Hi. Welcome back.
The last time we got together we talked through our 4-part structure for writing engaging and informative short-form narratives. Before we consider the Hook, Essential Details, Anchor, and Dismount, we always get the storytelling ball rolling by addressing these 3 questions.
Remember that you are telling ONE STORY. People have a tendency to pack in as much info as possible to prove content mastery, establish authority, or both. However, including only the most important and interesting pieces of background information helps the reader understand the point of your narrative. A short story is an amuse-bouche, not a 7-course meal. There’ll always be more to say, so leave them wanting it.
Who are you talking to? This should help determine how you’re talking. We code switch all the time as we navigate family, relationships, and professional settings. As you craft your story, think not only about who will be on the receiving end, but also about the context and location in which your narrative will be consumed.
Take a moment to consider this is in a vacuum. Your reason may be as small as “Because everyone likes ice cream” or as big as “Because this is among the most encyclopedic cultural institutions in the world, and understanding where we’ve been is essential to figuring out where we’re going.” Whatever your reason, show them you care and you're already halfway to getting them to care.
The following is an example story following our 4 part structure and answering the three questions above. This is primarily intended for an adults-only audience, and the primary goal is to get them to let down their guard, loosen up, and lean into having a good time.
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Welcome to ancient Greece!
Before we get into exactly what the hell a strigil is, take a second to ponder this question:
Who is someone that you deeply admire? Someone you truly look up to. Someone who's life, work, and/or personal qualities you wish to better embody yourself?
Got someone in mind? Good.
The strigil is a 2400 year old brush-sized tool hailing from ancient Greece. It is a hooked skin scraper, and was used primarily by Olympic athletes. You see, back in the day, they did not use soap like we do today, but instead used olive oil to clean their bodies. After long days of competing for fame and glory in the eyes of both gods and mortals, athletes would cover their bodies in oil—rubbing it into every little nook and cranny—before using a strigil to scrape off every last drop of blood, sweat, and tear-infused olive oil. During this process the athlete would steadfastly pour his used oil into a small jar or amphora.
And then, pray tell, what do you think the commoners did with these jars of, uh, let’s go with “athlete juice”?
That’s right, they cooked with it and ate it.
At the time, the Greeks believed that if you ingested this Olympian-infused olive oil you too would begin to take on some of the God-like qualities of these much-revered competitors. So—not so dissimilar to buying a LeBron jersey in the Lakers’ gift shop—Greek spectators could purchase the used oil of their favorite Olympian, take it home, cook with it, consume it, and become one step closer to truly embodying the qualities of their athletic idols. Because that’s how science works.
Now remember that person I asked you to think about at the top of this story? That person you truly, deeply admire? That person whose qualities you seek to exhibit yourself?
Given the chance, would you consume their used olive oil?
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To tell a fun story. That’s it. The strigil narrative is informative, relatable, and quick. Again, this isn’t a lecture, it’s more like a course preview. On display all around the strigil are artifacts that we could’ve used to talk about the athletic culture of ancient Greece, the original five Olympic events, or how they competed butt-naked. But this is ONE STORY, and it’s about bathing with olive oil.
The specific tone, language, and—let’s be honest—level of sarcasm and snark employed in this story are all intentional. They take into consideration the age of the audience, our location and—perhaps most importantly—what we think they should get out of the experience. In this case, it’s a group of adults, and they’re at the museum to have a good time.
Sharing a story that is relatable and approachable gives people a permission structure to care. It’s easy to feel intimidated or out of place in a fancy museum that houses thousands of years of art, history, science, and culture. But people have been people since people have been people, and you’re one of them. You belong here, because you are part of the *gestures broadly* story.
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