The 22 Pixar Storytelling Rules: My 7 favorites

If you could have one superpower what would it be?

Ever since I first saw superman, flying was my jam.

But once I started dealing with puberty, mind reading nabbed top spot.

Then, in 2014, I was at a conference. I was very much an adult. And, the question came up as an ice breaker.

Maybe I lost something of the magic of childhood. But, now, I wanted something that could actually exist. Something I could actually attain.

So, I narrowed the question: "if I could have any ability without spending years to achieve it, what would it be?"

My answer: To be the best storyteller in the world.

Storytelling is a real-world power.

It connects people. It unites people. It gets things done. It's the fuel for accomplishing impossible things.

So, whenever I hear about storytelling, I pay attention.

For example, I was recently listening to an interview of Shaan Puri called "How to Master Storytelling". And, this tip struck me:

"The hero doesn't have to win. The audience loves the hero for the way they try."

What an insight!

He mentioned it was from The 22 Pixar Storytelling Rules.

It's a great guide. Worth a full read.

But, here're the ones I love most (paraphrased):

1. [Rule 1] We love the hero more for trying than for succeeding.
   Our lives are characterized by the struggles we go through. Since we can't control the outcomes, it's the fight that's noble. Stories are really just simulations of life. And, like in real life, it's the hero's willingness to fight that touches us. Not necessarily the outcome.
   
   
2. [Rule 2] Make it interesting for the audience, not the storyteller.
   Telling a story is an attempt to deliver a message. If the message isn't received, we've failed. Obviously, we can't force others to receive our message. So, we need to make it something they want to receive. The only way to do that is to always be thinking from their perspective.
   
   
3. [Rule 6] What’s your hero most comfortable with? Put them through the polar opposite.
   If the hero's always comfortable, there's no struggle. If there's no struggle, there's no story. Know your hero's comfort zone and make them struggle.
   
   
4. [Rule 13] Give your characters strong opinions. Flexibility kills audience interest.
   We decide how much to engage with others by looking at how much their opinions align our own. If someone doesn't have any strong opinions, we don't really feel much about them. Except maybe indifference. And indifference is the fastest way to lose someone's interest.
   
   
5. [Rule 15] Put yourself in your characters' place. Be authentic about how it'd feel.
   If the hero's feelings or reactions aren't things we'd experience in their place, we won't be able to put ourselves in their position. If we can't put ourselves in their position, we're not going to care much about how the story goes. As an added bonus, if we can put ourselves in their position, we're willing to suspend disbelief in other dimensions (like living in a world of where superpowers exist).
   
   Bonus points: In the interview of Shaan Puri, he advises that we shouldn't tell stories by saying what happened. Instead, we should show how it felt.
   
   
6. [Rule 16] Make sure what's at risk for the hero is obvious. Then, stack the odds against them.
   If nothing's at risk, the struggle doesn't matter. So, giving the audience the context for what's at risk is important. Likewise, if the odds of success are high, there's no struggle. Low odds of success create the struggle.
   
   
7. [Rule 19] Use coincidences to get characters into trouble. Don't use coincidences get characters out of trouble.
   We've all experienced unfortunate surprises. We get fired, we get in an accident, someone close to us dies. On the other hand, it's not common that the issues these things cause are resolved by coincidences. Resolving problems with coincidences is lazy storytelling. It destroys believability. It makes an invested audience feel deceived.
   

I hope you find the pointers as insightful as I did!

Happy storytelling!

The tyrany of the evergreen excuse

I'll always remember my high school running coach saying:

"Excuses are like assholes. Everyone's got one and they stink."

We all hate hearing excuses when things don't go as expected.

But, I think some excuses are better than others.

Sometimes, excuses are situational. Things like:

"The reports weren't delivered on time because we had an unexpected system outage."

Or:

"I was late for dinner because there was an accident that caused a backup in traffic."

These are single-use products. They apply only to a specific situation at a specific time. Use once and discard.

On the other hand, some excuses are evergreen. For example:

"We weren't able to get the project done on time because it's really complex."

Or:

"I didn't exercise today because I didn't have the energy."

Evergreen excuses are re-usable. They never expire. They're always available for use.

When we're accountable to others, evergreen excuses are a quick path to getting fired/breaking up/etc.

When we're accountable to ourselves, they're a quick path to self-loathing. When accountable to ourselves, we make the decision of whether or not to accept our own excuse.

Evergreen excuses give us permission to be lazy.

They're always ready to giving us an easy out. Ready to tell us it's okay that we didn't do the thing we should've done.

They're addictive. Each time we use them, it becomes easier to use them the next time.

We get used to the easy road.

Eventually, taking the easy road is no longer a decision. It's just becomes the road we're on.

That road leads to disappointment.

It's a path that leads away from our dreams.

Chatting unusual career transitions on the Educative podcast

A good friend of mine, Lee Ngo, hosts the Educative podcast, which is a great source of inspiration for people starting or growing their careers in software development.

He recently invited me on to chat about my unusual career path.

Here's a (very) brief summary of my journey:

I fell in love with computer programming in college. But, after working at a large corporation for a number of years, I found that I'd lost my passion and questioned whether it was really what I wanted to be doing.

I ended up leaving the company and joining a venture capital firm, where I focused on working with portfolio companies on recruiting and HR instead of software development.

Eventually, I realized that, yes, I did, in fact, love software development and made another career shift back into it.

Here's the conversation (~15 minutes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vK5qycRgf1Q

That time I farted in front of a girl I liked 😳

Trust me, when I say there can be too much of a good thing

I. Love. Korean food.

There’s something about fat-marbled meat, coated in a sweet, savory sauce that drives my consumptive instincts wild. Plus, I love variety, so the the accompanying banchan (those half-dozen side dishes, each a gem in its own right) drives me crazy.

I learned the joys of Korean food in college, where I had a Korean roommate and a number of other friends who were already in the know. It was love at first taste.

So, the first time I asked a girl out on a date, what better way to impress her than to take her to a Korean restaurant?

It was brilliant (in the American sense). And the girl said yes, so it was doubly brilliant (in the British sense).

As we settled in at the restaurant, the waiters laid out a cornucopia of visually stimulating side dishes. We were soon taking turns grilling beautiful meat after beautiful meat on the grill built right into the table. It was smiles and delight all around.

So, as you can imagine, I was quite pleased with myself as we left the restaurant. I was proud to have shown off this culinary treasure and, to my luck, my date was a light eater, so my belly was extra full.

That sense of satisfaction trailed me the whole way home, from the door of the restaurant to the parking in front of her apartment, where I'd planned on dropping her off.

And then, I felt it.

A rumble, emanating from deep within my bowels.

“Uh oh…”, I thought.

We sat there in the car chatting for a minute or two, recapping the fun of the evening, before she invited me to have tea before heading home.

I could already feel pressure swelling in my lower abdomen. I knew we were in the danger zone.

But she was insistent and I was enjoying the conversation and.. fuck it, it'll be fine.

So, we hopped out of the car and started walking.

Nope. 10 steps in, I stopped in my tracks.

Damn you, Korean food! Why're you so delicious?!

She turned, with a confused look on her face.

I didn’t know what to say or do.

“You go ahead. I need to fart.”

Yep. That was all I could think of.

It was one of those moments where you recognize what’s to come and there's nothing left to do but capitulate to the inevitable.

“What?”

Oh shit... Did she not hear me? Or were the words so unexpected that her brain failed to process them?

Then, like an overzealous actor, unwilling to wait for his cue, the Korean food made its encore.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr r r r r r   r t...

There was a moment of silence as we stared at one another.

“Okay, I’m good now.”

She didn’t say another word until we got to her apartment.

I’ll never know if she didn’t hear it, felt too awkward to ask about it, or was just totally indifferent to it.

But, she never mentioned it again.

Lyrics: This Song (Federico Aubele)

One of my favorite songs is This Song, by Federico Aubele.

The lyrics are captivating and simultaneously evoke a bit of warmth and longing. I couldn't find them documented anywhere, so I went ahead and did it myself. I feel like they're worth sharing.

If you haven't heard it, here's the song on YouTube.

-----

This Song, by Federico Aubele

I open my eyes and walk in my dream
Through empty streets that once belonged to you and me
Looking for your face in the fallen leaves
Like a blind man picturing the sea

So I wrote a song, this song, to get me through the night
It keeps me warm now that I'm alone
So I wrote a song, this song, to get me through the night
It's written on the pieces of my memories of you

Saw an old man with my face walking down
This lonely road that stretches out for miles
He said I'm drowning in the sands
Of the times when I had a home in your green eyes

So I wrote a song, this song, to get me through the night
It keeps me warm now that I'm alone
So I wrote a song, this song, to get me through the night
Written on the pieces of my memories of you

My lonely summer

Summer in Seattle is the kind of thing that convinces you to move to the city.

Warm temperatures, mild humidity, and long days where you marvel at pink and orange sunsets, 9:30 at night.

It was 2014 and I was just starting to think about romantic relationships, several months after having finally left a very painful, very broken relationship that lasted 7 years.

I’d always struggled with the idea of relationships. In fact, that’s probably why I ended up in such a bad one and probably why I stayed in it for so long.

The idea of asking someone out terrified me. What if they said no? Or, worse, what if they said yes?

So, that summer, I sat in my apartment, dreaming about how I’d work up the courage to ask people out. I sat in the apartment that I’d found and chosen on my own. The apartment I’d furnished and decorated on my own. I sat in that empty apartment, alone, and dreamed.

The Bliss of Uncertainty

It’s funny, how we attempt to escape loneliness, only to find ourself deeper into it.

When I was 11, my family moved to California. We moved right in the middle of 5th grade and while the kids in my new class were mostly kind, I was shy and they already had established relationships. So, by the time summer came around, I was on my own.

Without friends, summer was pretty much nothing but chores. So, you can imagine my excitement when it was time to head back to school in the fall.

I fantasized about the friends I’d make. I dreamed about how I’d be popular and loved.

The problem with fantasies, of course, is that they focus on an end state. They miss everything it takes to reach that end state.

And, as rationality would predict, there was no roaring crowd of admirers waiting for me in my new class.

What was a shy kid with a deep craving for kinship to do?

Make ‘em laugh!

I was pretty quiet at first, but slowly began testing the waters. I’d work up the courage to make a smart-ass remark in class and, to my delight, I was rewarded with laughter.

In time, I started integrating physicality. I’d fall out of my chair, dumbfounded as to how it happened. Then, I’d turn red at the giggles it produced, all while secretly reveling in the attention.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t making friends. For some reason, my antics didn’t result in people asking me to hang out with them.

And, so it went. For weeks. Then months. And then, a year.

Then, one day, something changed.

The sun-baked asphalt of the school grounds was hot, so our gym teacher shuffled us into the school’s large gymnasium to play indoor soccer.

Inside, we filed into the bleachers overlooking the gymnasium floor. About 10 of us at a time rotated in and out of play under the direction of the teacher, who sat on the stage across from us.

When it was my turn to play, I trotted out into the middle of the gymnasium floor.

Within seconds, someone in the bleachers started chanting.

“Hakon sucks. Hakon sucks.”

Slowly, but surely, others began joining in. The voices swelled.

“Hakon sucks, Hakon sucks, Hakon sucks…”

In no time, every single one of my classmates, the people who’s affection I so desperately wanted, joined in until any lingering delusions I might have about the possibility of being liked were stripped away.

I stood there, absorbing it all, completely and utterly ashamed of myself and everything about me.

And, even though it hurt, I never reacted. I never even looked up.

I held my feelings inside for the rest of the day, not capable of handling any more emotion and not having anyone I felt safe talking with, anyways.

That night, in a little 3x3 shower, where tears are indistinguishable from running water, I let truth sink in. I felt my aloneness and I felt the disgust with which people saw me. I felt the craving to be liked and the recognition that I never would be. There, slumped into the corner, I felt the shame of being refuse nobody wanted and cried.