I’m currently working on a new book inspired by the questions my students often ask. It started as me jotting down answers, and now it’s shaping up into something much bigger.

I’m about halfway through the writing and thought it would be a great time to share a few chapters. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Cheers, Shawn

“Then remembering it – that was the trick. And in order to remember it, we had to write something memorable. You know, if we were writing something that was too clever or too this or that, we probably weren’t going to remember it.”

—Paul McCartney, The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present

I’m often asked, “How should I practice my storytelling?”

My response: Avoid practising stories alone. Your audience is as important as the story. Instead, tell the story to people and notice their response.

If you want to tell your story at an important meeting or presentation, begin with something small and low-risk. Speak to a friend, a close colleague, or a family member, and pay attention to their response. 

Through retelling, you’ll notice what’s unnecessary. Cut those bits! Then tell it again.

Unnecessary bits hurt your story.

Never write your story out verbatim. If you read it to an audience, you’ll sound like a robot—even the best fall into this trap. I was at a communication conference in Davos and watched the keynote speaker, a journalist, read her speech. It was terrible. It was beautifully written, but it sounded wooden read-aloud. 

If you need a memory aid, jot down a few bullet points on an index card or the back of your hand—that’s about the space you should use to jog your memory. Even Winston Churchill, after a 1904 incident where he stumbled during an impromptu speech, brought notes to the House of Commons for his speeches. So don’t feel bad about bringing an index card to a talk.

Telling your story soon and often has a couple of advantages. First, it helps you test your telling. Often, your initial stories are too long or miss a vital element. 

Here’s an example of when I missed a vital element.

Shortly after leaving IBM, I was invited to give a talk on storytelling to their salesforce. There were about 300 people in a hotel conference room. The speaker before me, let’s call him Steve, was an IBM Distinguished Engineer. He gave a talk on privacy and technology, with a slide featuring seven key points as the centrepiece. After Steve came off stage, I had a brief chat with him and shared my plans. He thought it was an interesting experiment and was eager to see how it would unfold.

I jumped on stage and asked the audience if they could name two of Steve’s key points without checking their notes—tumbleweeds. Then I asked who remembered when he spoke about HP placing cameras in inappropriate locations in the workplace. A sea of hands shot up.

I told the audience that the HP example was a story. We remember stories, while bullet points tend to be forgettable.

In my initial tellings of this story, I left out the conversation I had offstage with Steve. During my early retellings, I sensed that my audience was unhappy because I appeared to be a jerk who was showing up Steve. However, the story became acceptable once I included the offstage conversation with Steve. I had his permission.

So, telling stories soon and often helps you pick up any problems early.

Quick tellings also help you remember the story. Paul McCartney and John Lennon didn’t write down their music. When they had a new song, the only way for them to remember it was to play it soon and often. Be like Lenon and McCartney. Remember by telling.

For me, once I’ve told a story three times in quick succession (say over a week), it’s in my memory forever, especially if I know the story’s point. I say more about this in “Remembering a Story.”

Finally, like McCartney, if it’s a cracking story, you’ll have a much better chance of remembering it. Whether it involves death, injury, disgust, sex, power, or injustice—any topic or emotion that gets under your skin—you’ll find it easier to recall. And it doesn’t always have to be bad things happening. It could just as well be a tale of unexpected kindness, a moment of triumph, or something so wonderfully absurd that it sticks with you forever.

So, here’s the bottom line: don’t overthink it—just start telling your stories. Keep them simple, pay attention to how people react, and adjust as you go. The more you tell, the better you’ll get. And remember, it’s not about perfection; it’s about connection. That’s what makes a story stick.

McCartney, Paul. The Lyrics: 1956 to the Present (p. 155). Penguin Books Ltd. Kindle Edition.