Story Cues — Useful But Unreliable

As a child, I learned that I could theoretically ask “why?” until the explanations reached the end of the universe and all that remained was another “why?” without an answer. Of course, my parents’ patience never reached that far. People have busy lives, and while our curiosity is endless, our patience is not. Add to that the usual (if ineffective) focus of communication on having said our part rather than reaching a common understanding, and eventually we stop asking. But our brains don’t. To make sense of all the things we encounter in life that are unexpected, unusual, unknown, or uncomfortable, it tells us stories.

It does not take much to get our story brains going. Imagine coming home and finding a broken vase on the floor. No window is open. There is no sign of a forced entry. As far as you can tell, no one has been in the apartment since you left, and you remember seeing the vase in its usual place on the sideboard just before you locked the door. You own two cats.

Do you need to know more?

Yes, you do. You didn’t witness what happened. But how likely is it that you won’t blame those poor felines? Picture them chasing each other in one of their zoomies, bumping into the vase as they dash across the sideboard. It’s a fitting story. Unless a plausible alternative presents itself, like an earthquake. In that case, you get to choose the story. And which one you choose will depend on factors such as experience and how much you like your cats.

We crave explanations. According to Max-Neef et al¹, understanding is a fundamental human need. Whenever information is ambiguous, unclear, or incomplete, we consciously or unconsciously fill the void with our own interpretations, or in other words, stories. I call these empty spaces story cues.

Story Cues are Great

Story cues are the reason why a single image can be worth more than a thousand words. They are the reason why silence can be more powerful than speech.

Writers use story cues to engage their readers. Because people love to figure things out for themselves, leaving out just the right amount of input while providing a clue to the missing information is a powerful art. Even more so when the clue leads to the wrong conclusion, while the right one is hiding in plain sight, carefully placed for an unexpected twist.

But story cues are more than that. They are how we explain the world. As such, they are the foundation of our imagination. Artists observe their surroundings, collect the story cues they find, and weave their art from them. Similarly, a scientist’s work revolves around finding and investigating story cues - called research gaps. The difference is that an artist is perfectly happy to work with the plausibility a story cue offers, while the scientist takes on the difficult journey from plausibility to correlation and maybe, after years of careful work and analysis, to causation.

Story cues are great for creative work and entertainment. But because they are based on unclear or missing information, they can be problematic when it comes to communicating information reliably.

Story Cues are Dangerous

All that is needed for a story cue to unfold into a story is plausibility. In fact, story cues are nothing more or less than plausible explanations. As children, the stories we tell to explain the world are very creative. As adults, they become increasingly constrained by the reference system of our experiences, biases, and beliefs. But even in a narrow frame of reference, plausibility or intuition leaves a lot of room for interpretation and common errors. And the more room there is, the more misunderstandings there will be.

One problem with story cues is the confusion of correlation and causation. Our brains are all too happy to believe that an illness got better or worse because we took a pill. A change triggered by an action is a good story. A random event happening independently of that same action is not.

Another problem is that we like to tell ourselves what others think or mean – without asking them. Imagine you are having dinner with your spouse, they bring up a topic, you dive in, but they are unusually quiet and unresponsive. You think you might have said something wrong. You might even ask if you did. They say no, but their behavior doesn’t change. You get angry. They feel wrongly accused. In the end, it turns out they were just tired and the argument was based on a misunderstanding. Relationships have broken down because of the cues we gave and the explanations we withheld.

To make matters worse, the reference systems that people develop and the stories that result from them are unique and can vary greatly from person to person. Some people will never think they said anything wrong to their spouse in the situation above (even if they did). Some people will jump to that conclusion. It all depends on who we are, what we have learned, and even our current emotions. This is why misunderstandings are a normal part of communication, and why you need to recognize and address them as early as possible. Ideally, before they happen.

Take Control

Because story cues can trigger different stories for different people at different times, any one person won’t recognize all the story cues hidden in a communication or become aware of all those the audience will perceive. We can try to be as clear as possible, but especially when we enter the realm of our own expertise, we are often blind to the details we have long been accustomed to. This is where feedback becomes invaluable.

Each story cue that an audience member perceives can be a precious hint that either you or they are missing vital information. Look for these cues. Ask people what they understood from your communication. If they got lost somewhere. If they disagree with something. Listen and discuss with your audience to uncover, resolve, and learn from these misunderstandings. And if, along the way, you find useful cues to spice up your communication, so much the better.

I believe it is important to be aware that what we say can and will be misinterpreted. Let’s remember that the next time we get annoyed with someone who “just doesn’t get it”. It’s an opportunity for us to grow.

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Images generated by DALL·E.

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