The performance version of your story and the casual, dinner-party version of your story should be kissing cousins. Different, for sure, but not terribly different.

People would rather hear the story about what happened to you last night than about what happened to your friend Pete last night, even if Pete’s story is better than your own.

Your story must reflect change over time. A story cannot simply be a series of remarkable events. You must start out as one version of yourself and end as something new.

No one ever made a decision because of a number. They need a story. — Daniel Kahneman

The audience and the storyteller find a common space in between the extemporaneous and the memorized, and this is where the best stories ideally reside.

This is what the audience wants. They want to feel that they are being told a story. They don’t want to see someone perform a story.

While most storytellers don’t memorize their stories (and I strongly advise against it), they are prepared to tell them. They have memorized specific beats in a story. They know their beginning and ending lines. They have memorized certain laugh lines. They have a plan in place before they begin speaking.

The Dinner Test Lastly, the story must pass the Dinner Test. The Dinner Test is simply this: Is the story that you craft for the stage, the boardroom, the sales conference, or the Sunday sermon similar to the story you would tell a friend at dinner? This should be the goal.

This doesn’t mean that you can’t tell someone else’s story. It simply means you must make the story about yourself. You must tell your side of the story.