Nor did I consider that my conversation topics were so enthralling that of course they deserved a response.

Hell, I was just happy to sit and enjoy these moments with another living soul, who clearly enjoyed the surroundings as much as I did.

But one day, I stopped mid-sentence and turned to face my silent compadre.

“You know,” I started, “if you keep this up, I’m going to have to report you to the police for anti-social behaviour.”

The old man looked at me, and the first crack of a smile appeared on his lips. Then he was laughing out loud, and tears formed in his eyes as the laughter continued.

His laughter was contagious, and soon both of us were laughing like maniacs without a care in the world.

[clickToTweet tweet=”If you think someone isn’t listening to you, just wait until you’re both laughing like maniacs!” quote=”If you think someone isn’t listening to you, just wait until you’re both laughing like maniacs!”]

When the laughter subsided, he looked at me, still with laughter’s twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, Christ,” he said, “you have no idea how funny that actually is, given I’m co-chair of the Noise Abatement Society here! You’d be complaining about me to me!”

This started us laughing again, and we parted ways that day a little wiser, and a lot happier.

The next week, the old man wasn’t there. Nor the week after. It turns out he died of a heart attack at home a few days after that first and last time we finally spoke.

The following week, I took my hip flask with me, and raised a toast to my silent-but-for-one-day companion, and wished him well.

We Are Always Connecting

A couple?years later, I was in charge of a call centre team in England for one of the bigger telecom companies.

As part of the role, I was to train advisors on best practices for interacting with customers, especially if they were irate at the service (which they often were).

During one of these training sessions, one of my new starts asked why we even needed this part of the training, given that irate customers would just be shouting and not actually listening to anything we said.

For the first time in two years, it made me think of the old man on the bench, and the one-way conversations we enjoyed until that one moment of connection.

I recounted that story to the new start and his soon-to-be colleagues. And I paired it with this little bit of advice.

We may think no-one is listening to us, but they’re always listening. Always. We just don’t know they are. So what we say will always have an impact – make sure we say something they can relate to.

Like the old man on the bench, and my belief that everything I was saying was falling on deaf ears.

It’s not that he wasn’t listening; it’s just that he chose how to respond.

The fact he did respond – even with just a nod of the head or a grunt of the throat – meant I was getting through.

That led to the magical moment we shared just before his passing.

It?s something we can all do.

Just because it might look like no-one is listening doesn?t actually mean they?re not.

Sometimes it’s the one-way conversations that are the most enlightening of all – enjoy them.

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