How To Tell a Great Story: Find the Hook

The Five Foundations of Storytelling Part One: Find the Hook.

The Five Foundations of Storytelling

Part One: Find the Hook

We’ve all been there.

A conference ballroom. Giant screens. Lanyards. Sponsored coffee. You take your seat. Maybe you’re a little tired, but you’re also kind of hopeful. The keynote speaker steps on stage.

You don’t know who they are. But hey, they must be pretty smart to get this gig, right?

If you’re like me, you’re rooting for them. You want them to crush it. You want to feel something. Maybe even leave inspired.

And then it starts:

“Thank you for having me here today. Mr. Jennings, I really appreciate the opportunity to speak. How we all doing? Having a good conference so far? I haven’t been in Cincinnati for a few years… Nice town.”

Uh oh.

We’re three sentences in and already dying.

Not because they’re a bad person.
Not because they’re not smart.
Not even because the talk will be bad.

It’s because they missed the first—and most important—move a storyteller can make.

They forgot to hook us.

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The Purpose of this Series

I’ve written a lot about why storytelling matters—how it shapes identity, builds connection, and helps us find meaning.

But this series? It’s not about why.

It’s about how.

This is the most practical storytelling content I’ve ever done.

Over the next few days, I’ll walk you through the Five Foundations of Storytelling—the exact framework I use to shape every story I tell. I’ll break down the tips, tricks, and hacks I’ve learned over the years to take a story from good to great.

So get your learning caps on, kids.

Let’s get to it.

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What Is the Hook?

The hook is the moment at the beginning of a story when we decide if we are going to care… or not.

It’s the opening action in a movie that makes you sit up.
The first paragraph in a novel that makes you keep turning pages.
The first beat in a speech that tells the audience: hold onto your hat, this is going somewhere.

There’s no single right way to do it. But there is a wrong way:

Small talk. Credentials. Context. Gratitude. Logistics. Local weather. A brief history of Ohio.

It’s not that those things don’t matter.
It’s that they don’t belong in the first 30 seconds.

The brain is wired for connection, not ceremony.

If you don’t earn our attention right away, you may never get it back.

Here’s another way to say that: you are exponentially more likely to earn the right to be heard (or read) in the first few moments. After that, you lose your advantage.

So don’t throw away your best shot to reel them in.

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How Do You Find the Hook?

You don’t find it by trying to be clever.

You find it by asking better questions—ones that pull you toward honesty, tension, and surprise.

Here are the five questions I ask myself before telling an important story:

1. If I were hearing this story for the first time, what would I say to get my own attention?
   You aren’t the audience, but you know yourself pretty well. So, start with yourself. What would actually make you want to hear this story—if someone else was telling it? What first sentence would make you look up from your phone… and care?

2. What’s the most vulnerable thing I can say right now?
   That thing I’d rather avoid? That’s probably the thing they need to hear. Of course, you can be too vulnerable. This isn’t therapy. But most people don’t naturally go too far. We hold back. Don’t hold back.

3. What’s the strangest or most surprising detail in this story?
   Specificity builds trust. Weirdness builds intrigue. And chronology is overrated in storytelling. If you have an amazing detail, lead with it.

   “The only time I was ever in the back of a police cruiser was the night my wife gave birth to our daughter.”
   That’s a much better hook than:
   “I was driving my pregnant wife to the hospital.”

4. What problem are we solving here?
   Don’t bury the lead. Let them feel the pain before you offer relief.
   Address the problem—but don’t open with a pile of facts and data.
   Please, don’t start a story with a statistic.

   “Six in ten Americans will have heart disease.”
   Not a hook.

   “My grandfathers were named Max and Roger. They both died of heart attacks when I was thirteen.”
   That’s a hook.

5. What’s something we all think but never say out loud?
   Say that. It’s uncomfortable. It’s powerful. And it makes people lean in.

   You don’t need to be crude, vulgar, or inappropriate. Just say the thing that usually goes unstated. It doesn’t have to be some deep emotional confession—just something real. This is actually what many stand-up comedians do best. We laugh because they say things we’ve thought but never said.

   “Can we all stop pretending like we suddenly Brussels sprouts?”
   That’s a pretty solid hook.

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The Five Reactions Every Great Hook Should Trigger

There are three levels of mindset when it comes to starting a story:

1. The inexperienced storyteller thinks:
   “What do I want to say to start my story?”
   They focus on themselves. Their content. Their background. Their agenda. Which usually means the audience checks out immediately.

2. The decent amateur thinks:
   “What do I want my audience to know after my intro?”
   Better. They’re thinking about their audience now—which is huge.
   But it’s still mostly about information, not emotion or connection.

3. The master storyteller thinks:
   “What do I want them to say to themselves after my very first sentence?”
   I used to just ask, “What do I want them to feel?”
   But even that turned out to be too vague.
   It wasn’t until I started asking what I wanted them to say—that internal dialogue—that my intros started to land every single time.

When I step on stage for a keynote, I already know what I want them to be saying to themselves after the first 15 seconds.

It’s one of these five statements below. (I will include the first line of stories I tell as examples for each.)

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1. “That would be scary.”
   Fear creates instant tension. It raises stakes and gets attention fast.
   (“My left arm was going numb every day for no reason.”)

2. “Those things don’t usually go together.”
   We’re wired to notice contrast. When you collide two ideas that shouldn’t fit, we lean in.
   (“I grew up thinking you had to go on The Price is Right to get a new car.”)

3. “I can’t believe they went there.”
   Vulnerability, honesty, or social risk buys trust. Fast.
   (“I was a professional actor for eight years, but I was never sure if I was any good at it.”)

4. “Yes—I’ve been there.”
   Resonance creates connection. When people see themselves in your story, they stick around.
   (“The year that made me who I am was eighth grade. I didn’t have any friends.”)

5. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
   Surprise reframes. When you flip a familiar idea on its head, the audience stays curious.
   (“Tommy Boy, Star Wars, and The Godfather are the same movie.”)

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If You Forget Everything Else...

Remember this:

The first line of your story is never about you. It’s about them.

Make them feel seen. Make them curious. Make them care.

We’ll get to your background later.
We’ll unpack your wisdom.
We’ll land the plane.

But first?

Find the hook.

Because if they aren’t listening, it doesn’t matter how great your story is.

***I’m doing a PAY ONLY WHAT YOU CAN AFFORD PLAN for 1:1 story coaching. More info here. Don’t let money be the reason you don’t start your next chapter.***