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7thWave AI Assistant

It’ll have a go.  AI is game for anything.  But AI cannot tell stories.  Not proper stories about transformation or realisation.  It can research a story upon request, although checking the information it provides is advisable.  It might improve on the telling of a story drafted by a human being but cannot initiate the story.

Perhaps when we have AGI it’ll be able to tell stories but I doubt it.  How can it have any sense of change in its circumstances or beliefs?  It finds and processes information.  It can revise or rewrite a story but never create a new one.

AI doesn’t think and so can’t trace its evolution – “I used to think X and now I think Y” can’t work for AI.  It can’t walk in the woods or do the Hoovering, it can’t experience the world as we do.

I asked ChatGPT 3.5 to “Tell me a story about a storyteller.”  The resulting story is appended to this post (Story 1).  This is not the first time this story has appeared.  There may be small differences but it is ChatGPT’s go-to story about a storyteller.  I don’t know the sources but I suspect it is based on some story somewhere online.

We have a long description of a storyteller until the traveller arrives.  The last few paragraphs are more interesting because we see not only the traveller changed but also the storyteller.  Or so it seems.  It looks like a change in the storyteller but what is the nature of that change?  He carries on, in the last paragraph much as he did in the first.  Given his extensive experience did he never realise his stories touched lives?  And why did this one person trigger that realisation?  Was he the first ever to thank him?   If not, what was it about him that was significant?

A genuine storyteller would have made much more of this event, assuming they believed it was worthy of being told as a story. 

Now look at the second story, generated by ChatGPT – note it is similar in structure to the first although there are differences in background detail or context.  The story illustrates the power of The Wanderer’s storytelling but what changes? 

Both stories are scraped from the Internet and they are impressive because they draw possibly from many sources.  They are both based on the assumption that storytelling is solely about folklore.  But perhaps most important is to ask how this story might touch my life – what is in it that provokes change in how I see the world?

So, how can AI support the work of a business storyteller?  AI is good at generating ideas.  These stories might inspire a story that works for me.  If I can find that story, I might share it.  Story 3 is my story based on these stories.

This is the seventh in a sequence of posts about business storytelling.  The first post was Marketing: Art or Science?  The last post was The Invention Trap and the eighth post will be Stories About Products.

To try out one of your business-related stories and receive feedback from me plus a few other business owners, please comment below to arrange an informal conversation.  I run these sessions free of charge on the second and fourth Thursdays.  Visit my website to find out about the Telling Stories Autumn meetings.

This time Minerva decided to illustrate one of her stories.  She tells me The Wanderer is a good friend of hers and sometimes looks after her owls.  She's not so sympathetic to dogs.

Appended Stories

Story 1:  Tell me a story about a storyteller

Once upon a time, nestled in a quaint village at the foot of a misty mountain, there lived a storyteller named Elias. Elias was known far and wide for his captivating tales that seemed to weave magic into the air whenever he spoke. His voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, enchanting listeners of all ages.

Elias didn't have much in terms of material wealth, but he possessed something far more valuable—the gift of storytelling. Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned into a canvas of twinkling stars, villagers would gather around a crackling fire in the town square, eagerly awaiting Elias's tales.

With a twinkle in his eye and a gentle smile on his lips, Elias would begin his storytelling ritual. He would transport his audience to faraway lands filled with mystical creatures, daring adventures, and timeless wisdom. Whether it was the tale of a brave knight on a quest to save a princess or a humble farmer who discovered the true meaning of happiness, Elias's stories never failed to captivate the hearts and minds of those who listened.

But Elias's greatest gift wasn't just his ability to spin a good yarn; it was his empathy and understanding of human nature. He had a knack for sensing the joys and sorrows that lay hidden within his listeners' hearts, and he tailored his stories to touch upon the very essence of their souls.

As the years went by, Elias became a beloved figure in the village, revered not only for his storytelling prowess but also for his kindness and compassion. People would seek him out for guidance, solace, and inspiration, knowing that his stories held the power to heal and uplift even the weariest of spirits.

One crisp autumn evening, a weary traveler stumbled upon the village square, drawn by the warm glow of the fire and the melodic sound of Elias's voice. As he listened to Elias's tales, something within him stirred—a long-forgotten spark of hope and wonder reignited in his heart.

After Elias finished his storytelling for the night, the traveler approached him, his eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "Your stories have given me a renewed sense of purpose and reminded me of the magic that still exists in this world."

Elias smiled warmly at the traveler, his heart swelling with joy. For in that moment, he realized that his true calling wasn't just to tell stories but to touch lives—to awaken the dormant dreams and aspirations that lay buried within each and every soul he encountered.

And so, with a heart full of love and a mind brimming with tales yet untold, Elias continued to spin his stories, lighting up the world, one listener at a time. For as long as there were hearts hungry for wonder and minds thirsty for adventure, the storyteller's legacy would live on, eternal and ever enchanting.

Story 2:  Tell me a different story about a storyteller.

In the bustling city of Arcadia, there was a peculiar little bookstore tucked away in a narrow alley. It was here that the renowned storyteller known simply as "The Wanderer" found his sanctuary. No one knew his true name or where he came from, for he appeared in Arcadia one day like a whisper carried on the wind.

The Wanderer was a man of mystery, with eyes that held the secrets of a thousand lifetimes and a smile that hinted at adventures yet to come. He spent his days perched behind the worn wooden counter of his bookstore, surrounded by towering shelves filled with dusty tomes and ancient scrolls.

But it wasn't the books themselves that drew people to The Wanderer's humble abode—it was the stories he wove from the threads of imagination and the tapestry of forgotten legends. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered to life, the people of Arcadia would gather in the cozy confines of the bookstore, hungry for the magic that only The Wanderer could provide.

With a flourish of his quill and a glint in his eye, The Wanderer would transport his audience to faraway lands, where dragons soared across the skies and mermaids sang their siren songs beneath the moonlit waves. His stories were like spells, weaving a spellbinding enchantment that held his listeners captive until the very last word had been spoken.

But The Wanderer's greatest tale wasn't one he found within the pages of a book—it was the story of his own life, a journey filled with triumph and tragedy, love and loss. He had traveled the world in search of stories to share, encountering heroes and villains, miracles and mysteries at every turn.

As the years passed, The Wanderer became a legend in his own right, his bookstore a beacon of light in a world shrouded in darkness. People would come from far and wide to seek his wisdom and hear his tales, knowing that in his stories lay the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe.

One stormy night, a young girl stumbled upon the bookstore, her clothes soaked through and her spirit weary from the weight of the world. The Wanderer welcomed her with open arms, offering her a warm mug of tea and a seat by the crackling fireplace.

As the rain drummed against the windows and the wind howled outside, The Wanderer began to spin his tale—a tale of courage and resilience, of hope in the face of despair. And as the girl listened, her heart swelled with a newfound sense of purpose, knowing that no matter how dark the night may seem, there is always a glimmer of light waiting to guide the way.

And so, as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the girl bid farewell to The Wanderer, her soul alight with the fire of inspiration. For in his stories, she had found not only solace but also the courage to embark on her own journey, wherever it may lead.

And though The Wanderer's time in Arcadia was but a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of existence, his legacy lived on in the hearts and minds of all who had been touched by his magic—for in the end, it is our stories that define us, weaving together the threads of past, present, and future into the rich tapestry of life itself.

Story 3:  This is my version of story 2.

It felt like she had been running all her life.  She had left home running from an abusive stepfather and a mother who didn’t seem to care.  She’d taken some money and spent her last pennies on a ticket to Arcadia.  She knew no-one in the city and had nowhere to go.

Then it started to rain.  Not a little drizzle but torrential rain with no sign of it ending.  And it was night, everywhere was shut.  She hid in an alley and then noticed a small shop with a light on.  She walked towards the window and peered up at the shop.  Over the door she tried to read “The Wand…” – she felt faint.  She saw the shape of a man sat at a desk, reading.  As he stood she fell to the ground.

When she woke up she was inside the shop beside a massive fire.  “I’m not taking my clothes off” she said.  “That’s a relief!” the man smiled and handed her a towel.  “This is a book shop, not a laundry.  Dry yourself as best you can.”  A kettle whistled and after a few moments he brought in two huge mugs of hot chocolate. 

“You know, I once wandered the world and I can remember I was once soaked through.  I fell in a lake, fighting a mountain lion … “  And so he started to recount his adventures.  She was entranced and yet tired and in time fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke next to the glowing ashes.  The Wanderer entered the shop.  “I’ve brought enough breakfast for both of us.”   They ate croissants and cream cakes with butter and more hot chocolate. 

“I must go”, she said.  “I thought you would want to go and so I brought you some sandwiches.”  He pressed them on her and she walked to the door. 

 “Thank you, I must go.  I am grateful.”  “One last question”, he said.  She paused.  He smiles and asked, “Can you read?” 

…

I was in Arcadia a few weeks ago.  It’s easy to get there from Sheffield’s Midland Station if you can find the platform.  It’s a lovely town, although perhaps suffered like everywhere else from austerity.  The bookshop is still there, down the alley.  “The Wanderer” it’s called after the man who founded it all those years ago.  He entertained the people with his stories before the tele distracted them.  They learned storytelling from him but the skill is less exercised now with so many distractions through screens

I found the place full of ancient books, not quite as dusty as it once was, the townspeople say.  I visited at the wrong time to browse.  The shop was full of children, fresh from school.  They were drinking hot chocolate and eating croissants.  They sat mostly quietly listening to a very old lady tell stories of the Wanderer and the little girl he saved.

I asked her afterwards.  She told me “He taught me to read, to love books, how to make a fire and how to tell stories but do you know the main thing I learned from him?” I couldn’t imagine and yet I was not surprised by her last word to me.  “Trust.”