I don’t know Frances Bridges. But I feel like I do.
She went to Purdue. My whole family went to Purdue.
She studied English literature and communications. I studied creative writing and public relations.
She graduated in 2010. I graduated in 2009. We both struggled through the same recessionary job hunt.
LinkedIn tells me she’s a third-level connection. I know people who know people who know her, in other words. I think that’s how it goes.
We both love stories.
Also, I know Frances is a liberal artist, even if she hasn’t formally adopted the title.
Last week, Frances launched her blog on Forbes. Yeah, that Forbes.
I don’t know Frances. Maybe she took some accounting classes. Maybe she loves supply chain. But that is not how she made it to Forbes before her friends who studied at Krannert, Purdue’s business school.
She made it to Forbes because she, as one Forbes blogger wrote, is pretty, aggressive, big-hearted, loves stories and shows up. She made it because she wouldn’t leave Susannah Breslin, the original blogger who wrote about her, alone before she got some advice about becoming a writer.
But how did Frances get to Forbes before her B-school friends? It’s the story thing. She loves stories. What liberal artist does not? I wonder how many business school students understand stories. Can they tell stories? Do they love stories? Life is just made up of stories, and if you are able to tell a story, or discover a story, or create a story, then you have figured out the hardest parts of life. There are beginnings, middles, and ends. There are funny stories, and there are serious stories. There are stories that pass the time and stories that stop time. Stories are our careers, our lives.
What is most important in these stories is the recognition of symbols, of patterns, of characters, of motivations. Why does Frances’ story lead to Forbes? What is her motivation? What character did she create when she asked that original Forbes blogger, who said she was pretty and aggressive, for advice?
I will tell you for certain — and I do not know Frances — for certain, the motivation was not profit. Was not money. Was not a 401(k) or IPO. Yes, she was job searching. But she could have much more easily taken more classes at Krannert and found a job at a job fair six months before she graduated. No, she made Forbes because she recognized she was part of a story — and had a story to tell. She is richer for this than any CEO will ever be. And she is richer sooner because she has become a liberal artist, an appreciator of the true meanings and mysteries of life.
This is not to say that business school students can’t be liberal artists. All are welcome to the club. It is just to say that the meanings and mysteries of life are not rooted in money or riches in the traditional sense. Frances’ tale does much to illustrate how embracing the story, instead of the paycheck, can lead to success sooner and faster. And it can lead to a success you would never imagine. I’m sure Frances, the English literature major, never thought she’d be doling out business and job advice to her business school friends.
For the full story of Frances and Forbes:
How I got three people jobs, Susannah Breslin
How to get a job if you are a twentysomething woman, Susannah Breslin
Finding your dream job from the bathroom floor, Frances Bridges
“What is most important in these stories is the recognition of symbols, of patterns, of characters, of motivations.”
I’m not buying it. What about conflict? Conflict makes the story. Go back and re-read your favorite stories. Some (but not all) will sound great when read aloud. Some (but not all) will make you laugh. Some (but not all) will have some sort of strange existential pull on you. All of them will have conflict.
Conflict doesn’t have to be the smash-you-over-the-head, there’s-only-one-gun-on-the-table-and-only-one-of-us-is-coming-out-alive brand of conflict. But someone who tells a story without conflict is basically just masturbating.
I think if you understand conflict, then you understand a lot about why people do the things they do with one another and to one another and despite one another. And my guess is that if you get those things, you’ve probably got some thoughts of interest to Forbes’ subscribers.
Anyway, maybe it’s a small point, and it certainly doesn’t undermine the main thrust of your post. Just figured I’d start a little something.
I suppose conflict does elicit a lot in stories. But I’ve always looked for intersection instead, those moments that are sometimes vacant, sometimes full to bursting, from which conflict or resolution or plain apathy rise.
Conflict is too showy. Intersection is where understanding comes from.
Reflecting on these ideas about conflict making a story, I note two things:
First- Literary stories do indeed thrive on Conflict, but if I relate to you the sequence of events that occur in order to give rise to the metabolism of glucose in your cells, is that not also a story? It moves from an initial moment through to a conclusion; it may be conveyed verbally or in graphical symbolism, and there are many many people who find it fascinating and noteworthy (mainly, those who study metabolism in various capacities and from various angles).
And second: Is not the presence or absence of conflict itself arguably a Pattern? One that when present may entice and captivates you, or conversely may cause you discomfort, or whose absence causes you to find it unpleasant and dull- a manual for how something happens.
I suppose the components of a story vary with the nature of the Field that it’s being told within.
I think the (relatively widely-shared) idea that “conflict is too showy” may be born of a conception of conflict that is too narrow. When there is a bomb in the subway and we don’t know if our hero can diffuse it in time, everybody recognizes that plot line as conflict. And yes, relying on solely those types of conflict is showy and, often, lazy. But not all conflict is so overt.
The types of moments you describe, though, of course can’t be disregarded. Those moments can be beautiful, and they are certainly art, but I’m not convinced that it’s in those moments that we really find a story. Until some sort of conflict emerges from those moments, there is nothing to move a narrative forward or slow it down.
It’s difficult for me to imagine a story, as opposed to a single intersecting moment, without at least the most primitive narrative. If these intersections are truly devoid of even the subtlest conflict, it’s hard for me to see how that narrative will be generated.
David, you’re probably on to something on both points. I’m fairly certain that if I were pushed hard enough, I would go a lot easier on my conflict mongering.
My initial post was motivated, if I had to guess, by a lot of what I read in writing workshops back in undergrad. There was this sort of cultish belief that for a story to be a real story, it had to be pretty or oblique or long or political or…(the list goes on). Conflict often got tossed aside, appearing only in spurts if at all, maybe because it can seem showy. It got tiresome, though, because in classes that were ostensibly about telling stories, everyone tried to “out art” everyone else at the expense of narrative.
In the end, I think I’m willing to back away slightly from my first post. I think I just wanted to stand on the powerful bully pulpit that is the TLA comments section and put in a plug for conflict before undergrads across the country succeed in writing it out of existence.
Thank you all for this great conversation. I must say, as a creative writing major, I had many a conversation regarding conflict, or lack thereof, in short stories. And I agree, without conflict, many stories are, like you say, Herman, pretty or oblique or just long. While I did not mention it specifically, I don’t think you can have an interesting story with out symbols or patterns–and especially characters and motivations–that do not encounter conflict. Characters and motivations are born out of conflict; conflict is relative easy to pinpoint. But for me, it is character and motivation that truly makes a story a story, and these aspects are often more difficult to identify or explain. It is how one story differs from another. Take Frances for example. How many students were looking for jobs after graduation? Conflict. How many made it to Forbes? Character–and motivation. Each story is unique and different, determined by how Frances or the characters act, and why they do what they do. Conflict matters, it matters a lot. But for me, the best stories have the best characters.
Love the blog