Sure, I write every day; briefs, decks, copy that needs to sell something or convince someone. But writing for myself? The kind that doesn't go on my timesheets? Over time, that’s slipped away from me. So, when Brad Montague's invitation to Story 2025 landed in my inbox full of enticing alliteration and whimsical visuals promising "the shift from the information age to the imagination age," I felt equal parts intrigued and unqualified.
The theme of this conference built for creators and writers was "Narrate the Impossible." Who doesn't want to do that? But was I the right person to try?
Brad's email made me feel like maybe I was. And so I got on a plane to Nashville. I ventured into the unknown, armed with curiosity and a healthy dose of imposter syndrome. Hoping to come back with inspiration for work and for myself.
When I walked into the Schermerhorn Symphony Center, I was transported.
The event team had turned the space into something that felt like stepping through a wardrobe into another world, one where narrative was currency and imagination had tenure. They called it the "Academie of Narratology," and they committed to the bit. Giant scrolls and banners lined the halls, actors in character as professors wandered about, a giant storybook hung from the ceiling, trees grew inside… every detail was designed to immerse you.
Physicians sat next to authors. Ministers chatted with marketers. Over two days, I saw probably 20 speakers, attended a handful of breakout sessions, experienced interactive installations, and went to a live podcast taping. It was a staggering amount of content packed into a short time.
When I sat down to put together my summary for my team, I was surprised by just how much had actually stuck. Here's what I brought back.
Stephen Bargatze is an International Brotherhood of Magicians Champion with over 40 years of professional magic under his belt. He's also, more recently, known as "Nate's Dad," as in comedian Nate Bargatze, who's been selling out arenas.
Stephen took the stage as a magician, performing illusions and sleight of hand. But when he set aside the tricks and offered something raw and unvarnished about his own life, the room shifted entirely. Stephen had a candid conversation with the event founder, Harris III, about his personal journey including anecdotes of trauma, forgiveness, hope, and joy.
At that point, we weren’t leaning in because of the magic trick. We were leaning in because of the human being behind it.
There's a lesson here that cuts straight to the heart of what we do in advertising: unpolished stories draw us closer. We are wired to move toward what feels real, and so are the audiences we're trying to reach. The perfectly crafted narrative has its place, but sometimes the most powerful thing you can share is the story you're a little afraid to tell.
In a world where brands are constantly polishing and perfecting, there's something radical about letting people see the seams. It's vulnerable. It's brave. And it works.
David Reynolds’ talk gave me whiplash in the best way.
If you don't know his work, you've definitely experienced it: he was one of the original writers on Late Night with Conan O'Brien, wrote the screenplay for The Emperor's New Groove, co-wrote Finding Nemo (Oscar-nominated, no big deal), and worked on nearly every Disney/Pixar film that you know and love. The man knows how to tell a story.
His talk was a rapid-fire barrage of stories from his career. Ideas born fast, sharpened faster. What looked like rambling was creativity at full throttle, packed with wit and wisdom that kept landing even as he bounced through topics.
His seemingly winding stories never lost their way because underneath the chaos was quick wit and relatable humanity. Linear narratives are safe. But sometimes the most memorable stories are the ones that trust you to keep up, that surprise you with their turns.
It's permission to break structure when structure isn't serving you. It's a reminder that velocity and variation can be just as compelling as a carefully architected arc, especially when your audience is quick enough to follow you.
And then there was Brad Montague in a dog suit.
Brad is the creator of Kid President, an author, and the kind of person who sends newsletters that make you want to be braver and kinder. His creative studio is built around "joyfully rebelling against the way things are and attempting to create the world as it should be." He’s a personal favorite of mine and the whole reason I showed up.
So when I tell you he showed up on stage in a frumpy, polyester dog suit under hot stage lights in front of a room full of accomplished writers, designers, and creatives who had spent two days analyzing storytelling at its highest level... it shouldn't have worked.
And yet, it absolutely did.
Brad told the story of Sylvester Stallone's dog, Butkus, who Stallone had to sell when was broke and trying to sell the Rocky script. Through this dog's perspective, Brad wove a parable about creative risk, resilience, and what he called "the holy foolishness of chasing beauty in a broken world." What could have been a gimmick became something spectacular.
His central metaphor landed with unexpected weight: "Life is a game of fetch. Trust the throw, chase the thing, and bring back what's beautiful."
Creative risk always feels like foolishness before it becomes courage. Every meaningful thing we make usually begins as something that could go terribly wrong. But if we don't risk the ridiculousness, we rarely reach the beautiful. This is especially true for those of us working with challenger brands that don't have the luxury of playing it safe, that need to stand out, that have to be brave just to get noticed.
I left Nashville in that strange, suspended state you enter after a conference, wondering if I'd actually changed or if it was just all the hot chicken talking. (And there was a lot of hot chicken.) Was I inspired? Would I actually start writing? Or would I return to my regularly scheduled programming?
The plane took off. I opened my notes app, thinking I'd jot down a few stray thoughts to remember later. And then the poems started coming. Not one. Six. In 60 minutes.
It felt easy in a way I didn't expect. I'd entered the conference thinking, "I don't know what stories I have to tell." I left with them pouring out of me, wondering why I'd ever thought it would be harder than this.
Story 2025 didn't hand me a formula. It handed me permission. Permission to be vulnerable. To break the rules when they're not serving me. To return to the same idea until it transforms into something new. To risk looking ridiculous in service of something beautiful. To show up with imposter syndrome and introduce myself to strangers anyway.
It took bravery to push past my own doubts and attend this conference. It took bravery for every speaker on that stage to stand in front of us and share what they'd learned. And it takes bravery to do what we do every day in this industry: to chase ideas that might not work, to pitch concepts that feel a little too bold, to advocate for stories that haven't been told yet.
So shout out to the people brave enough to wear the metaphorical dog suit. Here's to chasing what's beautiful, even when, especially when, it feels impossible.
“Life's a game of fetch. Trust the throw, chase the thing, and bring back what's beautiful.”
-Good ol’ Brad Montague