Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 38
September 24, 2024
No more guitar solos
The last rock song to reach #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart was Nickelback’s “How You Remind Me.”
It was released in August 2001 and peaked at #1 on December 21, 2001.
Since then, there hasn’t been a rock song to reach #1.
Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” reached #1 in 2008 but isn’t classified as a rock song and doesn’t sound like one.
The fact that Nickleback was the last rock band to reach #1 is a real punch in the face for rock fans. No shade on Nickleback, but the last standard bearer of rock music—at least to date—is often criticized for being objectively boring and lacking genuine substance. It’s panned for reflecting elements of more successful bands while being overly commercial and inauthentic.
A million Nickleback jokes have been told, and a million more will likely be told, yet the band is the last to reach the top of the charts with a rock song.
Bah.
This isn’t to say that rock music is dead. Many rock bands are performing today, and many are hitting the charts, but none are even close to reaching #1.
It makes no sense to me.
While I love many kinds of music and like many of the songs hitting #1 today, I adore the beauty, simplicity, and clarity of a guitar, a bass, a drum, and a lead singer.
The less production that goes into a song, the better.
Apparently, not everyone agrees with me anymore.
September 23, 2024
Steve saw me.
Over the past 26 years as a teacher, I have received an untold number of hours of professional development.
A glacier of training.
An ice age of strategies, readings, worksheets, activities, and skills.
I’m sure that along the way, this professional development has impacted my pedagogy and practice, but it was rarely transformational.
I never left a professional development session thinking, “I am going to be a better teacher tomorrow because of the time I spent today.”
Except once.
A few years ago, a colleague and fellow teacher named Steve spent a full school day watching me teach.
That day was more transformational to my teaching than all the other professional development I have received combined.
Hundreds—maybe thousands—of hours of professional development did not add up to one day of assistance from Steve.
Why?
Steve was an excellent teacher who spent his days with students. He was doing the job, and he understood its challenges better than any administrator ever could.
And on that day, he observed me closely. Took notes. Analyzed my decision making. Dissected my practice.
He applied his expert lens to my practice and came away with valuable insights into my practice.
At the end of the day, Steve spent 20 minutes reviewing his assessment of my work. He told me things that I did well and suggested areas for improvement.
Both of these things things transformed me as a teacher forever.
Among the things Steve told me:
I give more positive feedback than any teacher he had ever seen, which I did not know. While I was already doing this well, the awareness that Steve provided allowed me to become more consistent, more targeted, and more strategic with my positive feedback.
Steve took something I already did well and elevated it to new heights.
Steve also noticed how my instruction tends to lean toward auditory learners.
I wasn’t surprised since I am also an auditory learner.
I remember almost everything I hear but almost nothing I see.
This is what made me the state’s collegiate debate champion two years in a row.
As a result, I was unconsciously favoring the type of learning that served me best. I wasn’t failing my less auditory students, but I wasn’t scaffolding their instruction to the degree they could learn best.
Steve offered me simple strategies that would allow visual learners, students who need more time to process before sharing, and students for whom English is not their first language to be better prepared for classroom discussions, partner sharing, and the like.
I still use these strategies today—I use them every day. Thanks to Steve’s observation, I’ve also researched additional strategies, and I am absolutely a better teacher today as a result.
A hell of a better teacher.
Those are just two of a dozen or more things Steve offered me that transformed my teaching for the better. Pile up 26 years of professional development, and none of it comes close to what Steve offered me that single day.
Sometimes, you need someone by your side—an expert—to observe you, guide you, and make you better.
This is why I’ve decided to launch Storytworthy’s first Mastermind. As we prepare to launch the new, expanded, and much-improved version of my Storyworthy for Business course, I began thinking:
This course is outstanding for people willing to learn independently — watch videos, experiment, practice, and improve at their own pace.
But what about those who want or need an expert—someone who does the job well and knows how to teach exceedingly well—to guide them along the way?
What about those storytellers and would-be storytellers who need a Steve?
That is why I am launching the first semester of the Storyworthy Mastermind — an opportunity for a dozen people to spend six months learning to tell stories alongside someone who does it well and knows how to teach it well — me.
By joining my Storyworthy Mastermind, you will receive more than 20 hours of group and individual instruction, weekly video and email updates and lessons, an invitation to a community of like-minded people to help you along the way, my brand-new Storyworthy for Business course (which will serve as our curriculum), and a one-year membership into Storyworthy’s VIP program, giving you access to every course I have and will produce.
If you’re looking for a more guided approach to learning to tell stories — complete with individualized instruction and constant feedback — this Mastermind may be for you.
Registration opens soon.
Click here to join the waiting list, be one of the first to learn about the Mastermind in detail, and have the opportunity to join.
No inner monologue?
A new study shows that not everyone has an “inner voice” in their heads. The extent and intensity of that voice vary considerably from person to person, impacting how people think.
They found considerable differences, for example, in performance on given tasks, indicating that those with strong inner monologues are better at retaining and manipulating information with accuracy and rapidity.
My question:
Who doesn’t have an inner monologue?
I’m talking to myself constantly. I’m often talking to myself while I’m talking.
Years ago, I told a storytelling student—a doctor in the emergency department at Yale New Haven Hospital—that while I am telling a story, performing standup, or delivering a speech, I’m often talking to myself at the same time—monitoring audience reaction, adjusting content and delivery on the fly, and noting other things in the room.
She didn’t believe me. “You can’t be talking to yourself while talking to an audience.”
I assured her I was telling the truth and explained that as you grow more proficient at public speaking, you will require less bandwidth to do the job. At some point, you have enough bandwidth to both speak to audiences and yourself simultaneously.
When I perform “Matt and Jeni Are Unprepared” — a storytelling improv show with my friend, Jeni Bonaldo—I constantly speak to myself because I am telling a brand new story in front of an audience without any preparation whatsoever.
The same is true when I perform standup. While I may have a plan when I take the stage, new ideas almost immediately materialize, and I need to decide which ideas make the cut and which should be avoided. That decision-making process happens while simultaneously trying like hell to be funny.
And I’m not a unicorn. I know other public speakers who report the same thing. While I suspect that many people who speak to audiences stick to the script and don’t possess this version of an inner monologue, those of us who spend enormous amounts of time onstage and speak for an hour or more probably do.
But my friend still didn’t believe me.
Two years later, she called me. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I was just delivering a talk to my department, and I realized that while I was speaking, I was talking to myself. I even reordered a part of my talk midstream and debated with myself if it made sense.”
I then spoke four of my favorite words:
“I told you so.”
After two years of public speaking, she had reduced the bandwidth required to speak—including the nervousness that she felt while speaking—thus affording herself enough to engage in an inner monologue.
Yet, according to this recent research, some people have little or no inner monologue at all.
It’s hard to believe that, for some people, it’s just a vacuous, silent space between their ears.
No interior monologue.
No constant questioning.
No endless plotting.
But perhaps silence might also be a welcomed change for those with harsh inner critics. If you’re constantly beating yourself up, then silencing your inner critic might do you some good.
But because I understand the science behind the power of positive thinking and positive self-talk and leverage it whenever possible—which is to say almost always—my inner voice relentlessly compliments me, praises my every move, credits me for the smallest accomplishment, and constantly cheers me on.
It’s outrageous and ridiculous.
Loathsome, even, if you could hear it.
Happily, I possess an inner monologue.
Thankfully, I’m the only person who can hear it.
September 22, 2024
Why the fire swallower worried me so much
More than a decade ago, I was officiating a wedding for a couple at a cabin on a campground in Maine.
I’d call her a friend, but until I arrived in Maine, we had never actually met. She had read my novels, connected with me online, and eventually became part of my world.
After marrying the couple on the edge of a lake, a party began that lasted all night. Part of the festivities included a demonstration of a fire swallowing by one of the couple’s friends. When I learned about what would be taking place, I grew concerned.
Fire swallowing? Here? Miles upon miles from the nearest hospital? In the middle of the Maine woods?
I found the fire swallower. I asked if she was really going to swallow fire or if some kind of illusion was involved.
She assured me that she would be swallowing fire. She explained that just before swallowing the fire, she would coat her mouth and throat with a jelly-like substance to protect her skin when the fire entered her mouth. She’d done it many times. She wasn’t a professional, but it was a party trick she performed often.
“Can it go south?” I asked.
“I’ve burned my mouth and tongue before,” she said. “Sometimes pretty badly. But I’ve never hurt myself badly enough to need the hospital or a doctor.”
“But could it happen?” I asked.
She smiled and told me that anything was possible.
An hour later, I stood behind the cabin with the rest of the wedding guests, ready to watch this woman swallow fire. I looked into the faces of everyone around me.
Not a hint of worry or concern.
All smiles.
Joyous anticipation.
I was terrified.
Ever since that night — more than a decade ago — I have wondered why I was the only person at that party who was worried about the safety of the woman preparing to swallow fire. To say that the question has plagued me over the years would be an exaggeration, but not by much.
I have wondered about the answer to that question again and again and again over the years.
Yesterday, it finally hit me. While coming down a flight of stairs in the Peabody Museum in New Haven, Connecticut, I saw a woman slip on a stone stair and begin to fall. She caught the railing as she began to topple and managed to regain her balance, but for a second, I had already started to move, thinking about all the possible injuries that I might be contending with at the bottom of the stairs.
That’s when I knew. Right there on those stairs.
I was worried about the fire swallower because I always feel responsible in every situation. Even though the museum was full of visitors and employees, I instantly assumed that I would be responsible for that woman’s medical care until an ambulance arrived.
I always make this assumption.
On those stone steps, the reason why was clear as day.
I grew up as the eldest of three children and later five when my mother remarried. I grew up in a time — the 1970s and 1980s — and in a family where children were often running free, unattended, unwatched, and seemingly forgotten. Every day, I felt like the safety and happiness of my brothers and sisters were entirely my responsibility.
As a Boy Scout, I was a patrol leader at an early age and quickly rose to the level of Senior Patrol Leader. Day after day, younger boys looked to me — just a year or two older than them in many cases — for help with homesickness, cooking, shelter, and more.
I spent my boyhood days constantly looking out for people younger than me. I was a boy forced to assume responsibility for others at a very young age.
When I turned 16, I was hired to work at McDonald’s, and within six months, I was promoted to manager when most of my friends were goofing off, skipping shifts, and laughing the day away. While they were high school students with part-time jobs, I was calculating food costs, monitoring service times, and hiring and firing people twice my age.
I was in charge. When the most important supervisors and corporate wonks from the regional office would come to our restaurant, I was assigned to run the shift because I understood how to be in charge. I knew how to assume responsibility for everyone and everything in the restaurant, even when I was still in high school.
Since graduating from high school, I have lived every waking moment without a safety net. I left home at 18 with no family or childhood home to return to. No financial support and no guidance of any kind.
I was entirely responsible for myself.
Somewhere along the way, probably as a boy, but maybe later in life, I began assuming responsibility in every situation. In every emergency, I always assumed I needed to take charge and lead the way. I would be the one capable of seeing the pitfalls, dodging the perils, and contending with disaster.
On those steps in the Peabody Museum, I saw flashes of moments from my life when something unfortunate, terrible, or disastrous happened, and I ran into the fray.
Someone is hurt. A fight has broken out. A child has gone missing in a crowd. A motorist is in trouble. Someone is choking. The line isn’t moving. Confusion reigns.
In each instance, I ran into the fray and attempted to take charge, not because I thought highly of myself or believed that only I could save the day, but because I thought it was my responsibility. I assumed that I was supposed to be in charge.
I was worried about the fire swallower that night because if something went wrong, I assumed — rightly or wrongly — that I would be the person dealing with the problem.
In every situation, I am always responsible.
I don’t know if this ingrained belief is a good thing or a bad thing, but it took me a decade to understand it. It took more than ten years for me to figure out why a late-night party in the Maine woods has remained so ever-present for so long.
Watching a woman stumble on the stone steps of a museum, I finally understood why.
This is what happens when you’re curious about yourself. It is what happens when you are self-centered in a positive way, meaning you afford yourself time to think about yourself.
This is what it means to be a storyteller.
Whether you tell stories on stages or pages or only to yourself, this is what it means to live the life of a storyteller.
Storytellers seek to understand themselves. They refuse to ignore those nagging questions. They never look away from the lingering moments of the past. They never stop seeking an answer.
A storyteller spends their life rowing a boat — constantly moving forward while always looking back.
The fire swallower swallowed her fire without a problem that night. When I asked her later how it went, she told me that she’d burnt the roof of her mouth a bit, but only in the same way you might burn your mouth on a baked potato.
“No biggie,” she said.
It turned out to be a biggie for me, though. A decade-long question finally answered with a new understanding about myself and how I’ve lived my life. I’m not sure what I’ll do with this newfound information yet:
Continue on as I’ve always lived or seek to course correct?
That will be the next question in need of answering:
Is it okay for me to assume responsibility in every situation, or should I find a way to relinquish this burden?
I’m not sure. It might take me a decade to figure this one out, too.
But I’ll keep rowing my boat forward fairly relentlessly while keeping my eye on where I have been, what I have done, and what I am still wondering.
September 21, 2024
Termites are better than us
A new study of termite mounds near the Buffels River in Namaqualand, South Africa, has dated the mounds to be 34,000 years old and shows that they are still inhabited by termites today.
That means that bugs have built and maintained a civilization that has lasted exponentially longer than any human civilization.
Granted, they have yet to invent minor-league baseball, poker, or ice cream cake, but 340 centuries is still pretty impressive.
September 20, 2024
Too much regulation isn’t nearly as bad as too little
When politicians — usually Republicans — and their corporate interests rail against government regulation, we should rightly point to incidents like the Love Canal, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, the financial crisis of 2008, the oxycontin epidemic, the Deepwater Horizon disaster, the collapse of the levees in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, the Enron scandal, the Flint, Michigan water crisis, the Exon Valdez accident, and many, many more as instances where increased governmental regulation and governance could have prevented disaster.
This happens all the time.
One of the Trump administration’s first acts was to roll back parts of the Clean Water Act. For the first time in decades, landowners and property developers can dump pollutants such as pesticides and fertilizers directly into hundreds of thousands of waterways and destroy or fill wetlands for construction projects.
A primary proponent of this rollback was, not surprisingly, the developers of golf courses.
Of course, too much regulation can also create problems. Needless or overreaching regulation slows down businesses and decreases efficiency and profits, but too little regulation nearly collapsed the world economy. It poisoned the drinking water for an entire city. It allowed for a nationwide opioid epidemic that has taken the lives of half a million Americans.
When we reject regulations as unnecessary interference with business, people get sick, people die, and our environment is poisoned for generations.
Sometimes, “Better safe than sorry” makes for good policy
Just this year, an undercover report from Beijing News sent shock waves through China, alleging that the trucks that ship cooking oil and syrup are also used for fuel and chemicals and are not adequately cleaned between uses.
It’s not the first time this kind of scandal has occurred.
Fuel tankers in China have been caught repeatedly transporting cooking oil in the last two decades.
In 2008, fuel tankers were also found transporting baby formula, which led to a nationwide panic.
Why?
An absence of regulation and enforcement.
Without government oversight, businesses won’t always do the right thing. Believing that the invisible hand of the market will lead firms to make moral and righteous decisions is nonsense. While unnecessary regulation is deleterious to business and should be avoided whenever possible, too little is disastrous.
Too much evidence exists to prove otherwise. Too much damage has been done.
If given the choice, I’d err on the side of too much regulation every time.
September 19, 2024
Sometimes you need a coach
Almost two decades ago, a friend named Tom tossed a set of golf clubs into the back of my truck — purchased at a garage sale for $10 — and told me I was going to start playing golf.
Until then, I had rejected the game, seeing it as elitist and stupid.
Tom’s gentle nudge changed my life. I will be indebted to him forever.
Today, I love golf. One of my favorite things is spending time in the glory of the outdoors, bag strapped to my back, climbing rolling hills alongside my closest friends, and doing something incredibly hard.
For the first 15 years of my golfing career, I was a below-average golfer—terrible for a long time. I learned by doing, watching my friends, listening to the occasional tip, and endlessly practicing on the range.
I went from atrocious to bad to very below average. One friend told me, “If I played like you, I would’ve quit long ago.”
But three years ago, I decided to take lessons from a professional named Troy—someone who could play the game well and understood how to teach it exceedingly well. Troy combined excellent pedagogy, constant feedback, and technology into a package that changed my game forever.
Today, I am a blessedly average golfer. This past summer, I broke 90 for the first time—twice. I still don’t hit the ball nearly far enough, and the driver remains my nemesis, but I have beaten Tom four times this year — four times in a row — which is something I could not do for the first 15 years I played with him.
Today, I routinely score bogies and pars on the golf course. Even the occasional birdie. I never thought it would be possible.
Sometimes, you need an expert to show you the way.
This is why I’ve decided to launch Storytworthy’s first Mastermind. As we prepare to launch the new, expanded, and much-improved version of my Storyworthy for Business course, I began thinking:
This course is outstanding for people willing to learn independently — watch videos, experiment, practice, and improve at their own pace.
But what about those who want or need an expert—someone who does the job well and knows how to teach exceedingly well—to guide them along the way?
What about those storytellers and would-be storytellers who need a Troy?
That is why I am launching the first semester of the Storyworthy Mastermind — an opportunity for a dozen people to spend six months learning to tell stories alongside someone who does it well and knows how to teach it well — me.
By joining my Storyworthy Mastermind, you will receive more than 20 hours of group and individual instruction, weekly video and email updates and lessons, an invitation to a community of like-minded people to help you along the way, my brand-new Storyworthy for Business course (which will serve as our curriculum), and a one-year membership into Storyworthy’s VIP program, giving you access to every course I have and will produce.
If you’re looking for a more guided approach to learning to tell stories — complete with individualized instruction and constant feedback — this Mastermind may be for you.
Registration opens soon.
Click here to join the waiting list, be one of the first to learn about the Mastermind in detail, and have the opportunity to join.
Bored people are boring
I’ve heard a lot of people talk about the value of learning to be bored.
Kids, they say, need to learn to be bored from time to time.
I don’t understand this concept at all.
I haven’t been bored in a billion years. I always have something to do, something to think about, something to process, something to make, someone to call, something to see, something to learn about, something to read, something to solve…
Sometimes, I simply allow my mind to wander. I ponder, wonder, reminisce, remember, reflect…
None of this is boring. None of it is close to boring.
Why should anyone learn to be bored with so much to do?
I think the opposite. People should avoid being bored at all costs. Life is too precious and wondrous to ever be bored. People should learn the value of thinking, wondering, processing, seeing, listening, and learning.
I tend to think that bored people are boring, and that — being boring — should be avoided at all costs.
September 18, 2024
Online critics got you down? I have the solution.
Paul Theroux on criticism:
“In the short run, criticism seems to have merit; in the end, criticism is useless—a good book has a long life in spite of anything said about it. Critics at the time mocked Moby-Dick and many other masterpieces. I say: pay no attention, read the book. I used to forbid my literature students at the University of Singapore from reading any criticism at all. It was actually department policy (my department head was the distinguished English writer D. J. Enright). “Just read the text and respond.” Probably not a popular view in English departments now, but I must say that I have a low opinion of English departments in these days of the belief in “curriculum-based trauma”—silly fuckers.”
I must say:
I love this.
I want to append a similar thought when it comes to social media.
I listened to a panel of authors discussing the challenges of criticism and social media. Essentially, the authors said, “People say terrible things on social media. The social media mob can be awful. It’s so hard to listen to people criticize your work with such cruelty.”
My advice:
Stop listening. If you are impacted by the opinions of critics, readers, strangers, and idiots on the internet, stop looking. Why are you giving even a modicum of attention to some stranger’s opinion in Peoria?
If the critiques of strangers on the internet negatively impact you, don’t look.
Charlie recently landed on the Amazon page for my latest book “Stories Sell.” He tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Dad, check it out. Your book has a 4.2 rating and no one-star reviews.”
“That’s great,” I said.
“You didn’t know?” he asked.
“I had no idea,” I told him. I explained that looking at those reviews does nothing to improve my life, so I rarely pay them any attention. I’d rather spend my time making the next thing.
Admittedly, I was happy to hear that readers liked the book, but if they didn’t, I couldn’t revise a chapter or ask them to reconsider their opinion, so why bother investing any time in looking?
And I’m someone rarely bothered by criticism. I’m blessedly immune to most forms of public attack and personal insult. If anyone can handle online criticism, it’s me. I’ve been victimized by some of the most relentless, unorthodox public attacks you could imagine.
Anonymous cowards trying to ruin my career. The MAGA mob hammering away at me online day after day. Angry readers of my blog, railing against one of my more ill-informed opinions.
I am an expert at managing and dismissing unwarranted and unwanted critiques.
Yet I mostly ignore it all.
So, if online criticism bothers you, why invest time and energy looking?
Most of the time, my interaction with social media amounts to this:
I step onto the platform, place my content, and leave. Often, I never return. Other times, I will briefly step back onto the platform to see if I’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest or made someone exceedingly happy. Sometimes, I will spend five minutes swatting at the hornet or expressing gratitude for the kindness of others, often while standing in line somewhere.
Other times, I ignore the hornets and walk away.
I do this because social media is ethereal, flimsy, and impermanent. If I write something that enrages one person or one hundred people, I know it will be forgotten in a day or two and sometimes an hour or two.
Noting on social media matters. It is a momentary blip — easily ignored and quickly forgotten.
So if it hurts you, why engage?
Sometimes, a thoughtful person will offer me a new perspective or engage in an intellectually honest debate, and in those cases, I may jump into the fray, but most of the time, I plant my flower for the day and move on.
Paul Theroux said it best:
“In the short run, criticism seems to have merit; in the end, criticism is useless.”
Play the long game. Ignore the daily shouts from the peanut gallery. Spend your time making stuff. Doing stuff. Establishing a reputation as someone who does these things.
You’ll be a lot happier.
Online critics got you down? I have the solution.
SOME HAPPY CLIENTS 
nothing short of transformative. “Matthew Dicks has been a guiding light in my journey as both a YouTuber and entrepreneur. His impact on my life and business has been nothing short of transformative.”
— Ali Abdaal. Doctor, Entrepreneur, & YouTuber with 5.43M subscribers It’s all in this book. “Having mentored hundreds of corporate folks like me, Matt has developed unique, streamlined strategies to teach people how to use their personal stories in business. He’s taken everything he’s learned from years of consulting and put it all in this book.” 
— Masha Cresalia, Former Director of Corporate Marketing – Slack Matt provides The most value per minute. “I’ve received a tonne of advice from investors, founders, and other mentors…I always tell Matt he provides the most value per minute of anyone I spend time with.” 
— Alyhan Rehmatullah. CEO & Cofounder – Kalpa [Meet the Author, Matthew Dicks] WHO AM I? Matthew Dicks is an award-winning bestselling author, speaker, and marketing consultant to some of the world’s biggest companies including Amazon, Slack, and Salesforce.
For more than a decade, he’s been advising C-suite execs and their teams. Whether it’s a product launch, sales deck, or keynote, he surfaces the real stories behind the spreadsheets — stories that resonate and connect on a meaningful level.
He’s taught at multiple universities including Yale, MIT, and Harvard, and his work has been featured on Lenny’s Podcast, TEDx Talks, Newsweek, and many more.
“The most powerful person in the world is the storyteller. The storyteller sets the vision, values, and agenda of an entire generation that is to come.” — Steve Jobs Why stories matter more than ever. People remember stories. Not graphs or endless lists of features.
Studies have shown that decisions are often made based on emotions first and rationalized with data, second.
Telling a meaningful story to frame metrics in the right light is how ideas are anchored on a deeper level. It’s how companies get funding, close deals, and rally teams.
Pre-order now Get the Free Sample Pre-order now Get the Free Sample What you’ll learn Unlike other self-help business books, “Stories Sell” was written concisely for busy professionals. It’s a fun read that uses anecdotes from consulting work to contextualize lessons and make them easily retainable.It draws from firsthand experiences to demonstrate the power of storytelling in solving important problems like how to: Craft and pitch sales decks that aren't boring. Communicate clearly with customers and colleagues Deliver crowd-pleasing keynotes Align teams on a shared vision
“A year from now, you will wish you had started today.” — Karen Lamb Master the craft of storytelling today Pre-order now Get the Free Sample Pre-order now Get the Free Sample 
Honest, approachable “I laughed, gasped, took notes, and carried this book around like a dear friend — because that’s exactly what a storyworthy book should be. As a novelist, I’ve studied my craft in countless ways, but never before have I seen its marrow revealed with such honest, approachable charisma.” 
— Sarah McCoy, internationally and New York Times–bestselling author of Marilla of Green Gables and The Baker’s Daughter he leads you up the stairs to tell your stories. “With candor, humility, and bust-a-gut humor, Matthew Dicks shares his storytelling secrets and leads you up the stairs to tell yours. He already knows that they’re gems.” 
— Nichole Bernier, author of The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D. the most interesting man in the world. “When I gave Matthew Dicks a recurring spot on my podcast, I billed him as ‘the most interesting man in the world.’ He really has lived quite a life. But what’s truly interesting is not necessarily what he’s experienced but how he makes you, the audience, experience it through him.” 
— Mike Pesca, NPR contributor and host of Slate magazine’s daily podcast, The Gist FAQ Who is this book for? The book is specifically tailored to professionals working in business and the corporate world. It’s meant to help marketers, salespeople, business leaders, entrepreneurs, and advertisers and teaches them how to use storytelling to grow their businesses. How can this help my career or business? The corporate world is flooded with data: spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and yawn-inducing PowerPoint presentations. But human brains are wired for stories.
The book teaches you how to combine stories with data to engage and persuade your audience. It gives examples and case studies on topics like:
Building slide decks for sales, investor pitches, and presentationsProduct narratives and positioningMarketing and advertising copySpeeches and keynotes for auditorium-sized crowdsBusiness communicationHow to align teams and build moraleHow to sell yourself for career advancementHow to build rapport and connect with your audience How does this book compare to other business books?Most business books on writing
Draws from outside stories and researchPadded with filler contentContent can be dry and clinicalWritten by ghostwriters or people from the corporate world who learned storytellingStories Sell
Draws from decades of firsthand experience consulting for companies of all sizesLean and concise for busy professionalsFun and insightful to readWritten by an award-winning novelist, StorySlam champion, and marketing consultant
[I write and publish every single day.] Facebook X-twitter Youtube Linkedin Instagram Get your daily dose of stories Sign up to conveniently receive my daily blog post from “Grin & Bare It” into your inbox daily. Name Email Subscribe © 2024 Matthew Dicks
