And, for more on how to harness your brain’s natural storytelling ability when it comes to writing a story, I’ve recently done a two hour video tutorial for the amazing tech website, Lynda.com. It’s called “Writing Fundamentals: The Craft of Story.” Click here for a taste, and for a free 7 day trial at Lynda.com. But beware, once you start trolling the site, you’ll find it’s addictive – not to mention full of insanely useful info that just might change your life (how often do you get to say that and mean it!).

Meanwhile, I bet you’re  curious about the photo at the top of this post — clearly it has nothing to do with Writer Unboxed or Lynda.com. So, without further ado, let’s talk story for a minute. Or better yet, watch one – a commercial for Jetta.

An ad, you might say? But we’re writers, and not Mad Men. Ah yes, but advertisers turn out to be some of the best storytellers around, because they know the secret: the brain is wired to instantly respond to story in a way that facts, details, data and concepts can’t even touch.

The reason I’m suggesting you watch this particular commercial is not just because it’s a great story, but because it is perfect example of how to use a “reveal.”

So, before I say more, take a minute and watch it. As you do, pay particular attention to the story you’re telling yourself as it unfolds (there hardly a word in it . . .). Spoiler alert: don’t read forward until you’ve seen it.

Here’s the link.

Okay . . . lalalalalalala. I’m protecting you, ‘cause I know that our hardwired response to being told not to do something is to, um, do it. So chances are whether you wanted to or not, you glanced down at this paragraph before clicking on the link. Now for the spoiler . . .

. . . so, did you notice that when you watched the commercial you were sure that this guy was late for his own wedding? Everyone was worried. He was panicked. But there was probably a teeny tiny niggling voice in the back of your mind whispering, Why is he so far from his own wedding? Why doesn’t he just call and say he’s late? Why does everyone at the church look SO unhappy? And when he pulls up, hey, why is he going into the front of the church, wouldn’t there be a side entrance for the groom? I’m not saying you thought these things consciously, but that you felt them, like pebbles in your shoe.

To see exactly what I mean, watch the commercial again. See how really unhappy and wistful the bride looks? This time when she glances out the window, you know she’s not looking for her groom, but to be rescued.

In other words, the “tells” that all is not as it seems were there from the beginning. What hooked us the first time is that we were dying to know if the guy would get to the wedding in time. Why is he late, we wondered? What happened? In other words, we thought knew where this was going. But did you notice how delicious the surprise at the end was?  It didn’t feel tacked on, or unbelievable, in fact, it felt more believable than the story we’d been telling ourselves. Talk about a well earned “reveal” that changes everything!

The point is that the “tells” told one believable story going in, and another – slightly more believable story — in hindsight.

When you’re writing that’s the goal. Let us know something is amiss, so we can start to try to fill in the blanks. Don’t keep the “reveal” so hidden that when it comes, because there was no foreshadowing, there’s nothing for us to look back at and go, “of course!” After all, the pleasure of reading is trying to figure out what’s actually going on, the better to anticipate what will happen next. And when that commercial ended, didn’t you wonder exactly that? Is she going to marry Dustin Hoffman, uh, I mean the guy who burst into the church?

What does this have to do with selling Jettas? Good question. My guess is twofold: First, that wonderfully satisfying jolt at the end is something that will stick with us, it was visceral. Second, since we always root for the underdog – the guy who saves the day – we’ll associate the car with something we can trust to get us where we need to be in the nick of time.

But will we remember all that consciously the next time we’re in the market for a car? Probably not. Which isn’t to say that when we gaze at the Jetta a sensation of confidence, safety and daring might not well up inside. But that’s another story.

This is from the Barnes & Noble at Union Square in New York City.  Wow. I’m plotzing!

That’s why today I am so excited I can hardly sit still, because I get to join one of the smartest, most creative, savvy roomful of writers on the Internet – Writer Unboxed. For me, it’s a dream come true.

I’m there today, writing about why we’re wired for story. Hey, did you know that the brain craves, hunts for, and responds to the same thing whether you’re writing literary fiction or a down and dirty thriller? Want to find out what it is? Click here and find out. The door’s wide open, and we’d love to know what you think!

And you know what? There’s something very intriguing about the site that you wouldn’t know at first blush. Something that the brilliant person who runs it, James Chartrand, wanted to a keep secret. Which brings us to one of my favorite topics: neuroscience.

One of the most thrilling (and sometimes unnerving) things about recent breakthroughs in neuroscience is that they’re proving that many of the things we suspected about how we see the world are actually true.

For example, the notion that “We see the world not as it is, but as we are.” Turns out it’s not a metaphor, it’s a fact.

We don’t see what’s “objectively” right there in front of us, rather we see what we expect to see.  Everything is subjective. That’s where story comes in – our own personal narrative explains what things actually mean to us, and what we should do about it.

Of course, sometimes what we expect to see is pretty close to what’s actually there. Sometimes it’s the exact opposite.

For instance, there was a fascinating article in the New York Times a few months back about Patricia O’Brien, a writer who published several books, none of which had done particularly well. When her next novel failed to sell, her agent was certain it was because the editors she’d submitted it to, knowing that O’Brien’s last book hadn’t sold well, were thus unable to see the story that was actually there on the page.

So she suggested O’Brien do a two word rewrite: her name. When her manuscript then went out under the pseudonym Kate Alcott it sold in three days.

Both groups of editors read the exact same manuscript, yet each group read a very different story. The second group read only the story on the page and were completely engaged, the first read it as a novel by a failed writer whose work just didn’t connect with readers, and weren’t engaged. Want to know how well the novel in question, The Dressmaker, connects with readers? Just click here.

Which brings us back to Men With Pens and James Chartrand, whose website was born after she – yes she – discovered that simply by taking a man’s name doors in the work world that remained steadfastly shut to her as a woman, suddenly opened. Like Patricia O’Brien, she didn’t do a single thing differently. Not one. As you can read here, the reality stayed the same, the only thing that changed was her name. And that alone, in and of itself, changed the world’s perception of everything she did.

Why? Because the stories we tell ourselves about how the world works are what create the reality we see. It’s eye opening, isn’t it? Not to mention a little scary.

It’s also why writers are the most powerful people on earth. The stories we write have the ability to change how others view the world, themselves, and what they do about it. The power of story is yours, use it wisely.

It is not well written.

You can’t put it down.

To recap for anyone who’s just waking up from a refreshing six month nap: Fifty Shades of Gray by E.L. James, along with its sequels, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, has topped bestseller lists around the world for months. The trilogy has sold well over 20 million copies, and is the fastest selling paperback series of all time, leaping ahead of Harry Potter. There are well over 8,000 reviews on Amazon.

The one thing you hear over and over – often in an embarrassed whispered by your most highbrow friends — is that you can’t put it down.

The question is: why?

The answer is: Fifty Shades of Gray does exactly what a good story needs to do in order to captivate the reader’s brain. It catapults us into the protagonist’s skin and allows us to feel the emotional costs – and, um, benefits – of navigating the escalating problem she’s bound to struggle with. (Sorry, couldn’t resist. Ever notice that when talking about sex everything becomes a double entendre?)

By thrusting us into a risky situation that, let’s be honest, we’ve always been a wee bit curious about — you know, solely in the academic sense — James’ protagonist Anastasia Steele lets us experience what it would be like to take those risks – pretty much risk free. Except, of course, for the risk of being seen actually buying the book. Which might account for the sign seen recently in the window of a Malibu bookstore that simply says, “Shhh, we won’t tell” — and proves it by selling the book discretely wrapped in brown paper.

Which brings us to the real secret of the novel’s success – of any story’s success. There’s something that prose gives us that nothing else does – not real life, not movies, not plays. Prose provides direct access to the most alluring and otherwise inaccessible realm imaginable: someone else’s mind.

Prose let us experience what something really feels like, as opposed to what we’re willing to admit to on the surface. Story is about all those things that we brood on, fantasize over, and wonder about, but would never actually talk about for fear of making a fool of ourselves. Or worse, for fear of finding out that we are, indeed, the only one who feels it. Story shows us we’re not alone. That’s what the reader comes for.

And good writing? That’s gravy. Yes, the writing in Fifty Shades of Gray is clunky (I mean, “holy crap” 44 times? once was too much), but James more deft storyteller than it might seem at first blush.

For instance, writers often forget to let the reader know what the protagonist’s expectations are, so when those expectations aren’t met (and they almost never are – that’s kind of the point), the reader is clueless. James lets us know exactly what Anastasia expects, beginning with her first fateful meeting with the enigmatic Christian Gray. And so clunky writing be damned, a whole lot of us want to know what happens next.

Would Fifty Shades of Gray be “better” if it was well written? Absolutely. Does it matter that it’s not?

Well, it hasn’t stopped over twenty million people from reading it. That means one of two things. Either all those people are idiots, or “good writing” doesn’t mean nearly as much as we’ve been lead to believe when it comes to hooking readers.

Which would you put your money on?

I haven’t the words for how it feels to discover that an idea you’ve worked on for years is actually out there in the world, on its own, perhaps changing the way people see things.  It’s incredibly humbling. And, yes, really exhilarating.

Today I’m delighted to be making guest appearances on two blogs that have been changing the way people see things for a quite while.  Chuck Wendig’s Terrible Minds and Janice Hardy’s The Other Side of Story.

Here’s to story!

My last thought is, Boy am I lucky!

It’s such a privilege to be part of the conversation about what it means to be a good writer. Which is why today I’m beyond thrilled to be making appearances on two of my favorite writing blogs – The Sharp Angle and Novelists, Inc — talking about the thing that unites us all, whether we’re writers or just plain human beings (neatly covering all the bases) – Story.

It’s worth the wait. It’s worth the work. It’s worth the (okay, yes, sometimes incessant) doubts that dog the steps of any writer worth their salt.

To all you writers out there, hang in there. Don’t give up, ever. (But do take naps.)  Learn to tell stories. We’ll listen.

And speaking of feelings, here’s a surreal (and, I can’t deny) wonderful sensation: going to blogs you read every day and finding that you’re mentioned on them (Gawker and Smoking Gun notwithstanding).

This week I’ll be making guest appearances on blogs that for the years I’ve turned to for advice, camaraderie, and inspiration. I can’t tell you how honored to be there.  Speaking of which . . .

Today there’s an excerpt from the book on Jane Friedman’s ever fabulous site, Being Human at Electric Speed: Exploring What it Means to be a Writer in the Digital Age

At the savvy Sharp Angle, here’s Lydia Sharp’s review of Wired for Story

More to come . . .