Stories shape perspective — whatever you create

“We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”—Anaïs Nin

Whenever we create—whether in paint or stone or words—we edit what we see. Our perspective unconsciously creates stories from the information we take in. And those stories shape perspective in our art. And in our lives.

It’s the creative equivalent of the old adage attributed to Henry Ford:

“Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you’re right.”

stories shape perspective
Virgil’s story: Aeneas Flees Burning Troy, painting by Federico Barocci, 1598

Or as the poet Virgil put it in The Aeneid some 1,900 years earlier,

Possunt quia posse videntur.

In the 17th century, the English poet John Dryden translated that as,

“For they can conquer who believe they can.”

Note the absence of the pessimist’s perspective. Virgil had no time for losers.

Stories shape perspective
Homer’s focus: Achilles bandages his wounded lover, Patroclus By Sosias (potter, signed), 500 BCE

The Aeneid is itself an example of perspective shaping a story. Virgil revisits the story of the Trojan War, a mythological decade-long siege of Troy by Greek forces.

It’s the same general story the Greek poet Homer told so memorably a millennium earlier in his epic The Iliad. While both poems share some characters, Homer and Virgil focus on different aspects of the war and highlight its stories from different perspectives.

Eight million stories

One of the first police procedural dramas on American television always ended with the voiceover:

“There are eight million stories in the naked city. This was one of them.”

Homer and Virgil might have said the same thing about the city they chronicled. So can you—whatever story you’re telling. Start with your own perspective, your own feelings and observations, and you’re much more likely to create something original.

Proof that stories shape perspective

In the Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words Department, I give you this video from Canon. Six photographers take pictures of the same man. Each hears a different story about him, and those stories shape the portraits they produce.

Have a look. And think about how the stories you tell yourself shape your perspective.


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Data, data, everywhere: we’re drowning in it

We are drowning in data. We create more of it daily—so much it seems impossible we’ll ever make sense of it.

Data—or, as it was known back in the 20th century, “paperwork”—has been a challenge for decades. As Frank Zappa wrote in 1989:

“It isn’t necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice. There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia.”

Data: the horse manure of the 21st century?

One of the most memorable stories in Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner Freaknomics revolves around a seemingly insoluble problem of 19th century urban life. As traffic increased, so did the emissions generated by vehicles. But since the vehicles in question derived their horsepower from, well…horses, the emission in question was manure. Tons of it.

Cities struggled to keep their streets navigable. Pedestrians crossed at their own risk. Civic leaders despaired of handling the exponential growth of excrement as the population increased and commerce flourished.

In one sense, horse manure was the 19th century equivalent of our data problem
Henry Ford and his Quadricycle, 1896

No one saw the solution on the horizon. No one, that is, except Henry Ford. His gasoline-powered “horseless carriage”—he called it a “Quadricycle”—produced a different kind of emission.

The proliferation of vehicles powered by internal combustion engines solved the horse manure problem. Of course, it created new problems whose effects we’re dealing with today. But that’s beyond the scope of this blog.

Now obviously it’s an imperfect analogy. Data is much easier to brush off the sole of your shoe, should you step it in. Also it doesn’t stink, not even in the heat of summer.

Does data proliferation matter?

As Moore’s Law predicted more than half a century ago, ever-smaller devices now store ever-greater amounts of data. But what’s the point? Sometimes I wonder if companies aren’t collecting data for the same reason British mountaineer George Mallory pursued his passion.

In 1923, before he returned for his third and final trip to Mt. Everest, a journalist asked him, “Why did you want to climb Mount Everest?” Mallory’s admirably terse reply:

“Because it’s there.”

It’s worth noting that the 1924 trip was Mallory’s final visit to Everest not because he reached the summit, but because he died trying.

As a writer, I worry about the role I play—admittedly a small one—in the increasing amount of data bombarding our world. These bits and bytes assembling themselves into daily blog posts add to the world’s data stockpile. So does everything you’ll write today, and into the foreseeable future.

Every PowerPoint presentation, every white paper, every boring employee newsletter (and the few interesting ones, too)—every communication we produce gets socked away into the digital storage bin. So let’s make those words count, shall we? Let’s produce good work. Work worth reading.

That’s our Everest; I climb it daily. Come join me.