TaleCatcher - Tracy Kenny's blog

Relationship of your own

A certain snobbery exists in business. Probably more than one, actually, but for now I'm talking about the number of people who are put off by the word 'story' and are wary of the whole concept. I have been very lucky that there are a fair few advocates in the company now, and the 'thing' itself, rather than the word we're using, is spreading.

Personal reflections: great. Most everybody's got time for those.

Allegories: I can usually fit a few of those in.

Urban myths, gossip, and compay folklore: People are usually up for those as well.

But where there still seems to be a limitation is around children's books. And I can see why, so I never take them in and try to do a sort of grown-up story time on cushions sitting in a circle. That's just not what it's about.

But same as looking at an extreme example where a population is crystal clear on its values (Greenpeace, the WI, the BNP, the Amish) can give us really good insight into the usually wooly topic of values, brand, and behaviour, the simplicity in a really good children's book can shed a lot of light on human relationships of all kinds.

My current favourite book is called 'This Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown.' Stick with me - give me 100 words. The young girl in the story has a well-loved and worn toy rabbit she calls Stanley. Emily's problem is that the amazing adventures she and Stanley have together (riding through the Sahara on their motorbikes, exploring the outermost regions of the milky way) keep being interrupted by the Silly Naughty Queen Gloriana the Third, who wants to steal her Bunnywunny.

It's a refrain throughout the book. In fact it's the whole point. Queen Gloriana has so much that she doesn't have a relationship with any of her toys, so she wants to steal one that is proven to be cuddly and fun. And she's already invented an intimate pet name for him. Over and over Emily Brown says 'This rabbit is not for sale. And his name is not Bunnywunny. It's Stanley.'

Don't we see this same story on Eastenders? I haven't watched it for years, but I can't imagine it's changed. A good-looking young man loves his family and spends time with them, has lots of adventures with them, is with them through the night, and then somebody else decides they want such a relationship and try to steal him.

And at work: Sometimes when people get too far removed from the activity on the ground, they realise they are missing something. They want to get connected again, and they try to breeze in and be friends straight away.

To which I have to challenge: Do you know their names? Do you intend to remember their names?

Emily Brown's advice to the silly naughty queen is to take her brand-new (horrible) golden teddy bear out of the royal toy cupboard, to take him everywhere with her, to sleep with him at night, and be sure to have lots of adventures, and 'then one day you will have a real toy of your own.'

Toy? For us grown-ups, let's read that as 'Relationship'.

With the exception of sleeping with them, her advice is sound for those who seek engagement. It's got to happen along the way. Take your colleagues out of the toy cupboard where you've been storing them up as something you might one day play with. Take them with you. And be sure to have lots of adventures.

Then you will have engagement of your own. It's got to happen along the way.

...versus making yourself right (for a job or otherwise)

On the other hand, it is hard work to get up and out and make something different.

I left work really happy yesterday. I'd bumped into someone whom I don't know very well. He works in another office, across the country. I've probably been in the same room with him less than half a dozen times over the last 18 months. Yesterday I didn't recognise him as the guy I'd first met. Like I said, I don't know him well enough to even call him friend, but from the start I was struck by a meekness, and a genuine curiosity, and a longing deep and true enough to do whatever it would take to grow. He always tells super stories, not because he is a talented storyteller, but because he is not stuck in others' expectations - he only has his own reflections to refer to, and he reflects deeply, to make sure they are right. Over time I've watched him get used to the idea that he has something to offer, and to rise to the opportunities, and give above and beyond the initial expectations. The genuine-ness remains, and he's got a promotion. The suit looked good on him. I hope the role feels good as well. I'm ever so pleased. 

Accepting a job

Years and years ago, when I was still spending pocket money and just being allowed to go to the mall by myself with friends, I bought a greetings card with this cartoon on it. At some point I made a photocopy, which I came across in a clear-out this morning.

 

At the time I just thought it was funny. It ain't that far off some people's truths though, is it? 

The sound of the traffic can be hypnotising, even if it's passing over top of you.

Statues

I've been quiet - on the blog, at home, in the office, but lots brewing in my head, simmering away, preparing to pour out when it's ready.

Today I started out particularly pensive, and a tiny bit less 'up' than usual.

Halfway through the morning I found in my notebook a sign Elena had made and put on our living room door. I've had it on my desk all day. It reminds me that it's all a choice.

Which I know of course. But it sometimes needs saying.

Today we are dancing.

But there was more wisdom in her sign. It recognised the harder times.

The song that we will be dancing too is called musicale bumps and statues.

OPEN!

It's true that bumps and statues aren't really songs for dancing. But there's another thing. She was trying to do a swimming dance to some music on the computer the other day, when the broadband connection was intermittent, and the song kept breaking up. Ray watched her freezing her dance every time the music stopped, and then starting again with the same energy. He said from his adult perspective, 'it's not working very well, is it?'

She said, 'It's okay, it makes it like a game of statues, like at a birthday party.'

What a great attitude.

Like the girl said, today we are dancing. Things might get in our way, and try to make us stop. The music will pick up again. It doesn't have to stop us enjoying the experience.

Know your enemies, and love them

Okay to start, I don't have any enemies. 

But let's think in story terms. At school, the thing that is out to get our hero was called the 'antagonist.' Whatever our hero wanted, this guy/force/instinct was going to try to stop him getting it.

Think about a tv detective programme. There's a serial killer on the loose. Even if the police don't know who it is, they get a sense of their character, based on the pattern of things they do. And they start to project more things about this villain, building a fuller picture, from the snippets of story they've got a handle on.

See when people have only got a little information, and even less understanding, they can lay blame and build a whole series of accusations into someone they see as an enemy, where they don't belong. I ran a focus group a few weeks back, in which a young lady was almost violent in her rage against a particularly senior leader in the company. She was banging her fist and everything: 'How DARE he talk to me about peace of mind, when he's cut my pension?!' she demanded to know.

A few minute later, she spoke with affection about some other equally fat cats.

I asked her what the difference was. She wasn't set up or framed or anything. In her own words: 'Oh I know them. I understand them. I know their stories.'

See she's got just enough information about this one guy, who's actually not all that bad, that she's blaming him for everything. We may as well accuse him of causing poverty and cancer and pollution while we're at it.

If she understood him just a little bit better, if she knew some of his stories, like what he did last weekend and why it's important to him, then she'd gain some perspective and insight into what he's actually responsible for, where his values lie, and why he makes the decisions he does.

In his brilliant book Story Robert McKee explains that in any film, you never completely hate the bad guy. There's always something there, just a little bit to like. And you know him just enough to understand him a little bit, to keep you going. Perfect contempt won't work. You need to understand him as a character, even if you choose to dislike him, to keep the story going.

So two things:

1 - Tell enough stories that people know you and what they're getting with you, so you're not some blank unknown quantity that they can shape their fears around

2 - And if you've got somebody that you genuinely think is Out To Get You, then twist it around. They're your baddie. Your story and your vision are strong enough that you've got your own personal antagonist. Get to know them, and appreciate them, and grow stronger from responding well and being true to your values and the challenges they present you. And get on with creating the happier ending, for both of you. Because your story is not in what happens, but in how you respond to it.

-Fin-

The way you make me feel

This is basic. Let's review it anyway.

In any communication we have the text and the subtext: the thing we say, and the thing we actually mean and are after. And every communication has an opportunity - indeed, responsibility - to design the emotional reponse in the reader.

It comes to mind because I got an email marked as coming from a completely unrecognisable name. It was actually from my old university, using the title of their new magazine in the 'from' field. I nearly marked it as spam. I'm not sure why I didn't. But I clicked, realised it was from them, and was annoyed. But I dropped them a note. 'Just an idea, you might get more people reading...' That sort of thing.

So what did I want? Why did I write? I was pretty ambivalent about the publication, but I thought I knew something that could help, and hey it only takes a minute to write an email.

So the reply I got said 'Thanks. And we'd already thought of that.'

Subtext, to me, as reader: 'Your idea isn't new you know.' (Or, more crass: 'No sh*t Sherlock, even us idiots have spotted that one.')  

So how else could they have responded, and changed my feelings, even turned me into a reader?

1) 'Thanks for the idea. You're right, that simple change make it a lot clearer.' (My emotional response: Awww, I'm glad they got some use out of it. Maybe next time I'll even read the mag.)

2) 'You know, we were thinking exactly the same thing. We're really glad to hear that it would work for our readers.' (My emotional response: Well at least they know, and actually we have a little secret user-testing relationship. Glad I could help.)

3)   'Gosh, sorry for the confusion. We were so excited about having this thing ready and we were so sure you'd love it, we just forgot we hadn't introduced it properly. We'll make sure we announce ourselves next time. But now you know, what did you think? We'd love to hear more from you!' (My emotional response: Well that's a bit OTT, but they can take the mickey out of themselves, and at least there's some character there. What's all this fuss about then, click click?)

The principle even explains my odd response that I was annoyed with the email in the first place - I have a relationship with them, however distant, and I expect them to respect it and go by their actual name. The way it was, my moment of 'recognition' gave a negative emotional response: Oh, it's you. Well why did you tell me you were somebody else, and get me all worried and wondering?

The writers of the initial email knew what they wanted their text to say. They never gave a thought to the subtext, to what they wanted the response to be. So I'll say it again. Communicating isn't messaging, it's designing responses.

Real detail makes meaning more real

A few months back during the last half-term I took Elena to Cromer. This was the day we visited the marvellous Norfolk Children's Book Centre which I blogged about.

I found some good examples of using story to make a point on the pier. Everybody knows that the lifeboats save lives. Everybody knows that they rely on our donations to keep going. It's a centuries-old tradition. We assume, that like the fish and the tide, that they will always be there. 

And that somebody else will keep it going. 

Can you see the grey waves and lines in the pavement leading up to the pier?

They have built the stories of when they have been there in a time of disaster right into the very floor of the pier where they launch, where so many of us go to walk out into the sea, and take them for granted.

Remember: story is where somebody does something, and it means something. The 'somebody' varies, the 'does something' can be real or implied, and the 'meaning' can be in them or in us. In this case, the lifeboats saved real lives on real dates, from real boats in trouble. We remember them, and the meaning, and our response to this story, is up to us. Will we really just walk on and all over their memory, and the contribution the volunteers make?

Together

I picked up in HBR's The Conversation blog a piece about Eric Whitacre's virtual choir. Whitacre is a conductor who recorded a video of himself conducting a piece of music, entirely in his own head, in complete silence. Then 185 singers from around the world responded to his virtual direction, recorded themselves singing their part, and he pieced it together into a choir. 

Now we've been enjoying watching the BBC Proms lately, but I must admit I enjoyed this more than a great deal of what I've seen on tv. Seeing each person sing their bit, with all the passion and emotion that comes from singing in the privacy of your own home, was deeply moving. But as they were wearing their own clothes, they hadn't been to the hairdressers, and they were in their own homes, you can see the beauty that a choir is: they are all different, yet their shared love of a single piece of musical mastery brings them together, and they create something new and wonderful. 

In the article Jeanne Meister and Karie Willyerd use it to explore how we can use remote technologies in a more human way.

I think there's another point, actually much simpler: we may be different, but a leader with a strong vision and compelling story, where we can clearly see the contribution we will make, can draw us together. We will believe in the cause, and give our time to it. And that because of our shared belief, even those who don't participate will know that these things that are important, and will be drawn to them, and moved by them. 

A few years ago at work we had the slogan 'Together We're Stronger.' There were posters up about it for years after we dropped it. We've now got a better poster-removal strategy, and the concept has been replaced by 'individual recognition.' Individual recognition rings true, but I think there's still a lot to be said for what we have in common, and the power that comes from sharing it.

Spaces

In a couple of weeks I'm going to meet my old pal Fiona for a coffee. It seems strange that we haven't worked together for such a long time, especially after we discovered that we were meant to - she was my boss in 2006, but we found in chatting that we had applied for jobs at an organisation in Norwich at the same time, four years before, in which she would have been my boss again - yet we were both offered jobs and both declined!

I often remember fondly a morning in which I was grumpily making up the beds, and wondering why I bothered, because it was the same old routine, and nothing ever happened that I wasn't broadly expecting. Same old meeting with Fiona and the others, same old windowless Sienna meeting room...

We never made it as far as the room. As a team we were pretty quick to spot when something was just plain ridiculous. It was a beautiful day, and we weren't going to spend it cooped up breathing re-circulated air. We did a quick count up of how many of us had cars, and we headed out to Fairhaven Water Gardens, a few miles out of Norwich. We had our meetings at picnic tables under the trees. We had discussion breaks along the streams and ponds, as we walked together (in high heels). We had a brainstorming session on a boat, thinking about how the waterfoul were like the answers to the problems we were addressing. We had our lunch in the cafe. And we probably achieved far more than we would have indoors.

Anyway the memory, and the relationships, and the experience were outcomes themselves. I think I'm the only one left in the company from that team. But I bet it's one of all our our favourite memories.

Now: where shall Fiona and I meet this time?

With the rising sun

Saturday morning, 5:50 am. Adele wakes the whole house. This is normal, but on a Saturday, I like to try to persuade her that she should sleep a bit longer. And it's overcast, so maybe she'll believe it's still night.

No chance. I end up leaving her with a stack of books in her bed, and instructions to be quiet, or lose a treat we'd promised for later in the day.

My head back on my pillow, I hear a noise. A BIG NOISE outside, one I've heard before. And the morning changes.

At the rugby club, there's a hot air balloon about to go up. I can hear the whoosh and stretch of the fabric, like blowing up a small balloon, but SOOOO much bigger. I tear out of bed, grab the girls, and stuff their bare feet into shoes. We'll run down the road in our pyjamas. What a thrill it would be to see it finish inflating, to be there and wave them off, and just be near the enormity and grace of it all.

Out the door in a minute, we are still too late. We stand in the cool quiet air and watch a red dome rise over the tree line, bigger than we can imagine, like a rising sun that floats away into those clouds I'd wanted to pretend were darkness. We all stand, quiet, hugging, and we are happy. A good start to the day.