Writers are not just writers.
Writers are humans. Writers are historians. Writers are philosophers. Writers are activists. Writers are mystics. Writers are parents. Most of all, writers are storytellers.
‘Why are humans so wired for storytelling?’ One of my students asked me once, curious and wide eyed, after I scratched this very statement out on the board.
I wasn’t triggered by this question in the middle of my lesson. In my early days of teaching, when I was merely a few years older than my senior students, I knew I would never have all the answers.
‘That’s a really good question, and I actually don’t know the answer to that – but I’ll come back to you,’ I promised.
What I knew for sure was that I’d always been obsessed with stories. My mother famously tells the story of how, at four years old, I knew the way to the bookstore as soon as we stepped off the bus in Perth City. At eight, nine, ten years old I would religiously set up my Saturday lunch in front of the television, ready to watch an old movie – usually an Elvis classic. I was taken by the drama of a good love story.
And of course, it was the suspense of the story that kept me watching. It was the fact that things went wrong (and right, and wrong, and then right again). The rollercoaster was addictive. Later, I would make up my own stories in the garden, replicating the drama I’d just watch.
I also knew that stories worked based on my classroom. My entire teaching career was built on the premise of storytelling. I would start the class with a personal anecdote, and those unruly, bored students would hush to quiet and lean in to listen. You could feel the tension in the air as they anticipated the outcome of the story. Would it be laughter, or sadness?
The art of story
A story is not just a list of descriptions, or a shopping list of events. There is an art and a science to creating a story. But here’s the basic rule: Bad things have to happen to make it a story. That’s why gossip is so delectable for humans.
But bad things can’t happen without juxtaposition. That means good things also have to happen in a story. Writing is about transcribing the ups and downs, the nuances of humanity, through a particular lens, of a particular context, in a particular time.
Now that I’ve been teaching creative writing for twenty years, I know many reasons why humans are motivated by story. They captivate our tiny attention spans, and they present opportunities for learning and personal growth. Neuroscience plays a large role – the more tension, the more chemicals, and the more likely we will be moved, or cautioned, by a story.
Now let’s read a tale about an ancient indigenous tribe who still, to this day, glorify the power of the story – above all else.
Storytelling in the Agta Tribe
Along the eastern side of Luzon Island, in the northern sector of the Philippines, the Agta tribe still exists as an indigenous hunting and trading community, first originating some 35,000 years ago.
Still to this day, this hunter-gatherer tribe enjoys sitting around the campfire and sharing tales. Specific members of their community have been ascribed the prestigious job of Storyteller. The Storyteller creates emotional experiences so that lessons can be integrated in minds – without one having to risk fatal outcomes.
A 2017 research project[1] led by Daniel Smith, Andrea Migliano and Lucio Vinicius from University College London's Department of Anthropology studied the Agta by conducting interviews with 300 Agta individuals, seeking insights into the attributes highly valued within their nomadic tribe. The research revealed that skillful storytelling was valued more among the Agta than proficiency in hunting, medical expertise, or any other skills.
This is a tribe that values the storytellers in their community above all other roles in their society – with regard twice as high as the esteem given to proficient hunters. Now that’s a story that stumps western society – and delights us as writers.
The moral of the narrative
Understanding the elevated status of storytellers among the Agta tribe holds an essential lesson: that storytelling isn't merely a desirable trait but an essential one for human beings. The Agta's valuation of storytellers suggests a deep-seated human inclination towards narrative.
Neuroscience of narrative
Stories serve as vehicles for transmitting vital information and values from one individual or community to another, so the cathartic result of a good story creates strong understanding and healing. Makes sense why the Agta value this skill so much.
Renowned neuroscientist Paul J. Zak supports this notion through his groundbreaking research into the complex ways that stories shape our brains, foster empathy, and inspire positive behaviours. As social beings, this has many benefits for connection, communication and learning.
Rewind 2,300 years ago and Aristotle was already onto this. He didn’t have the science to back him up, but he had the observations. Aristotle said that a good story – one that captures attention – must have pity, fear, and catharsis. When the audience feels sympathy for the characters of a story, they are compelled to feel very real emotions and pain – and this is in fact what we are wired to seek. Emotion for connection.
Dangerous stories are the best
As human beings, our short attention spans are a problem. This is also the reason why dramatic, compelling stories help us to learn and evolve better than anything else. And this isn’t just a symptom borne from the time of the iPhone.
High focus stimulates cortisol and a host of other chemicals. That’s because this function was originally designed for times of threat – like when a lion was chasing us. Our attention is likened to a spotlight, selectively focused on immediate areas of interest in life – and these areas of interest are hierarchical based on how dangerous they are to us physically or psychologically.
A well-crafted story that creates a state of high focus also creates tension, pity, fear – often through pain and danger – just as Aristotle taught us. The story has the ability to "transport" us into the world of its characters, triggering emotional engagement, which increases our attention naturally.
Emotional resonance
In the classic Hero’s Journey, we desperately want the character whom we are most attached to win, because we are chemically and emotionally involved. We are wired for it, just as we are wired to run from a lion, or watch a traffic accident.
The emotional resonance we feel while watching a compelling story, often referred to as "transportation," is caused by our dear friend oxytocin, the love drug. Our brains simulate the emotions of fictional characters, creating an empathic connection, and on a chemical level, more oxytocin. Neuroscience works.
We are all storytellers
But the fact is, we all know this, without needing to know all this. We tell stories every single day. It’s how we best communicate. And as writers, we are naturally drawn to write about the nuances of life and the dark spaces between. Not just the beauty and the light. Here are our hearts and lives splattered on the page. Real. Imperfect. Beautiful.
And so the story continues. Where to from here? What are the next stories we shall tell – and how will these stories shape lessons, impact, and transformation in a world that so badly needs new stories?
As writers, we are called to peer beyond limited world views and find the truest of truths in the cracks. And even then, the truth is always changing. And what is truth, after all?
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[1] Read the full Agta study at the Nature Communications website. Published 5th December 2017.