Following is the full text of comedian Daniel Sloss’ talk titled “It’s Only A Story” at TEDxEaling conference.
Daniel Sloss – Comedian
Good afternoon, everything all good?
Lovely. We’re all storytellers at different points in our lives. We’ve all told stories in different ways in different scenarios.
Whether you’ve been a parent telling a child a bed time story in a desperate bid to make them go to sleep, whether you’ve been a friend telling a friend about another friend’s drunken antic at the weekend to make yourself seem slightly less embarrassed.
Or whether you’ve been at a party telling a story to try and impress the red-head in the corner and you regale a tale about this time you were very witty and snappy, and this verbal encounter you had with another person.
But you weren’t really that funny or snappy in reality, you only thought of comebacks on the way home, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She’s on her third martini, she’s ready to go. We all tell stories in different ways as well.
When my dad tells stories he’s straight to the point. It’s all the facts, no frills. This happened, this happened then this happened, therefore this happened.
Moral of this story is: Don’t drink tequila with your mother, otherwise you happen.
When my mum tells a story, she likes to have all the extra details, all the back stories, all the character biographies and by the end, it’s been like a nine-hour version of Inception.
You’re not sure what’s happened, you just know apparently someone your mum works with is a bit of a cow.
When my grandparents tell stories, they tell stories the way old people tell stories. They’re very humble, don’t like to brag. It’s always stuff like: “Oh, and then I got my medal from Winston Churchill for saving all those orphans. But enough about me, how’s school?”
Children are the opposite. When my brothers tell stories, they do the thing all children do which is they have so much enthusiasm and excitement that they promise a story that’s never going to live up to your expectations.
“And then what happened?”
“And then we went outside.”
“And then what happened?”
“Then Matthew was here.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then he farted.”
90% of stories my brothers have told me has always ended with an unpleasant bodily function.
Everyone is a storyteller, even in the media: television, newspapers, tabloids, podcasts, music, artists. Everything’s a different way of telling a story.
I tell stories differently as well. I’m a comedian. I tell stories that are punchy, jokey, all the way through in order to keep an audience’s ever-shortening attention span solely focused on me.
I tell true stories, I tell exaggerated stories, I tell stories that are completely and utterly made up. Total lies. Like, I have been sitting with my friends, having a drink, and one of them will say something like: “Ah, wouldn’t it be funny if this happened?”
And I’ll think to myself: “Yeah, that would be funny.”
And then I shamelessly take it down in my iPhone. Take it home. Write out. And somehow integrate myself into this story so I’d become a hero. So I can then go out on stage in front of a room full of strangers, in a desperate bid to get them to like me.
Because that’s all a comedian is. We’re desperate storytellers. All we do is go out to a room full of people we’ve never met and beg them to like us.