Nonprofits rarely struggle with having enough to say.
Between program descriptions, outcome data, testimonials, and community needs assessments, there is no shortage of information. If anything, the challenge is the opposite: how do you decide what matters most—and how do you say it in a way that sticks?
The answer has a lot to do with how people process information.
We are wired for story. Research shows that stories activate more parts of the brain than facts alone. Stories help us process information, build empathy, and remember what we’ve heard long after the details fade. They give context to information and meaning to data.
That matters in a nonprofit context. Funders and stakeholders are often looking for clear, quantitative evidence. They want to see outcomes, scale, and effectiveness. But numbers alone rarely move someone to act. Story is what helps people understand why the work matters and who it matters to.
Because here’s the reality: Data builds credibility. But story builds connection.
What Makes a Story Stick?
A strong story doesn’t have to be complicated. Whether you’re reading a children’s book, following a novel, or listening to a song, the core elements are surprisingly consistent:
- A clear character: Who is this about?
- A challenge: What are they up against?
- Tension: What uncertainty, conflict, or obstacle keeps the story moving?
- Change: What’s different by the end?
And what ties all these elements together? Details. Without rich, concrete details, stories fall flat. The details are what make people picture the moment, connect emotionally, and remember the story later.
Three examples illustrate this well.
A Hungry Caterpillar
In The Very Hungry Caterpillar, we meet a simple character: a caterpillar who is, as the title tells us, very hungry.
He eats his way through a growing list of foods: fruit at first, then cake, ice cream, and more. The pattern builds, and eventually it catches up with him.
He gets a stomachache.
That moment matters. It introduces tension and consequence. Something isn’t quite right.
He recovers (thanks to a tasty leaf!), builds a cocoon, and eventually emerges as a butterfly.
The story works because it is focused:
- One character
- A straightforward challenge
- A moment of tension
- A visible change
And woven throughout are details children remember: the foods, the repetition, the stomachache, the transformation. Even though my youngest is now almost ten, I can still recite every item the caterpillar ate in order. That memorability comes from the story’s clarity. There’s no attempt to include everything or layer in extra context “just in case.” It focuses on a simple arc, and that focus is what makes it stick.
A Young Wizard
Now consider something far more complex.
The Harry Potter series includes an entire world—characters, history, rules, relationships, and conflict layered over multiple books. In many ways, it mirrors nonprofit work: context, nuance, competing priorities, and a diverse set of stakeholders who are affected by how the plot unfolds.
But the story still holds together because of a clear core:
- Character: Harry, a boy who grows up feeling unseen and out of place
- Challenge: He discovers he belongs to a world where he is both significant and deeply at risk
- Tension: He faces a powerful enemy, along with loss, pressure, and uncertainty about who he is meant to be
- Change: Over time, he learns to rely on others, make difficult choices, and act with courage
The series is filled with complexity, but a big part of what draws readers in is the details: moving staircases, floating candles, Quidditch matches, chocolate frogs, letters arriving by owl. Those details create richness and texture, but they never overwhelm the core story. Beneath all the magic and complexity, readers stay grounded in Harry—who he is, what he faces, and how he changes over time.
A Forgotten Scarf
Finally, we’ll look at a different kind of storytelling, one that’s rooted not in plot or world-building, but in details.
Taylor Swift is widely recognized for the specificity and emotional detail in her songwriting, and she has spoken openly about how much attention she pays to detail in her writing process.
In a recent interview with The New York Times, she described keeping a running file on her phone filled with words, phrases, questions, and snippets she may want to use later in a song, details collected over months or even years until they find the right place.
That instinct shows up clearly in All Too Well, where the narrative unfolds through concrete moments: details that might seem small on their own, but together create something vivid and memorable.
A scarf left at a sister’s house.
Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place.
Dancing ’round the kitchen in the refrigerator light.
These are not generalizations. They are precise, tangible moments that help us understand not just what happened, but why it still matters to her. Because of that, you don’t just follow the story—you can picture it.
It’s not an abstract idea about a relationship. It’s a series of specific details that make the experience feel real, and part of what makes her music so widely accessible and resonant.
Finding the Story Within the Work
Taken together, these examples point to the same idea: clarity, even in the midst of complexity, is what makes a story stick. Whether it’s a caterpillar, a wizard, or tale of heartbreak, the stories that stay with us are the ones where we can clearly see who it’s about, what’s at stake, what has changed, and the details that make it memorable and personal.
Most nonprofits are not struggling to come up with content. They’re trying to fit an entire Harry Potter–level world into a 500-character grant application limit. Programs, services, partnerships, data, and organizational history all matter. But when everything is included at once, the central thread becomes harder to see.
It often starts like this:
We served 1,200 individuals through our food access programs last year.
Funders and stakeholders are looking for data because it demonstrates scale, accountability, and effectiveness. But, data on its own can be difficult to connect to in a meaningful way.
A story creates that connection asks:
- Who is one person or family that represents this work?
- What were they facing before?
- What changed as a result of your program?
For example:
Before connecting with the program, Maria was skipping meals so her children could eat. After enrolling, her family has consistent access to fresh groceries. For the first time, she is planning meals instead of worrying about them.
Now the data has context and the impact has movement.
Together, they are far more powerful:
We served 1,200 individuals through our food access programs last year. One of them was Maria…
A Simple Way to Start
You do not need to overhaul all your narratives at once. Start with one story.
Next time you sit down to fill out a grant application, try this:
- Before: What was happening?
- Challenge: What was difficult or uncertain?
- After: What changed?
- In the middle: What details will make this resonate?
Your organization likely has many important stories to tell—don’t get bogged down trying to tell every single one. Make that character limit count and tell one story that represents your nonprofit clearly.
If you want some related strategies, check out our post about how to set yourself up to tell your impact story.
The Takeaway
While your organization is doing complex, meaningful work, your goal should be to find the “sticky” story within it.
A good story focuses on what matters most: who is at the center, what challenge they faced, what changed, and the details that make the experience feel real.
Data and story each serve an important purpose. Data builds credibility, while story creates connection. The strongest proposals—and the strongest organizations—know how to use both together. Because when funders can clearly see the human experience behind the numbers, the work becomes easier to understand, easier to remember, and most importantly, easier to support.