If you’ve heard my stories, you already know most of them are gloriously uneventful. Truly, nothing out of the ordinary. My stories are made of everyday moments—things that could happen to anyone. I’m not a risk taker. I don’t jump into a river just because it looks fun. I need to know the water temperature, possible currents, escape routes, and whether there’s a towel waiting for me on the other side. Honestly, I probably spend more time preparing for the “after” than the jump itself. You don’t want to sit in your car in wet clothes, do you? Exactly.
Tension doesn’t only live in life-or-death moments. It thrives in the ordinary. The traffic jam that’s making you late. The awkward dinner conversation spiraling out of control. The email you definitely should not have sent. Nothing “big” happens… yet the tension is so real you can feel it in your teeth. And in storytelling, those moments are pure gold.
Tension doesn’t need catastrophe—it needs stakes. And stakes are simply what the audience cares about. In everyday life, stakes are small but incredibly relatable: Your phone dies while you’re lost. Your car stalls in a busy intersection. Your shoe breaks right before your friend’s wedding. Tiny disasters, but very human ones—your audience feels them because they’ve lived them, too.
Let’s talk about that last example, the shoe—because yes, that happened to me. Moments before my friend’s wedding, my shoe broke. You might think, “Just take them off. Buy new ones.” No. This was summer in Las Vegas. Outdoors. No stores nearby. Do you know how hot the concrete is in Vegas? That is storytelling tension.
Small moments also mix internal stakes (fear, embarrassment, silent screaming) with external stakes (heat, time pressure, social expectations). Each layer adds pressure, keeps the audience leaning in, and makes the resolution feel satisfying—even though technically nothing “big” happened.
Timing is key. Stretch the moment just enough to let the audience anticipate what’s coming, but not so long they check their phone. A well-placed pause, a hesitation, a tiny distraction—these build suspense. In comedy, that becomes the perfect pause before a punchline. In storytelling, it helps your audience slip into your shoes and feel the nerves, curiosity, or panic in real time.
And finally: relatability. Tension works best when the audience sees themselves in your moment.
So the next time you think your story “lacks drama,” don’t panic. Look closely at the ordinary. Tension doesn’t require explosions, heartbreak, or epic battles. Sometimes, it’s a latte that’s taking too long, a small lie inching toward discovery, or a knock at the door you weren’t expecting.