Clear explanation can provide the foundation for persuasive writing. But explanation alone often proves insufficient. Readers may understand an idea at an abstract level and still remain unmoved by it. Story introduces another dimension, allowing the reader to see the idea in motion and to recognize its presence in everyday life.
Let me make sure I don’t confuse the issue. So let’s first explore the difference between fiction and nonfiction storytelling. Fiction tells the truth through invention. Nonfiction tells the truth while carrying the obligation of factual accuracy. Don’t get me wrong, the difference between fiction and nonfiction is not imagination versus truth. Fiction can help a reader feel the force of the truth. Nonfiction can help the reader understand why that truth should be believed.
The effectiveness of a story in nonfiction lies in its ability to illustrate. A well-chosen example can reveal the point in a way a declarative statement cannot. It allows the reader to recognize ideas that might otherwise remain hidden.
Stories must be chosen with care and used with restraint. If your work is only a series of anecdotes interspersed with the occasional Bible verse or interpretive thought, the stories lose their power. They may serve the ultimate idea but end up distracting from it. But when used well, they deepen understanding and can be a truly powerful tool.
In some cases, a reader may forget the overall structure of your book, but a well-told story can stick with them, along with the persuasive point that was being illustrated at the time.
Thanks, Steve, what a helpful articulation! Does this idea apply to speaking as well as to writing? I’m suspicious a lot of memorable, particularly powerful sermons also incorporate stories in this way.
I’m re-reading Ian Mackersey’s “No Empty Chairs”, the complicated tale of the First World War in the air.
It’s a masterful work; stories are interwoven, from the appalling trench warfare to the “higher” battles above the ground, using British and German sources to paint a coherent picture. It’s not Snoopy And The Red Baron; it’s a slaughter of decent men on both sides, and a sort of death of innocence.
The title comes from the desire of the commanders of the British RFC that there should be no empty chairs in the mess, that losses must be quickly replaced.
But, of course, a familiar face cannot be replaced by a stranger, and the empty chair, though nominally filled, remains.