presentation coach

The information imperative...

When Detroit or Tokyo tries to sell me a car, do they present column after column of engineering and performance statistics in their expensive TV ads? No. They use luscious, vivid, sensual images of beautiful people doing beautiful things in beautiful places. They suggest mystery, style, aspiration to make me want that car, desire that car, covet that car — for reasons other than logic.

When politicians stump for my vote, do they recite economic formula and municipal performance data? Not if they want to survive the primaries. Instead, they talk about jobs and roads and taxes and the education of our kids and the future. About security and freedom. About the sins of the other guy. My rational brain isn’t their target. They’re aiming for my heart, my anger, my passion, my dreams, my fears.

Do not dismiss this process as merely manipulation. Think of it instead as an information imperative.

These people know they have to reach me, whether to sell cars to keep an economy healthy, or to get my vote to keep a political ideology alive. They’re trying to get me to listen, to hear them amidst all the noise of everyday life.

They speak to me in ways that make me want to listen, in terms that matter to me.

Now, there are ethical issues in play here, of course. But that’s the topic of another discussion in another forum. What we’re about right now is understanding the forces at work in a good presentation or speech. Understanding the tools used by the great public speakers to capture and hold and audience’s attention, and to persuade that audience to action.

Here’s what those great speakers know:

Public speaking is about how you use words — and a speaking style — to frame your message in terms an audience understands, feels and responds to. It's about knowing your objective while always working to satisfy the audience's needs. It's about making the information you share vital to someone else.

Public speaking is about being heard.

Less is more...

My client sounded quite anxious over the phone. She had just learned she had been scheduled, finally, to brief the governor on a major project she and her agency had been championing for many months, and she needed to prepare the presentation. However, she had been told she would have just 12 minutes as her part of the afternoon’s agenda, which also featured other community leaders making similar briefings about their respective projects and needs.

Her problem, as she and I well knew, was there was too much information to offer. She easily could spend a hour talking about the details and implications of her project.

So, we met in a big, vacant conference room to organize her remarks. Our objective would be to see how we could distill her narrative down into something cogent, concise, and very, very brief.

First, we agreed that her job was not to educate the governor, but to leave him with an impression. Jettison the details. Stick with the big picture. After all, he wasn’t going to be tested on what he heard. It only had to register with him so he would be comfortably familiar with it when the topic came up in later discussions, as it was destined to do.

Second, we probed for the essential quality of her project, the the Big Idea, and kept peeling away layers and language until it had been reduced to a single sentence. That gave us our core theme from which we could build a bare-bones, to-the-point narrative.

Third, no visuals. There wouldn't be enough time in the presentation to set them up sufficiently and make them work. They would distract from the narrative. The power of this presentation had to be carried entirely in the economy of her words and the sincerity of her delivery. She understood also if her remarks were too complex to be described without charts and graphs, then her remarks were too complex.

She would have 12 minutes on the agenda. Let’s do better, we decided. Let’s bring it under 10 and buy a little breathing room. By the end of our session, she was covering the basics of the program — what it was, who was affected, why it was important, and what needed to be done to make it move forward — in about seven minutes.

After her meeting in the capitol, I asked how it went. “Great,” she said. “I did my pitch with several minutes left over.”

She had had the chance to witness other presenters as well.

“I felt like I was the only one to come in under the assigned time,” she recalled, “the only one who got right to the point.”

Okay. Now you’re the governor – or the CEO of your company or your customer – and you hear everything you need to hear on a topic in less time than was allocated. The message is refreshingly tight, crisp, basic, with a succinct account of the problem, a clear description of the proposed solution, and an explicit call to action. Meanwhile, everyone else presenting that day delivers a flabby, complicated, meandering narrative that ultimately fails to respect your time or interests.

Who has left the better impression? Who’s going to be remembered as the presenter with a story that’s under control and therefore, attractive to follow-on attention? Who ends the day the hero?

Few presenters get good marks for going on too long with too much. When it comes to conveying big ideas amid a crowded agenda, less is more.

Common courtesy...

Over the years of coaching and conducting clinics on presentation skills, I’ve tried to calm some of my clients’ worst fears about public speaking by reassuring them their audiences are dependably tolerant and polite souls.

Don’t worry, I say, your audience won’t walk out on you.

I’m beginning to think I’ve been giving the wrong advice.

Could it be bad presentations are perpetuated because we audiences are so polite?

Is our genteel practice of sitting through to the bitter end ultimately giving permission to those who would fritter away our time with content that is pointless, PowerPoint slides that are spectacularly meaningless, stagecraft that is graceless?

What if we, as the audience, did indeed walk out?

Not in a huff, mind you. Just quietly rose from our seats and stepped through the door.

What if we started to make clear that we no longer would tolerate speakers who were blatantly unprepared, unrehearsed or unable to make a point?

I’m not talking about the performance of the painfully shy junior staffer who must deliver a report at the monthly managers’ meeting, or the reticent parent who’s been dragooned to summarize the committee’s work on the neighborhood school festival. For them at these frightful moments, we can only reply with tender mercy.

I’m talking about the folks who ought to know better, who ought to do better, when stepping in front of an audience.

The experts, the elected officials, and business leaders who, by virtue of their position, know they are going to be asked to speak before a meeting of Rotarians or Kiwanians or Soroptomists, or to colleagues at a conference or citizens attending a town hall.

The speakers who ask to be invited to make their case to a group, then consider their work done once the invitation arrives.

The speakers who blow off suggestions of help by declaring “I know this stuff; I talk about it all the time. Put up a few Excel graphs and bullet lists, and it’s a done deal.”

The speakers who seemingly work harder positioning their reputations than preparing their presentations.

So, what would the world be like if audiences gave themselves permission to slip away when threatened by a dreadful presentation?

Well, maybe, just maybe, some folks would begin to invest a little more time and thought into crafting a good presentation, rather than waiting until the last moment and then winging it.

Perhaps speakers would work smarter to prepare themselves (like learning how to use their digital projector, for instance), rather than prey on the gracious indulgence of the audience.

Perhaps speakers would make the effort to read through their remarks (at least once) in advance, solicit the honest critique of a colleague, even seek out a coach to polish some basic delivery skills… do something to protect the interests of the audience.

Perhaps we, as the audience, would get better value for the time we invest attending the presentation.

So, okay, rather than offering gentle reassurances, maybe I should start saying this instead to folks concerned about speaking in public:

“Your audience won’t walk out on you IF you’ve done your best to prepare and can demonstrate your readiness to present…

“IF you’ve structured a cohesive, rational narrative of your points and conclusions…

“IF you use only those graphics that help you clarify your point rather than lard it down with extraneous visual clutter and slideware whizbangs…

“IF you put your audience’s needs first over your own…

“IF you are authentic in the delivery of your message rather than detached and passionless…

“And IF your message is clear, succinct, memorable and not vague, meandering or weak.

“This isn’t about the audience agreeing with what you say. That’s a function of your persuasiveness in the case you make. It is about the audience sticking around long enough to hear you say it, and that’s a privilege you must earn by respecting their investment of time and attention.

“Otherwise, people will — and should — walk out.

“It’s up to you.”

So, what do you think? Would it make a difference?

Managing fear...

What distinguishes seasoned public speakers from the relatively inexperienced?

The veterans know the fear never goes away. They’ve also learned the first step to coping with — perhaps even conquering — fear is understanding what really motivates it.

Consider this question: What is the worst thing you believe will happen to you when you speak to an audience?

Think. The worst thing.

I pose this question to folks in my presentation skills clinics who tell me (and others) how much they dread public speaking. I ask them to probe their respective terrors.

Does anyone admit a fear of being shot or pelted with rocks or driven from the stage by sharp sticks?

No.

It seems their fears are much more prosaic.

They fear their minds will go blank and they’ll forget what they were going to say next.

They fear not being able to think on their feet and respond intelligently if asked a difficult question.

They fear not making a good impression.

They fear they will fail. Nothing specific, mind you, just fail in some general sense.

These are real, tangible concerns among many people, certainly.

And each of them can be managed.

For instance, are you afraid of your mind going blank in the middle of your presentation? Here’s what you can do:

Learn to use notes. Not a script (pleeeze), but brief memory joggers, bullets, keywords. Write them on an index card that can be held discretely in the palm of your hand as you speak (no lectern required). There’s no shame in using a “cheater.” In fact, audiences will appreciate you for making the effort to stay on track and thus give them better value for their time.

Afraid of a tough question?

Preparation is the best antidote here. Make and take the time to anticipate and talk through the most difficult questions that could be asked about your topic.

This is a tool I often use in my media clinics to prep spokespersons for an interview. After all, it’s not the easy questions you worry about. It’s the hard ones. So spend your prep time there, systematically reviewing your ideas, your positions, your responses. Be your own worst tormentor and interrogate yourself brutally. Give yourself no quarter.

As you formulate your potential replies, rehearse them aloud. Get comfortable with your choice of words. Find a mirror and become aware of your physical mannerisms (defensively crossed arms or timidly hunched shoulders, perhaps?) as you deliver your response.

Do this and when tough questions do come up, you may just avoid that horribly surprised and frightened look on your face and proceed to speak with calm and persuasive confidence.

(By the way, never be afraid to say “I don’t know” when you don’t know. Your candor will mean more to your audience than you trying to fake it with obfuscation and doublespeak. The first answer says you lack the answers. The second says you don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s a difference.)

As for leaving a good impression, ultimately that’s not as much up to you as it is up to your audience. They decide how well you’ve done. What you can do to influence the outcome, however, is be ready to speak, be dressed appropriately, deliver your message with clarity and confidence, and above all, respect your audience’s needs and time. Certainly that’s not beyond your reach.

Remember your purpose in speaking is not about you, it’s about your audience and what they hope to learn from you.

Being afraid is not in itself a bad thing … unless you fail to be honest and specific about it with yourself. Confront your fears by identifying exactly what you’re afraid of. Put a face to the beast so you can look it in the eye. That single act alone may just be enough to drain away much of your anxiety as you prepare to manage your fear and give your audience the presentation they expect and deserve.

Grace under pressure...

We make mistakes.

We lose our train of thought, or our place in our notes.

We stumble over words.

We stumble over our feet on the way to the microphone.

It happens.

So what?

Here’s what you don’t want to have happen: You don’t want your awkward moment to be the most memorable part of your presentation. You don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than it deserves.

I was emceeing an awards ceremony many years back and was to introduce a local venerable who would present one of the evening’s most coveted honors. He had an easy, one-syllable name, so naturally I managed to mispronounce it. But I just didn’t correct myself. I made a big deal about correcting myself, and how I should have known better, etcetera, etcetera. Meanwhile, the gentleman approached the stage gracefully, smiled at me graciously, then stepped to the microphone, gave his full attention to the audience and proceeded with his remarks.

I should have left it there. But I didn’t, of course. In my embarrassment for having made such a silly mistake, I kept referring to the gaffe as the evening wore on. These were intended as witty little asides, you understand; shining moments of my clever, self-deprecating humor. But the audience didn’t laugh. Why should they? It wasn’t funny. It was awkward and tiresome. I wasn’t letting them forget my mistake. From that point, events sort of cascaded into a dark place inside of me. My performance — and authority — as the emcee was compromised.

We learn from our mistakes. What I learned from that one was to give myself permission to goof up. And, more importantly, if and when I do goof, contain the damage briskly and move on.

Mangle someone’s name in an introduction? Stop. Say “I beg your pardon” or “Excuse me,” say the name correctly (if you can; if you can’t, don’t compound the error), then keep going.

Lose your place? Stop. Look at the audience, smile and say, “Excuse me, but it seems my mouth just got ahead of my brain,” or words to that effect. Then take a moment to find your place and continue. No need to panic. No need to rush. No need to make dramatic excuses or apologies.

Lose your train of thought and forget where you were going with your last comment? Stop. Look at the audience, smile and say, “My brain was so involved with what I was just saying that it pushed my other thoughts out of the way. Can someone help me find them again? Where was I?”

Trust me, someone will help you.

Then move on.

A simple, declarative acknowledgement. Then continue.

What’s important to the audience isn’t that you made a mistake, but that you continued delivering your message.

Audiences are very forgiving. They want you to succeed. And if you goof up, your audience may become as uncomfortable over it as you. You see, what they fear is not that you may stumble but that you will melt before their eyes, creating an awkward moment for everyone and diminishing the value of the presentation.

So make it easy for them. When you realize a mistake, just smile, correct the error, regain your composure, then complete your presentation.

By so doing, you will be informing your audience that your message is more important than the messenger. That you accept you’re only human. That you’re grown-up enough to get back up from your stumble, dust yourself off and return to the game.

Isn’t that a more pleasant outcome than the memory of a speaker (or thin-skinned, self-conscious emcee) who cannot accept that he or she isn’t perfect and proceeds to jabber incessantly about it?

One. Two. Three...

There’s something appealing about lists… checklists, top tens, favorite tips, to-do lists, don’t-do lists.

You’ve seen them: all of an author’s experiences and expert advice distilled to a series of brief, bulleted instructions.… “The Top Eight Things to Remember As You Rustle Your Notes and Clear Your Throat,” “The 12 Essentials for Correctly Opening Your Speech With a Funny Joke,” and so on.

Folks love them and often depend on them.

Checklists and guidelines can be terribly important to helping craft a message. No question. They can provide structure and cohesion. They contribute to cogency. For some speakers, they also offer a sense of security, a reassurance of order, a bulwark against the jitters (known by some as the “I won’t be so nervous if I know just what to do” method).

Checklists have their downsides, however.

For instance, too heavy a reliance on rigid guidelines, on lists of rules, can bleed the organic qualities out of your presentation.

You become so focused on faithfully observing “the Rules” that you forget about “the Game.”

You end up reciting rather than speaking, concentrating on satisfying a list of must-do bullets in your head at the expense of giving voice to the passion in your gut.

“Wait a minute!” you say. “I’m not giving a sermon about fire and brimstone. I’m just reporting on my project to the management team. Why should I want passion?”

Okay, you may not think it appropriate to bare your soul and emote while delivering a status report at the weekly staff meeting. But dryly conforming to a performance checklist won’t register too many more points on your audience’s comprehension meter, either.

You see, there is an important middle ground — a purposeful balance between high-order theatrics and mind-numbingly rigid droning — that’s appropriate in any presentation. To occupy that ground, to make it work for you, requires you to invest yourself in your message.

So, for those who respond well to rules, allow me to summarize with this one: The audience is the reason you are there. They expect you to serve them in some useful manner and — here’s the key — to make the experience a memorable one.

Being memorable — giving your audience a reason to remember, perhaps act on, what you tell them — is less a function of what you say than how you say it.

A checklist of things to do or not do when speaking may help you organize your content, but it should not and cannot be a substitute for your personality, your conviction, your emotional presence once you step before your audience and become a speaker.

About fear…

Faced with the prospect of stepping in front of other people to speak, a lot of folks will begin to dwell on dark thoughts.

They think they’re going to screw up.

They expect their minds to go blank.

They’re sure the audience will laugh at them or walk out or otherwise humiliate them.

These are honest, natural, human fears. I will not dismiss them or discount them. Even after 30 years of stepping before audiences and live TV cameras, I still have episodes of shaky knees, pounding heart and cotton mouth.

But these fears do not have to get in the way of a good performance. You can deal with them.

How have I dealt with my own anxiety?

I remind myself of why I am there: I have a job to do. The audience is looking to me to deliver information, make a case, emcee a program, advocate a cause, defend a principle, introduce a colleague. I have a responsibility to them and to their time. My focus must be on my task rather than my fear.

I tell myself that just like a pro athlete before a match, or a surgeon before an operation, or firefighter about to enter a burning building, I have a purpose. I know what I am here to do.

Then I begin doing it.

Your audience wants you to succeed. Don’t let them be a source of pressure. Concentrate your energies on doing a great job — whether you’re making a report to a staff meeting, summarizing a project for your client, or making your case to a community group.

The audience only gets what you give them. They don’t know how nervous you are. They don’t know what your script is. They don’t know what you’ll say next. They don’t know what else is racing through your mind.

You are in control.

Will you make mistakes? Of course.

Will there be flashes of panic? Yes.

Will you forget details? Most likely.

Give yourself permission to make mistakes, to be anxious. Then carry on. Just don’t make yourself a liability for your message. It’s too important for that.

If your speaking skills are weak, your audience will sense it enough without you having to make a big deal about it.

Remember, it’s not about you. It’s your message the audience is interested in. Just get it across as best you can, as convincingly as you can, and everyone will be satisfied.

Dress well and smartly…

Respect your audience by looking sharp, but also be reasonable about your choice of wardrobe.

It may be the most expensive suit or ensemble you own, but if you’re not comfortable in it your audience won’t be comfortable with you.

Choose clothing that puts you at ease, with lots of freedom of movement. When you’re in front of a room full of observant people, you don’t want to have to worry about a seam or collar that’s too snug.

Don’t allow your attire to speak more loudly than you. Avoid flashy jewelry, accessories or loud ties that might distract an audience’s attention and make what you wear more memorable than your remarks.

This is not to say you should be dull and colorless in your wardrobe selection. On the contrary, stylish, colorful clothing or accessories can be a bold stroke of personality that fits you and your presentation quite well. When in doubt, though, understate rather than overstate.

Before you step onto the stage, remove name badges, conference ribbons or other ornaments. They draw the audience’s attention away from your face and your words as you speak.

Take keys and coins out of your pockets. The jingling noise inevitably will distract from even the most passionate remarks. Empty pockets also will dull your own temptation to bury your hands in them as you speak.

If you carry a pager or cell phone, turn it off.

Finally, don’t dress down to an audience. Dress up. No one need ever apologize for exhibiting a quiet sense of style and elegance, and making the audience feel special because you show respect for them.

(Bonus tip: Be mindful about assumptions you make concerning what everyone may be wearing at the off-site conference, retreat or function at which you’re speaking. Just remember the poor guy who took the “casual dress” notice too literally and stepped onto the stage for a make-or-break, career-shaping presentation wearing Bermuda shorts and exotically patterned shirt, only to discover his audience of senior executives was in slacks and blazers.)

It’s personal…

Audiences really want to like you as a speaker. It makes them feel better about being there in the first place and more forgiving of any stumbles you may make.

Help them like you by not talking at an audience. Have a conversation with them instead.

Your message comes across more effectively when you use words, rhythms and anecdotes that come authentically (or, at least, appear to come authentically) from you and your own experiences, not those of someone else.

Your tone of voice, your mannerisms, the very words you use can convey a sense that your audience is important to you and that you appreciate their time and effort to hear what you have to say.

For instance, avoid big words (especially the technical kind) you normally wouldn’t use in casual discussions.

Forget the lofty quotes if they would seem out of character.

Stay in character.

If you use your hands when explaining something to a colleague in person, why not use your hands when explaining a topic to an audience?

If you smile when you talk with your friends, why not smile when you speak to your audience?

It will help your delivery feel more natural to you, and thus to them.

You are not a robot. You are a person talking with other people. Always remember that. Because your audience never forgets it.

Tough love...

The only person who can improve your skills as a presenter and public speaker is you. Folks like me can share insights and ideas about the tools and methods that distinguish the very best presenters, but it’s you who must do the work. Just like I can sell you the tools to grow the best garden or build the best home, how you put the tools to work is up to you.

Okay, now can you ride a bicycle? Play a musical instrument? Did you learn to do such things from a seminar? By reading a book (or a blog)? I bet you didn’t learn to drive a car by sitting in a classroom.

Public speaking is the same. It’s an acquired skill. We can talk about rules and structure, but the only way you can learn to do it (and do it well) is by doing it.

Like learning to play a musical instrument, or driving, or tennis or golf, the more you do it, the more mistakes you make, the more you improve over time.

Don’t be afraid to make the mistakes. Don’t be afraid to learn from them, either.