(Twelve Skills of the Storyteller, Part 3)

The prior three articles in this series described:
“Preface”: The dangers of focusing on storytelling skills;
Part 1: Imagination skills;
Part 2: Oral language skills.

In this article, let’s take up the skills of relating to your listeners.

Skill 6: Respond to Your Listeners

When you tell a story, you begin by imagining your story. Then you use oral language to stimulate your listeners to imagine the story in their own ways.

Your listeners, in turn, respond to you by constructing images in their own minds. But they also respond with oral language: facial expressions, posture, laughter, even how they breathe.

The communication streams in an endless feedback loop

Then you respond to their response. Each moment builds on the ones before.

For example, you might begin, “There was once a girl so small that she could have hidden in a pea pod.”

Perhaps your listeners lean forward. Some of them smile a bit.

Then you respond to their responses. You smile back. Or perhaps you repeat, “Yes, a pea pod.”

Now maybe some of your listeners laugh a little. Or more of them smile.

Buoyed by their positive responses, you continue in the ”groove” you have created together – which, in turn, weaves the spell even more tightly.

Adjusting As You Go

Of course, your listeners don’t always respond the way you want. In this case, you respond by adjusting your telling to produce a different response.

For example, if your group of 5-year-olds begins to snicker at the word “pea” (taking it for its homophone “pee”), you might say, “Yes, she could hide inside a green bean!” If they laugh at her tiny size (instead of at the saying of a forbidden word), then you’ve gotten the response you want – and you’ll likely replace “pea pod” with “green bean” for the rest of the story.

The Loop Called Rapport

The feedback loop of responding to each others’ responses builds a state of synchronization between you and your listeners.

When you respond to your listener's response to your response, you create synch, a sense of rapport

Have you ever seen the tandem storytelling duo Gerry Hart and Leanne Grace (“Hart and Grace”), of Pennsylvania? They tell stories as a team, and they tell well. But what distinguishes them most is the almost magical rapport they display with each other as they tell. Sitting down and facing forward, if one crosses her legs, the other does, too – uconsciously, at nearly the same instant. If one puts the palms of her hands on the sides of her chair seat, so does the other. They are always in synch, both mentally and physically.

In storytelling, as in other communication situations, when synch builds, the feeling of rapport builds, too. When you are in such a state of rapport with your listeners, your influence is magnified.

At this point, a nearly invisible raising of one corner of your mouth, for example, may create a ripple of laughter. But if you break the rapport, you lose the “multiplier” effect of synch, and will need to expend more energy again (perhaps you will need to speak louder or gesture more broadly for a moment) to have as much effect.

Intense rapport with an audience is a highly rewarding experience. It requires you to maintain a sometimes precarious balance between attention on your listeners and attention on your story. A moment of distraction (such as when someone new enters the room or when your mind wanders) can sometimes be enough to break the spell. Then you need to re-create it.

Learn to pay close, delighted attention to your listeners. Learn to respond, and to swim in the currents of the resulting endless feedback loop.

Skill 7: Feel Your Listeners

Some years ago, I asked several professional tellers how they experience their audiences during a successful performance. Some talked about responding to individuals: “Tell to one listener at a time,” one said. “If you can get one person on your side, the others will follow.” Many tellers, however, described a sense of the group as a whole.

One veteran teller said, “It’s as though the audience offers their energy to you so you can mold it for them. Their energy seems to meld together above their heads. My job is to give it a shape without trying to take it away from them.”

When Pam McGrath and I give workshops called “Dancing with the Audience,” we have each participant tell a story to the group while blindfolded. Afterwards, we ask what the teller noticed about the audience. Most tellers describe being more in touch with their listeners than usual. I believe that, denied the convenience of sight, the tellers turn to additional ways of sensing their listeners – ways that great tellers call into play at all times.

The Power and the Burden

When you connect deeply, with all your senses, to your listeners, you form a bond of trust with them. The audience gives you a gift of power over them.

The power is not yours to exploit, however. As soon as you use your power to aggrandize yourself or to manipulate, your listeners begin to withdraw their consent. In a way, you are like a coach driver: you are hired to direct the horses, but the horses don’t belong to you. If you mistreat them or drive recklessly, you lose your job.

Such power comes with responsibility, which can feel frightening as well as exhilarating – perhaps like taking the reins the first time you drive a coach-and-four.

Talking About the Ineffable

All this talk about connection with your audience is necessarily a bit indirect, because the bonding happens primarily at a subconscious level. Generally, connection is experienced consciously only after it is established; it is created through a myriad of adjustments, each too small and rapid to be noticed individually.

Describing a strongly connected storytelling event, we often use words that suggest being highly present in the moment, such as:

• immediacy
• vibrancy
• vividness.

More commonly, though, we turn to metaphorical language to describe the effects of connection with your audience. These effects are difficult to analyze but unmistakeable to experience. To describe these effects, we compare them to:

• physical force:

• powerful
• compelling
• captivating (which derives from “to make captive”)
• moving
• “She had her audience in the palm of her hand.”

• being engulfed or submerged:

• - absorbed
• - engrossed
• - immersed

• the effects of magic:

• conjure
• “The teller cast a spell…”
• enchanted
• spellbound

If you want any of these qualities in your telling, pay attention to how you respond to your listeners. That’s where the magic lies!

Contents

1) “STRENGTH VISION” FOR STORYTELLERS?

2) SAVE $500 ON MESSAGE TELLING COURSE

• Please read how Message Telling solves a problem in applied storytelling

1) “STRENGTH VISION” FOR STORYTELLERS?

Calling all storytellers: Put on your strength-vision goggles, please!

I was a sophomore in college, listening to the teacher speak about how poorly a student had done on an assignment.

Suddenly I thought, “I get it!”

I had already realized that the atmosphere at this school was very critical. It was both draining and isolating. But at that moment, I realized the implicit understanding of the teacher’s role, as practiced in that university:

The teacher’s job is to hold up a hoop for the students. If they succeed in jumping through it, then the teacher holds the hoop up higher. When each student has missed the hoop and fallen on the ground, then class is over for that day.

Giving challenges to students, of course, is useful and important. But in that school the challenges were more antagonistic than encouraging. And there was rarely a word of appreciation. We heard only what we had done wrong.

Meanwhile, in the Basement…

Elliott Coleman as I remember him (I wish you could see his caring, blue eyes)

Then one day I heard that there was a professor named Elliot Coleman who taught something called the Writing Seminars. In one windowless room in the basement, he practiced a different form of teaching.

The problem was that to enroll for his class I first had to show him my poems in person and be accepted. At this point, I wasn’t sure that I could bear to subject my personal poems to possible rejection.

I got up my nerve. I made an appointment. I handed him my poems – and to my amazement, he told me what he liked about them. I was speechless.

I joined the class. When I read aloud one of my poems, he would speak of it in a way that made me feel he was in touch with my innermost intention in writing the poem. Whenever he had a suggestion, therefore, I eagerly looked for a way to implement it.

One day I was lingering in the classroom after class, savoring the halo of encouragement. Two graduate students from the class remained in the room, too, talking intently to each other. Since I was an undergraduate, I was invisible. So I eavesdropped.

They were talking about a poem that one of them had written. Instead of speaking like Elliot Coleman, though, the other student was listing the poem’s deficiencies. After a time, the poem’s author seemed to be running out of defenses. He said desperately, “Well, Elliot Coleman likes this poem.”

The critical student arched for the kill: “But Elliot Coleman likes everything!”

At that moment I understood two things. I understood what the critic meant, of course: if you like everything, it’s the same as liking nothing.

But I also understood that liking everything indiscriminately was not what Elliot Coleman did. Neither did he pretend to like anything. I understood his great gift: to FIND WHAT THERE WAS TO LIKE in everything.

An Indispensable Ability for Storytellers

The ability to find the likable in a story, even when it is not obvious, allows you to grow the seed of a story into a seedling, and a seedling into a tree. It prevents you from throwing away stories and story ideas prematurely. It helps you focus on your strengths – which are the key to your success.

It also helps you help others. As a result, it helps your storytelling communities grow, becoming circles of artists who develop their unique strengths and support each other to do the same.

Two Ways to Develop…

How do you develop the skill of finding the strengths in a fledgling story – of finding what there is to like about it?

First, study the coaching of those who have this “x-ray vision,” who can see strengths even when they are partially concealed beneath layers of unsolved problems. Be coached by coaches with this ability. Watch others be coached, in person or via recordings.

Second, and even more importantly, practice viewing stories positively. At the very moment that you think to yourself, “Boy, this story has a terrible ending,” go on to ask, “And what about this story is strong, funny, clever, or beautiful? What artistic impulses are evident in this story?” Only when you have identified the story’s existing successes, are you capable of helping the story become even more successful.

This kind of “strength vision” can be cultivated, even in a society devoted to “hoop jumping.” If you learn it well, it will help your own storytelling, the storytelling of those around you, and eventually the growth of the storytelling movement.

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Or use the link on this page:

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The $500 discount is only valid if you request an application by April 5, 2011.

• Please read how Message Telling solves a problem in applied storytelling

Contents

1) BEWARE THE “STORYTELLING VOICE”!

2) FREE RECORDINGS: THE STORYTELLING COACH PODCAST

• listen down, download, or subscribe

1) BEWARE THE “STORYTELLING VOICE”!

Wherever I travel, I try to listen to local storytellers perform. I like to support them and hear what they’re up to.

Much of what I hear encourages me: honest communication, well shaped and well delivered.

But nearly everywhere I also hear something I have learned to dread. I call it the Storytelling Voice.

A Warning!

I have hesitated to write about Storytelling Voice. Rather, I prefer to call attention to the good and let the bad fade away.

But Storytelling Voice is insidious. Unless your attention is called to it, it’s difficult to realize that you have this destructive habit or learn how to free your telling from it.

A Performance Virus?

Some tellers tell conversationally. Some tell more theatrically. Others use a distinctly elevated tone, suggestive of myth or ritual.

But some use an artificial tone of voice, a voice that suggests “I am a storyteller! You can tell by how I sooooound!”

There is no way to convey the sound of this voice in print. Its many variations all have one trait in common: the voice differs from the teller’s conversational voice for reasons having nothing to do with communication or the peculiar qualities of the tale being told. Rather, the teller imitates what the teller has perceived as “the way storytellers sound.”

In short, the teller is imitating (usually unconsciously) a way of speaking that is unnatural and contrived. Doubtless, the teller has picked it up from other tellers and assumed that this way of talking is a sign of belonging in “the storytelling club.”

Said differently, the Storytelling Voice is a virus passed from one well-meaning teller to another.

Sad Symptoms

The Storytelling Voice is not usually a fatal disease, although it can sometimes weaken storytelling communities alarmingly.

You see, when tellers succeed in mastering this artificial voice, they have little incentive to try to convey the nuances of expression that their stories demand. They are less likely to discover their own, unique forms of vocal expression.

Further, an artificially theatrical tone of voice can serve as insulation against truly experiencing the emotions, attitudes, and intentions of the story’s characters.

As a result, tellers and communities infected with storytelling voice tend to skate on the emotional surface of their stories. Their performances tend to lack variety and depth.

Tragically, audiences who come to a performance dominated by Storytelling Voice either buy into the idea that storytelling should sound like stilted acting, or they leave in search of a more compelling artform.

Invisible Symptoms

These symptoms are usually invisible to the well-meaning storytellers. They are unaware that they are doing something artificial. In their minds, they are simply “telling a story.”

Since they are not conscious of the habitual vocal style they have adopted, they have no way to notice its effect on their listeners and their community. When listeners fail to return, for example, the tellers simply bemoan the small numbers of people who seem to like storytelling.

It’s true: if you accept these tellers’ unconscious “definition” of storytelling, few people off the street find it compelling.

What Kind of Disease?

Storytelling Voice is an example of what I call “misdirected effort.”

“Misdirected effort” is a category of obstacle to your storytelling progess. It consists of trying, usually unconsciously, to improve your storytelling by exerting effort that, unfortunately, makes your storytelling worse.

An unconscious attempt to “sound like a storyteller” limits your storytelling. But, since your effort is unconscious, it’s hard for you to stop trying to speak that way.

There is a Cure

It’s not easy for a coach to do, but it is possible to help tellers notice their unconscious, misdirected effort. The easiest approach is to find a way to help the teller to NOT apply the effort for a while. Then you can help the teller notice the difference between what just happened and what the teller usually does.

For example, while leading a coaching workshop once, I listened to a teller – let’s call her Edna – whose version of a folktale was dripping with Storytelling Voice. I asked her, “Would you like some appreciations?” When she accepted my offer, I told her some things I liked about the story, her adaptation of it, and her way of characterizing one of the characters.

Then I said, “Would you like a suggestion?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “Before the suggestion, just tell me what happens in the story, in your own words. Don’t tell it; just tell me what happens.”

Edna began summarizing her story. Within a minute, she had begun telling it – but in her ordinary tone of voice. I let her finish, then I asked the others for appreciations. They were unabashedly enthusiastic. One said, “That was magnificent! I imagined what you were saying so vividly!”

Edna said, “But I wasn’t really telling it.”

I said, “How did it feel to “not really tell it”?

She said, “It felt kind of funny.”

I said, “Tell me more about how it felt.”

Edna said, “Well, I was so busy thinking about what happened that I didn’t really try to tell the story.”

I said, “Did you feel that somewhere in your body?”

She said, “You know, it felt a little more relaxed, like I didn’t have to put the story across to you.”

I said, “I think I can see the difference in how you stood. When you were ‘trying to tell the story,’ you leaned forward more. Does that feel correct?”

Edna was quiet a moment while she experimented with her stance. “Yes,” she said. “When I was just telling you what happened I felt more relaxed, almost like I was just waiting for a bus.”

“I can see it in how you’re standing now. It looks very centered, relaxed yet powerful.”

Edna’s eyes sparkled. “I can feel that!”

I said, “Your job, then, is to stand ‘like you’re waiting for a bus’ when you tell. That stance is very inviting to us. You don’t have to push the power of the story forward. Instead, invite us into the story. Does that make sense?”

“I’ve got it,” said Edna. “I can do that.”

Replacing the Misdirected Effort

To help Edna stop using Storytelling Voice, I needed to take her through four steps. Each teller will need unique help, but these steps will apply to most:

1. Tell at least part of a story without using Storytelling Voice.
2. Notice what it felt like NOT to use it.
3. Rescind the decision to use Storytelling Voice.
4. Replace the unconscious intention to use Storytelling Voice with another intention, in Edna’s case to “tell like she is waiting for a bus.”

Now Edna will be free to explore and develop much more interesting and varied approaches to her voice, to her characters, and to her stories themselves.

Treat the Patients Gently

In my mind, Storytelling Voice is a danger to our storytelling movement. It scares off potential audience members and keeps potentially wonderful tellers stuck in slavish imitation of an affected manner of speech.

But that doesn’t mean that we should be harsh toward those who have this unfortunate performance habit.

Instead, we need to treat them gently, like the devoted storytellers that they are. We can offer to coach them supportively, like I coached Edna. We can offer them information about this common problem. (Depending on your relationship with them, you might even be able to give them this article to read.)

We can perhaps say, relaxedly and affectionately, “I wonder if you have a touch of Storytelling Voice? Would you like to experiment telling a story the way you talk to a friend?”

We will need to be creative in approaching this issue and in helping unwitting sufferers recover. It will require patience, respectfulness, and genuine affection.

But the task is too important to ignore. After all, stories have power, and many more people could benefit from experiencing that power.

Even though we can’t afford to drive away audiences with too much Storytelling Voice, neither can we afford to drive away impassioned tellers who, in their eagerness to pass on the living breath of stories, have developed a common bad habit.

We need you; we need them; every true voice needs to be heard.

2) FREE RECORDINGS: THE STORYTELLING COACH PODCAST

Do you want to learn to coach others? Do you want to be an informed consumer of coaching for yourself?

In either case, you need to understand what makes coaching work, and how a coach can support your creative thinking – not substitute the coach’s thinking for yours.

The Storytelling Coach book

Back in 1995, I wrote the first (and still the only) book on coaching storytellers, The Storytelling Coach: How to Listen, Praise, and Bring Out People’s Best. ( http://www.storydynamics.com/tsc )

Now I am recording the entire book (I am actually “telling” it more than reading it), in segments that are 5 to 10 minutes long. I will make these recordings available each week as episodes in this podcast.

These recordings are free for your personal use.

The first episode, “A New Kind of Helper,” is online now. You can listen online, download the file, or subscribe to the podcast.

Please subscribe, to be sure not to miss an episode!

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• listen down, download, or subscribe to the Storytelling Coach Podcast

Hearing how I had helped Jay overcome some key hurdles, a participant said, “So Doug was one of the parents of the story, huh?”

No! Jay and I were emphatic. I surprised myself with how emphatic I was.

I said, “Jay was the story’s only parent. I was a midwife, helping the story be born.”

To be sure, in my style of coaching, it would be a betrayal of Jay for me to be a co-parent, to supply creative material for his story. Rather, I see myself as a helper who assists Jay in uncovering his own creativity.

Still, the participant could hardly be blamed for not knowing Jay’s and my deeply held belief about coaching, especially since other coaches base their work on different beliefs. My strong reaction was an indicator of a problem: how can we describe different coaching philosophies succinctly?

Are Interviewing Styles Similar?

This issue came back to my mind recently while reading books about interviewing. Many of the books treat interviewing as a one-way act of collection, as the interviewer “getting” information from someone. In this model, the creativity comes from the “data miner” not from the “data holder.”

This style of interviewing may make sense for a census taker or hospital intake interviewer. But it doesn’t work well at all when you are interviewing for the purpose of eliciting personal-experience stories.

In this latter case, both parties are seeking something that doesn’t yet exist: a particular version of the story of the person’s experience. To be sure, the experience already exists. But the interviewer and the person are about to create, together, a new STORY about that experience.

Again, the question popped up: How can we describe the various possible styles?

The Four Roles

All this put me to thinking: what are the actual similarities and differences between different approaches to coaching and interviewing? How can we explain them clearly, to ensure good matches between a style and a situation?

In response, I came up with four pairs of roles that coaches, directors, and interviewers (and others who work with storytellers of all kinds) can assign either to themselves and to those they work with:

1. Beneficiary or Helper;
2. Creative Director or Creative Assistant;
3. Evaluator or Contributor;
4. Elicitor or Story Source.

Each style of coaching (or of interviewing or directing) assigns the coach, etc., one role from each of these four pairs, and assigns the teller (or interviewee or actor) the other role. In some cases, a role can be shared. But how a coach assigns these four roles gives a clear, general description of the coach’s style.

Which of these roles do you want when you coach (or direct or interview) someone else? Which role do you want when you are being coached, directed, or interviewed?

Role #1: Beneficiary. Who is the event for?

In most professional interactions, one person has the role of Helper, while the other has the role of Beneficiary. For example, in a paid performance, the teller is the Helper, whereas the listeners are the Beneficiaries. In other words, the event is held for the sake of the audience, not for the primary benefit of the teller. That’s why the audience pays.

In coaching, on the other hand, the teller is usually the Beneficiary and the coach is the Helper.

Role #2: Creative Director. Whose creativity is given priority?

In my approach to coaching, the teller (not the coach) is the Creative Director. That is, as coach I apply my creativity to assisting the creativity of the teller, not directly to creating or adding to the teller’s story.

In many theatrical productions, on the other hand, the stage director is the Creative Director. The actor/storyteller is an instrument of the director, whose creativity is primary to the production. Some storytelling coaches see themselves as Creative Directors.

Role #3: Evaluator. Who evaluates the results?

In a story slam where the audience rates the tellers, the audience is the Evaluator. But if a teller hires a coach or other expert to evaluate the teller’s stories, then the coach serves as the Evaluator.

Role #4: Elicitor. Who draws out stories from the other?

In my role as coach, I often take the role of Elicitor. I question the teller, helping her or him find new stories or parts of stories that will meet the teller’s goals. Other coaches, on the other hand, expect the teller to do that work on her/his own.

Interviewers, of course, are almost always the Elicitors. Interestingly, some theatrical directors expect to pull stories out of actors and therefore take on the Elicitor role; whereas others leave the work of Elicitor to the playwright.

Coaching Styles Defined?

With these four role-pairs in mind, we can describe the basic philosophy of different coaches.

For example, in my model of coaching, I expect the roles to break down this way:

Beneficiary: the teller;
Creative Director: the teller;
Evaluator: the teller;
Elicitor: the coach.

That is to say, I coach for the sake of the teller and see myself as an assistant to the teller’s creativity, not as a substitute for it. The teller is in charge of deciding what suggestions of mine are worth acting on. And, whenever achieving the teller’s goals calls for it, I am happy to elicit additional scenes or stories from the teller.

In another of the many possible coaching models, however, the coach might have these expectations:

Beneficiary: the teller;
Creative Director: the coach;
Evaluator: the coach;
Elicitor: the teller. (The teller is expected to dig for stories outside the coaching session.)

These simple descriptions show important differences in coaching philosophy. I believe there is a place for many styles of coaching. At the same time, it is vital that the coach and teller match each other’s expectations.

Directing Styles?

Similarly, a very traditional theater director might expect:

Beneficiary: the director;
Creative Director: the director;
Evaluator: the director;
Elicitor: the playwright.

That kind of traditional director expects to be the creative “dictator” of a production that interprets a playwright’s work. But a different kind of director, one who expects a collaboration with actors (or storytellers) in creating new material based on the actor’s creativity, might expect this:

Beneficiary: the actor;
Creative Director: the actor;
Evaluator: the actor;
Elicitor: the director.

Both styles (and other variant styles, too) have a place. But if actors and directors expect different styles, trouble can ensue – especially without a shared vocabulary to describe these different expectations.

And Now, Interviewing Styles

With all that in mind, we can look at interviewers. The data-seeking census interviewer, for example, probably expects:

Beneficiary: the interviewer (ultimately, the interviewer’s
boss, the government and the people it represents);
Creative Director: the interviewer (The census taker interprets what the interviewee’s statements mean);
Evaluator: the interviewer (The census taker evaluates whether the required information has been obtained);
Elicitor: the interviewer.

What about the story-seeking interviewer? I can imagine several different, equally valid styles.

Suppose an interviewer wants to discover the stories a teller knows, but doesn’t want to find stories of a particular kind. (This might be true when interviewing a family member in the hopes of finding some family stories of any kind.) In such a case, the interviewer might expect:

Beneficiary: the interviewer;
Creative Director: the interviewee (The one being interviewed decides how to tell the stories);
Evaluator: the interviewer (The interviewer gets to define what a “family story” is);
Elicitor: the interviewer.

Now suppose that an interviewer is helping a family member discover stories, so that the family member can write a book. The expectations might be:

Beneficiary: the interviewee;
Creative Director: the interviewee;
Evaluator: the interviewee (The interviewee decides which stories s/he might want to include);
Elicitor: the interviewer.

Finally, consider the case of someone from a charity, interviewing a person who has benefited from the charity’s programs, so that the charity can use the person’s stories for fund-raising. In the case where the interviewer wants stories that will meet the organization’s purposes but also preserve the intention of the interviewee, the interviewer’s expectations will be:

Beneficiary: the interviewer;
Creative Director: shared between interviewer and interviewee;
Evaluator: the interviewer;
Elicitor: the interviewer.

I have summarized these examples in a chart (and explained them further) at http://www.storydynamics.com/4roles

Which Roles Do You Want?

When you seek a coach, director, or someone to interview you, ask yourself these questions:

Do I expect to be the Beneficiary? Who do I expect to be the Evaluator, the Creative Director, and the Elicitor?

Just as importantly, ask yourself the same questions when you find yourself coaching, directing or interviewing.

In all cases, take the time to compare your expectations with those of the other person involved. You CAN get what you want – but first you may need clear terms in which to describe it.

Are there concise ways to describe various styles of interacting around stories? This article sets out four roles common to coaching, theatrical directing and interviewing that, together, define a particular style of interacting.

The discussion begins by describing the four roles, then goes on to show how the roles are apportioned differently in different styles of coaching, directing, and interviewing.

The Four Roles

Each “role” is really a pair of roles, just like “Storyteller” and “Listener” are a pair of roles; each requires the other. Here are the roles that, together, define a style of coaching, etc.:

Role 1: Beneficiary

The paired role for Beneficiary is Helper. Between them, Helper and Beneficiary describe for whom the interaction is taking place. 

More detailed definition: Both Helper and Beneficiary can, of course, gain benefit from the coaching (interviewing, etc.) interaction. But the Helper agrees that, if there is ever a conflict between the Helper’s benefit and the Beneficiary’s benefit, the Helper will, for the duration of the interaction, give the Beneficiary’s benefit top priority.

In a paid performance, for example, the listener is the Beneficiary and the storyteller is the Helper. In a therapy session in which the client is telling a story, on the other hand, the storyteller is the Beneficiary and the listener is the Helper, as summarized in this table:

Role 2: Creative Director

The paired role is Creative Assistant. Between them, Creative Director and Creative Assistant describe whose creativity is given precedence.

More detailed definition: Both Creative Director and Creative Assistant may contribute to the creative process. But when both desire to contribute creatively, the Creative Assistant must take a back seat.

More particularly, the interaction is meant to explore the creativity of the Creative Director. The Creative Assistant may offer the results of her/his own creativity as stimulus to the creativity of the Creative Director, or may take an active role in helping the Creative Director’s creativity to flow.

In a certain kind of coaching, for example, the teller is the Creative Director and the coach is the Helper. In such a coaching session, the coach would contrive to help the teller find her/his own scenes, character interpretations and images.

In another kind of coaching, however, the teller seeks help not in unblocking her/his own creativity, but in the actual creative work. In this kind of coaching session, the coach would offer his/her own ideas for scenes, character interpretations, etc.

The two kinds of coaching styles are summarized in this table:

Role 3: Evaluator

The paired role is Contributor. Between them, Evaluator and Contributor describe whose judgment is given precedence.

More detailed definition: Both Evaluator and Contributor may exercise judgment about the results of their interaction, such as whether a particular story is acceptable, worth pursuing, etc. But whenever there is a conflict between their judgments, the judgment of the Evaluator must take precedence. Further, the judgment of the Contributor should usually be offered only when requested.

In a job-performance-evaluation interview, for example, the interviewer is the Evaluator and the interviewee is the Contributor. In such a coaching session, the coach would contrive to help the teller find her/his own scenes, character interpretations and images.

In another kind of coaching, however, the teller seeks help not in unblocking her/his own creativity, but in the actual creative work. In this kind of coaching session, the coach would offer his/her own ideas for scenes, character interpretations, etc.

The two kinds of coaching styles are summarized in this table:

Role 4: Elicitor

The paired role is Story Source. Between them, Elicitor and Story Source describe who is to try to draw out stories in a given interaction.

More detailed definition: Both Elicitor and Story Source may contribute stories. But the Elicitor’s stories are told only for purposes of stimulating the flow of stories from the Story Source. If the Elicitor is telling a story when the Story Source begins a different story, the Elicitor must immediately cease telling and begin listening encouragingly.

In interviewing sessions, for example, the interviewee is commonly the Story Source and the interviewer is the Elicitor.

Some improvisational theater directors expect to elicit stories from actors (or storytellers). Others, however, expect all the stories to be provided by the playwright.

These examples are summarized in this table:

Examples of Varied Styles

With these four role-pairs in mind, we can describe the basic philosophy of different coaches, directors, and interviewers.

Coaching Styles

For example, in my model of coaching, I expect the roles to break down one way, since I coach for the sake of the teller and see myself as an assistant to the teller’s creativity, not as a substitute for it. In my model, the teller is in charge of deciding what suggestions of mine are worth acting on. And, whenever achieving the teller’s goals calls for it, I am happy to elicit additional scenes or stories from the teller.

This can be summarized in the table below as “Doug’s coaching.”

In another coaching style, though, the coach expects to be Creative Director and expects the teller to look for new stories and scenes outside of the coaching session. This style appears as  “Coaching style #2” in the table below.

This simple table shows important differences in coaching philosophy. I believe there is a place for many styles of coaching. At the same time, it is vital that the coach and teller match each other’s expectations.

Directing Styles

Similarly, a very traditional theater director might expect to be the creative "dictator" of a production that interprets a playwright’s work. (See “Traditional Director” in the table below.)

But a different kind of director expects collaboration with actors (or storytellers) in creating new material based on the actor’s creativity. This style is “Directing style #2” in the table:

Both styles (and other variant styles, too) have a place. But if actors and directors expect different styles, trouble can ensue – especially without a shared vocabulary to describe these different expectations.

Interviewing Styles

With all that in mind, we can look at interviewers. The data-seeking census interviewer, for example, probably expects to be the Beneficiary (or at least to be a stand-in for the Beneficiary, who may be the interviewer’s boss: the government or the people it represents).

What about the story-seeking interviewer? I can imagine several different, equally valid styles.

The Seeker of Family Stories

Suppose an interviewer wants to discover the stories a teller knows, but doesn’t want to find stories of a particular kind. (This might be true when interviewing a family member in the hopes of finding some stories of any kind from your family.) In such a case, the interviewer might expect to be the Beneficiary, the Elicitor and the Evaluator. (The interviewer gets to define what a "story" is.) Since the interviewee decides how to tell the stories, this interviewee is the Creative Director.

Helper for a Family Member

Now suppose that an interviewer is helping a family member discover stories, so that the family member can write a book. The expectations might be that the interviewee is the Beneficiary—and also the Evaluator, since the interviewee decides which stories s/he might want to include.

Charity Fundraiser

Finally, consider the case of someone from a charity interviewing a person who has benefited from the charity’s programs, so that the charity can use the person’s stories for fund-raising. In the case where the interviewer wants stories that will meet the organization’s purposes but also preserve the intention of the interviewee, the interviewer will expect to be both the Beneficiary and the Evaluator.

All these story-interviewing styles are summarized in this table:

Which Roles Do You Want?

When you seek a coach, director, or someone to interview you, ask yourself these questions:

• Do I expect to be the Beneficiary?
• Who do I expect to be the Evaluator
• Who do I expect to be the Creative Director?
• Who do I expect to be the Elicitor?

Equally importantly, ask yourself the same questions when you find yourself coaching, directing or interviewing.

In all cases, take the time to compare your expectations with those of the other person involved. You can get what you want—but first you may need clear language in which to describe it.

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