Once, when I was a young newspaper reporter, a jaded executive editor who was Yankee to boot, was listening approvingly to a story I was pitching. He leaned back in his swivel chair, locked his hands behind his head and said, “You’re not the best writer I’ve ever encountered but I’ve never seen any reporter better at spotting a good story. You have an uncanny instinct.” I was so proud that I didn’t even notice what he said about my writing. Besides, I’ve always agreed with that: I’m not a great writer. I’m just a decent storyteller.