Whenever I’m ghostwriting a nonfiction book for a client (or working with a book coaching client), I always push for them to add more stories.
Some of my authors are natural storytellers, and they have tons of examples in mind. Some would rather just talk about the meat of the content, and require a bit more prodding to come up with good illustrations for their points.
And, yes, not every point needs a story to drive it home—but it definitely helps. So I keep pushing.
A project I worked on last year is chock full of great stories. My author client is a former refugee turned businessperson and he has a number of harrowing tales from his past, many of which we’ve mined for the book.
But he’s also trying to make a point, to sell you on his philosophy and mindset. (It is a self-help book.)
We decided to include a lot of different types of stories in the draft.
Some are intrinsically compelling: his family’s refugee escape, his encounter with a killer, his early days in the U.S. They’ve got suspense, danger, intrigue, and—in some cases—literally life-and-death stakes.
Other stories aren’t compelling in the classic sense—you wouldn’t make a blockbuster action film about how my client was so burned out that he pulled into a rest stop late one night to take a nap before finishing his drive home.
But that’s a powerful selling story. Which is why the rest stop nap story earned a feature place in the book.
We’ll talk about what makes a story a good selling story in a minute. For now, though…
What makes a good story?
I’ve already misled you by bringing up blockbuster action films.
In a blockbuster, common wisdom is the more action you can stuff into 90 minutes, the better the story is. But anyone who’s sat through a Mission Impossible sequel (and I have sat through them all) knows that it doesn’t matter how epic the helicopter chase and fight scenes are.
If your blockbuster is missing heart, you don’t have a story. It won’t connect with your audience.
A good story makes your reader feel emotion—but how?
It’s all in how you present it. Every plot has these basic ingredients:
- A character
- Who desires something
- And so attempts to get it
- Resulting in failure or success
Notice I said “plot” and not “story.”
Because, yeah, that ingredient list will get you a plot—as in, a sequence of events. But you need a few more ingredients to make a good story.
Because Special Forces Hero Guy might desire to save the world and get the girl, skillfully attempt to do so while flying a helicopter, and succeed just as the bomb is about to go off—but do we continue to care?
Not unless Hero Guy’s story also includes a few more ingredients:
- The need (different than—and often at odds with—desire)
- The misbelief that’s holding the character back
- The transformation they need to go through in order to succeed
These ingredients are critical.
For a story to feel like more than a sequence of thrilling events, there needs to be change. The character—and therefore the audience—needs to learn something along the way.
The need, misbelief, and transformation don’t have to be huge in order for a story to be compelling. But they have to be there.
And, in a selling story, they have to be there in a way that compels your audience to take action.
What makes a good selling story?
Remember the client I just mentioned? The one with the epic survival stories? We could have picked any of them to start the book off with a bang—I mean, the guy has been attacked by literal pirates.
The story that opens the book, though, is about a tree.
It’s a fruit tree that my client and his wife took with them when they moved across the country. The tree had been shocked by the move and was on the verge of death—in fact, my client was advised to let it die and plant another. But instead he pruned it, watered it, fertilized it, and the tree survived. As a scarred, ugly stump, at first. But it survived.
That’s hardly cinematic. But it is a fantastic selling story!
Because the point of his book is that survival isn’t always pretty—especially not in the moment. But, ugly or not, you have to learn the skills of survival in order to really thrive.
The story of my client’s decision not to let that tree die is a perfect invitation to the reader: Come join me in my world a moment. Let me show you something that will change your mind.
There’s no real “plot” there, but there’s tons of story.
Remember:
- a plot is a sequence of events
- a story is a sequence of events that creates change in the characters
Watching a character go through struggle and transformation is what makes the audience feel something, which is what makes a good story connect with your audience.
In cinema, it’s enough to feel relieved that our hero realized her own worth and learned to trust her new found family in time to foil the evil corporation’s plot.
But if you’re running a business, you’re not just here to tell feel-good stories. You’re here to tell stories that sell.
If a good story makes your audience feel something, a good *selling* story compels your audience to take action on that feeling.
DISCLAIMER!
I want to be really clear—this doesn’t mean every story you tell should end in a sales pitch. But it should feel like an invitation for your audience to join you in your world.
If you’re using story in your nonfiction book, it needs to do more than be entertaining. It should be moving your reader toward something meaningful. Something valuable. Something that nudges them closer to a decision, a belief, or a transformation.
In a good selling story, witnessing a character’s struggle and transformation should stir something deeply internal within your audience. It should pull them forward toward your brand, your offer, your transformation—without you needing to do a hard sell.
A good story is about a character’s transformation. A good selling story should make your audience see themselves in that transformation—and want to learn more.
It’s not about describing your product or listing all your features or outlining the benefits of your methodology. It’s about showing someone the path—through a relatable, emotional journey—and giving them a tiny “aha” that shifts something.
Let me give you another extremely un-cinematic example.
The Guy with the Rag
My friend Chris Hare runs a marketing agency called The Storied Future, where he works with executives to tell their own stories, and shape their company’s brand narratives.
(He’s also got a great podcast by the same name, which you can check out here.)
Sometimes he brings me in to work with him on brand narrative projects—which is always a blast, even though most of the subjects are the opposite of sexy.
We’re talking radiology. Paint supply products. Business intelligence software. Trucking. Microsoft Teams.
B2B enterprise stuff and manufacturing—which always sounds hugely boring, even if what the company is selling is valuable.
We have fun, though.
Mostly because Chris has this magical way of making even the most boring subject interesting by digging for what he calls Atomic Stories.
When these companies struggle to explain what makes them different, Chris doesn’t start with what the C-suite has to say. He doesn’t pay attention to the mission statement, the vision, or the marketing copy.
He goes to the people on the ground and interviews them. The warehouse workers. Customer service reps. Sales teams. Actual customers.
He does this because the C-suite is too close to the product or service to understand what their customers actually value about it. Mining for Atomic Stories from customers and those closest to them illustrates exactly what makes that company unique, so they can lean into it with their branding.
One of my favorite examples comes from a project we did for a paint supply company.
Chris took a tour of the warehouse, chatting up folks he met along the way, and found one guy fulfilling a customer’s order. The guy had a rag, and was wiping dust off cans of paint as he stacked them on the pallet.
Chris was intrigued. Did he wipe down every paint can?
Absolutely, the guy said. He didn’t want the customer to see any dust when they unwrapped their shipment.
Had he been told to do that? Chris asked.
No. He just knew that was the level of quality this company delivered, so he’d added it to his process. The guy said it like it was a no-brainer—because to him, it was. This company equaled quality, and it was so baked into the culture that this warehouse worker wasn’t taking any shortcuts.
To most of us, paint is paint is paint. Why should it matter if we order cans of Valspar Acrylic Enamel Door & Trim paint from one supplier instead of another?
The paint supply company had been explaining their market difference by saying, “We go above and beyond to ensure quality.”
Which… fine. That’s great.
But who cares?
But if you tell me a story about the warehouse guy who wipes down every single can of paint before wrapping it on a pallet—not because anyone told him to, but because that’s what he knows the company expects?
It’s specific. It’s visual. It’s real. And it instantly makes me think, “Whoa—if they care that much about something as small as dust, what else are they doing behind the scenes?”
That’s the power of story.
It’s the only way to sell something intangible, like “quality.” And it does something even more:
It acts as a magnet for your ideal customer, while repelling customers who aren’t a good fit.
Like the story of the tree that survived, this story has a wildly boring plot line.
That’s fine. We’re not making a Charlize Theron vehicle here.
But if you’re a customer reading that, you’re not just thinking, “Wow, that’s nice.” You’re thinking, “If they care that much about that, I bet they care about me.” You’re thinking, “That’s the kind of company I want to work with.”
Or even, “That’s the kind of company I want my company to be.”
And here’s the kicker:
A good selling story also filters out the people who aren’t the right fit.
Some people will hear about the survivor tree or the warehouse guy with the rag and think, “That’s amazing.”
Others will think, “That’s inefficient and obsessive—hard pass.”
Fabulous.
That’s exactly what you want. Because a good selling story doesn’t just attract your right people—it repels the wrong ones. All without being sleazy.
Think of in as the ultimate qualifier!
So, how do you do this?
By using the Magnetic Story Framework:
- Start with your customer’s inner world: their fear, frustration, or desire.
- Introduce a relatable character (you or a client) with a similar challenge.
- Walk us through the moment of transformation—what changed?
- End with the promised land: what does this mean for the reader?
(Here’s a refresher on the Magnetic Story Framework if you need it.)
Notice that both of the examples I shared today are very, very tiny. So tiny, in fact, you might think they’re missing one (or more) of the four points above.
That’s because we’ve left a ton of blanks for the audience to fill in—and that’s fine, because your audience is pretty smart. We’ll discuss this as we get more into craft.
The point is that compelling selling stories don’t have to be big, and they don’t have to include pirates. They just need to be hyper focused on your customer’s need, struggle, transformation, and the promised land ahead of them.
💫Take Action💫
Set a time for 30 minutes and start a swipe file of storytelling examples you like. These can be from colleagues, mentors, competitors, or even people in completely unrelated fields. Keep building this swipe file as you navigate the world over the next few weeks.
P.S. I’m standing on the shoulders of giants as I teach this material, and one of the greats is Lisa Cron. Her book Story Genius transformed the way I think about crafting stories, and nearly everyone I recommend it to says the same thing.
Story Genius is firmly aimed at narrative fiction writers, but Cron recently released a book called Story or Die, which takes her concepts and applies them to the business world. I highly recommend you check it out.