“You’re probably wondering how I got here.” – Every Guy Ritchie Movie Ever
I’ve spent a couple of decades trying to figure out how to tell better stories. Not just any stories – but the kind that hit you in the gut. The kind that echo across generations. The kind that make a person say, “Wait, that’s my family too.”
So when the Auckland Family History Expo 2025 asked me to speak, I said yes – not because I’m the most credentialed genealogist (spoiler alert: I’m not), but because I know what it feels like to need these stories. To feel the weight of a family archive. To wonder if anyone will care once you’re gone.
And that’s where PHASES came in.
The Problem With Pedigrees
We all know the trap. You find an amazing record – a will, a ship’s manifest, a love letter – and you dump it straight into your family tree. Maybe you even write a few paragraphs. But what does it feel like?
I opened my talk by retelling Star Wars as if it were a dry genealogical entry. Suddenly lightsabers sound boring. Explosions become footnotes. And Darth Vader is just someone’s slightly problematic dad.
That’s what happens when we bury our best stories under data.
A Story-First Approach
So I created a framework. A guide to help us – the non-historians, the aunties, the cul-de-sacs on the family tree – tell our stories in a way that sticks.
It’s called PHASES. Here’s the gist:
P – Protagonist
Every good story needs someone to care about. It might be your great-great-grandfather. It might be you. It might even be a cat (ask me about Samuel Henry Drew’s taxidermied feline). Just don’t make it abstract.
H – Heart
Facts don’t move people. Feelings do. I shared how researching my great-grandfather’s naval disaster forced me to imagine what it felt like to go down with a ship in 1915 – not knowing he’d survive, let alone have descendants in Aotearoa.
A – Action
Start with the explosion. The scandal. The moment of tension. Then rewind if you need to. Hook first, context later.
S – Senses
What did it smell like in a Victorian shipyard? What did Samoan fine mats feel like during a saofa’i ceremony? People aren’t brains in jars – don’t treat them like they are.
E – Examples
Specifics unlock emotion. When I discovered my ancestor walked three hours across London for love – and later took his dying wife halfway around the world – it turned into the perfect narrative spine: “How far would you go for love?”
S – Setup & Payoff
Good stories aren’t random. If you introduce cannoli in Act 1… you’d better mention it again. Use repetition, callbacks, and structure to give your stories shape.
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The Power of Meaningful Detail
One attendee asked: What if I don’t know enough about a particular ancestor?
I get it. I’ve got my own black holes – ancestors named George Smith, and families who left no journals, no letters. But we can still connect. Through the places they lived. The movements they joined. The beliefs they passed down.
Don’t fictionalize without saying so. Don’t guess without disclaimers. But do bring yourself to the story. The questions. The searching. That’s part of it.
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Why This Matters
My wife and I have no children. Nor do our siblings. We are a cul-de-sac on the family tree – and yet, we hold boxes of photographs and documents that matter. Not just to us, but to the world.
Because when we tell stories well, we honour the past and help the present make sense.
Whether you’re a multi-ethnic Gen Z’er or the last living link to a forgotten line, I hope you’ll remember this:
We understand the world, one ancestor at a time.
Let’s tell better stories.
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