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.

Crashing...

Well, it happened again: An important and timely topic, relevant to the audience but in a presentation keyed entirely to the digital projection of video clips and slides.

Moments into the presentation, the technology failed.

And thus, I regret to say, did the presentation. Spectacularly.

The laptop-driven digital projector, perched amid a tangle of cables on a little table in the middle of the luncheon audience of more than 150 people and triggered by a remote in the presenter’s hand, would not respond to any instruction.

Blank screen.

Dead air.

Awkward silence.

An animated troubleshooting dialog quickly began between the speaker on the podium (still speaking into the microphone, by the way, so everyone could hear and experience her consternation) and a valiant member of the audience who volunteered to try and fix the projector. The rest of the audience, meanwhile, was left to simply sit and watch and wonder why on Earth they were there.

It only took a few endless moments, but the topic of the day morphed smartly into the technology failure. The speaker apologized and apologized and apologized for the malfunction, assuring everyone over and over and over again that “it worked in my office before I came over here!”

Eventually, mercifully, she accepted reality and gave up trying to overpower the technology. Instead, incredibly, she attempted to recover her presentation by describing, in detail, what the audience would have seen if the projector had worked as planned.

In other words, rather than build a case for her premise, she resorted to reading a video script verbatim (.”…and in the next scene, you would have seen…” “…it’s too bad the computer isn’t working, because this next slide is really something…”)

Oh, the humanity!

Just imagine, please, reading the script of your favorite TV show or film aloud to your colleagues as opposed to them watching it for themselves. A few things get lost in the translation, don’t you think?…like drama and context and perspective and impact.

Was this particular presentation salvageable? Unfortunately, no, not the way it appeared to be structured. The presenter was entirely dependent on a series of still and video images to make her case. Thus, when the images failed to project, she had no fallback, no Plan B. She essentially was left with little alternative but to apologize, fold her tent and retire. Opportunity lost. (And her reputation as a credible authority didn’t get a lot of polish out of it, either.)

Two lessons here:

First, plan your remarks as remarks. As you craft your content, pretend there are no visuals to support your main points. So, when the visuals fail to appear, you still have a cogent presentation in hand with which to continue. Perhaps not as colorfully, or as dramatically, but you would still be able to make your case with authority and conviction.

Second, if and when your technology fails, accept the failure and walk away from it cleanly. Don’t linger trying to tinker with the plugs and buttons, and don’t waste time or energy expressing your regrets or before you know it, you will have made your equipment failure the most memorable part of your program.

Sure, consider a brief attempt to get back on track, but only to prove the fault isn’t with a thrown power switch or unplugged cable. If the fix must be at the expense of the audience’s time, and it cannot be accomplished discretely by a third party, shut down the screen and simply inform the audience that you will be continuing without visual aids.

Then continue.

Don’t dwell on the technology failure.

Let me say that again: Don’t dwell on the technology failure.

And while you’re at it, don’t blame anything or anybody. Don’t whine or remind the audience what they’re missing by not seeing the pictures for themselves.

Instead, tell your story as it was intended to be told. With words. Good words, thoughtfully crafted. Ideas powerfully, cogently, persuasively expressed.

Make a case, not excuses.

The pictures were a bonus anyway. If you depended on them entirely to make your point, then perhaps your point wasn’t ready to be made.

Numbers...

While talking about the use of visuals during a small-group presentation skills clinic I was conducting, I cited a study that suggested how persuasion rates among audiences increased by 43 percent when they saw something as well as heard something.

“That’s interesting,” replied one of the participants. “And did you know that 72 percent of all statistics are made up?”

Numbers are wonderful things. We use them to measure, to keep score, to prove a point.

When in the wrong hands, though, numbers can rip the heart out of a good presentation, bleed it of its power to persuade, kill an audience’s desire to learn more.

Numbers require a lot of processing. It takes time for the typical brain to make sense of figures it has just heard. (“Let’s see… he said it was 31-point-9 percent… um, isn’t that something like one-third? Or is it closer to one-quarter?”) And while the brain is processing your numbers, it isn’t processing your message.

Where a real problem begins for some presenters — and thus for audiences — is the obsessive use of data to make a point:

“Sixty-three percent of all children are small. Compare this to a 1998 study that suggests 12.9 percent of that total actually is 47 percent less likely to grow by more than 3 inches over an 18-month period of time. This of course presupposes that the initial sample is less than 16 percent of the total surveyed over a 45-day trial period.”

Huh? Wait! Would you repeat that more slowly? In fact, say it a couple of times; once so I can hear it and then again so I can start writing it down.

Better yet, why don’t you just tell me what your point is.

If precise data are essential to your presentation, then deliver them in a published or projected format; as a hand-out or overhead, for instance. Let people read and assimilate the data at their own respective rates of comprehension — and give them time to do so before moving on.

Use your spoken words to create context for the data, to offer examples, to make your case; not to parrot the numbers themselves.

Translate your numbers into units of reference that add meaning. Create an image for audiences to see in their own minds. If making a case for highway funding, for example, instead of just declaring “50,000 cars use that intersection in a 12-hour period,” embellish and illustrate by following up with something like “…or the equivalent of the entire parking of the Live Oaks Mall every 90 minutes.”

(A caution, though: Avoid the cliché analogies that really don’t do the job. For example, don’t tell me that something is as long as three football fields. I’ve never seen three football fields end to end, so the picture still can’t form in my mind. And what about people who’ve never seen a single football field?)

The power of numbers is in their drama, in the stories they suggest. Look for that drama, the extremes, and use them to illustrate your point, to draw attention to it. These are what form the memorable images for your audience.

Consider:

“By the time I finish this sentence, four more miles of road will have been paved in the country…”

“…six more children will smoke their first cigarette…”

“…two people will get sick from contaminated meat…”

“…six new blogs will be launched.”

Understanding and context for most minds involves shapes and forms and experiences. These are seldom numerical in nature. Paint a picture with your numbers. Set a tone. Establish a premise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, by the time this hearing concludes, 9,000 cars and trucks will have passed through the intersection we are discussing this morning. By the end of today, and each and every day that follows, that will amount to the equivalent of the entire population of this city. It was not designed to handle that much traffic volume and cannot continue to do so any longer. With this funding proposal, however, we have the chance to do something about it.”

Then carry on with your conversation.

Always remember, the point of your presentation is not to impress but to make an impression. Too many numbers, too much data, can trigger a wrong impression among an audience that simply wants to know the bottom line.

Accountability...

Throughout Europe and the Mediterranean is enduring evidence of an ancient Roman empire.

Remnants of impregnable fortifications. Immense arenas and amphitheaters. Vast public plazas and imposing temples.

Then there are the great aqueducts; mammoth public works spanning broad valleys to bring water across terrific distances to thirsty towns and cities.

This is a big Wow. After two millennia of wars and natural upheavals, many of these works — built without structural steel or similar “modern” technologies — continue to stand. Some still carry water to this day. They are remarkable monuments to design, engineering and building skill.

How have these aqueducts — like so many other Roman structures — survived when most later generations of buildings long ago crumpled into rubble?

My guess is the unequivocal way Roman builders were held accountable for their efforts. Legend has it that as the supporting scaffoldings and other temporary buttressing were removed for the first time, the designers and chief engineers would be required to stand beneath the arches. It was their code, their standard of professional performance, to be the first proof of their respective talents; the ultimate show of confidence that the job was done right and the resulting product indeed was ready to present to the world.

Now fast forward two thousand years… Just imagine for a moment how much better our contemporary speeches and presentations might be if the people making them were required to listen to them first. What if the presenter had to perform the equivalent task of standing under the arch as its capacity to withstand gravity was tested?

I’d like to think those of us in the audience would enjoy a vastly improved performance. We would hear content expressed cogently, crisply, with passion and interest, stripped of extraneous detail, flabby language, confusing digressions.

We would be spared meaningless PowerPoint exhibitions.

We would witness a speaker visibly interested in expressing an idea rather than simply enduring a speaking requirement.

It can be done. For instance, most public speaking self-help books suggest the presenter rehearse with a tape recorder of some sort. This is good advice. Hear yourself as others would and you will realize where you can improve.

Many coaches — myself included — rely on video to capture a rehearsal so the presenter can both see and hear herself before an audience does. The impact can be astonishing.

Take for instance some of these reactions:

“I had no idea I did that with my arms!”

“I don’t look like I believe what I’m saying, do I?”

“Wow, do I really talk that fast?”

“You know, I could have sworn I was speaking in complete sentences.”

“Wait a minute, what was my point with that last part?”

“Oh, dear.”

These are folks who stood under the arch. Full marks for them. They invested the time and realized there was a bit more engineering that needed to be done before they were truly ready to unveil their presentation to the world.

Their reward: A presentation that was complete, cogent, cohesive…able to stand on its own merits, with a delivery that was confident, practiced, well-paced.

As for the audience, rather than endure a fragmented assembly of words, jerky body motions, and half-formed ideas, they enjoyed a meaningful and worthwhile journey, clear of detours. They could focus on the value of the message rather than be distracted by the clumsiness of the messenger.

As you plan your next presentation, consider standing under the arch. Think not about yourself, or even the details of what you have to say. Think first about your audience and their expectations for a program that satisfies their need for information clearly, concisely and confidently expressed.

Craft your presentation with the means to endure. Give your audience reason to remember its message. It’s absolutely worth the extra time and effort.

Speaking ahead...

Ever had to endure someone’s slide show of how they spent their summer vacation?

“(click) And here I am in front of Old Faithful… (click) And, oh, yes, here we are in front of the visitor’s center near Old Faithful… (click) And here we are with the park ranger… (click) And here’s a little deer that walked up to our car; isn’t she cute?… (click) And here I am putting a bandage on Frank’s hand from where the deer bit it… (click)”

It’s the stuff of nightmares: an endless rotation through the eternal slide carousel, with the happy traveler droning on in witless description of countless (boring) photos.

We laugh at the cliché it’s become, yet somehow we continue to tolerate it — indeed, perhaps perpetuate it — when the scene shifts from Aunt Molly’s living room to the corporate conference room or hotel meeting room.

Picture this: The presenter clicking through one image after another, waiting for the picture or diagram to appear on the screen, then describing it to the audience:

“(click) Here’s a graph that shows last month’s sales… (click) And here’s a photo of our latest product… (click) And here’s a table that lists the features of this product… (click) And, uh, um, here’s a graph that shows a projection for next month’s sales… Uh, you can’t read that from the back of the room, I know, so let me read it for you…”

Aaargh!

Here’s the question: Are you presenting information? Or simply narrating a slide show?

The images you use in a presentation have one job: to illustrate your remarks. They serve you, not the other way around.

Rather than tediously narrate your slide show (i.e, waiting for each slide to appear before describing it), let your slides support your narrative.

Set up your images with commentary, give them context, before you reveal them. Enable them to punctuate your narrative rather than dominate it. For example…

“Our sales last month were 22 percent above projections…” (click, show sales graph)

“We have good reason to be proud of our new product design. It’s really sweet…” (click, show product photo)

“Research tells us the customer is looking for five things in our product. With the new model, we deliver those and six more…” (click, show the table of features)

Lead into the images. Set them up. Speak to what they represent rather than describe what the audience can see for themselves.

Remain in charge of your presentation and let the images do their job — their only job — of illustrating your remarks.

Your audience isn’t there for a slide show, after all. They’re there to listen to what you have to say.

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.

The grand design…

Architects typically don’t design buildings by first assembling the sticks and bricks and then standing back to see what it looks like.

They design buildings by first asking lots of questions to determine what the end result needs to do.

What will be its purpose?

What features does it require to accomplish that purpose?

Who wants it, and why?

Who will use it, and why?

Is there space for a big, leisurely building, or must it be compact and minimalist?

Only after satisfying themselves that their grand, preliminary design meets certain tests do they begin the task of detailed fabrication.

Those who craft the best presentations observe the same process.

What do you want your remarks to do? What task must they perform?

Draft your plan beforehand.

I’m not talking about the outline of content, but about the central message, the theme, the Big Idea.

Here’s a test to apply to your thinking: “When my audience leaves at the end of my remarks, I want them to (blank).”

Now fill in the blank.

Next, determine what it will take to move your audience to take whatever action you’ve proposed.

What’s important to them and their interests?

What facts are appropriate for informing them?

What stories dramatize and humanize your points?

What benefits will appeal to them?

What hazards or risks await them?

Then, finally, what do you want them to do? Do more than tell yourself at this point. Tell your audience. (This is your call to action, and no presentation is complete without it…even if it’s no more than suggesting they think about your remarks over a cup of coffee.)

Whether you’re preparing for a major speech to a national conference or a 5-minute report to your co-workers, visualize your ultimate design before you begin building the structure. Your message should drive the construction process, not the other way around.

In the end, you want a rational, cohesive result that stands confidently in the minds of your audience, not a flimsy collection of bits and pieces that will collapse onto itself with the first challenge.

Keeping faith…

If your audience has been told you will be speaking for 15 minutes (or 10 minutes, or 20), honor that expectation. Doing so may be the most influential element of your presentation.

To go beyond your allotted time breaks faith with the audience. It reveals a lack of respect for their time, which can imply a lack of respect for them, and that’s a place you absolutely do not want to go.

And let us not forget that going over your time may pose a cascading hardship on other speakers who are due to follow you, perhaps compressing the entire program.

Is that what you want people to remember most about your appearance?

Panel presentations are particularly susceptible to time breaches. These are situations where two or more speakers take turns commenting on some topic or another, usually with each person having a brief time to make opening remarks. Often these sessions are moderated, so there is a referee to monitor each speaker’s time. On the other hand, moderators at these kinds of events typically are volunteers who are helping stage a conference break-out or community forum. They may not be especially experienced or skilled in these sorts of things and may not know of discreet or tactful ways to rein in the speaker who’s failed to watch the clock.

Regardless, the burden remains with you as the speaker to mind the time, and graciously respect the limits that have been imposed on you.

Okay, say you initially were told you would have 20 minutes to speak, and prepared your remarks accordingly. But, once the program got underway, you were informed that your time slot had to be reduced to 10 minutes. What to do?

Edit like crazy. Swallow hard, grimace if necessary, then trim your content to 10 minutes. Don’t be petulant by insisting on more time. Such a response is unprofessional and accomplishes nothing (except create an unfavorable impression among others affected by your behavior).

Cut your carefully crafted remarks in half? Yes. It can be done, and in these situations, it must be done. If you structured your remarks as a function of the Big Idea, then your central point should only take a short time to express. Everything else is supporting information. You may have to do without a few examples that help you make your case, but your alternative is to betray the compact you have with your audience to stick to a time limit.

Besides, if people are glancing at their watches and wondering why you haven’t finished, you’ve effectively lost their primary attention to your remarks, haven’t you?

Respect your audience by remaining faithful to them. The importance you place on your remarks cannot measure up to the importance the audience — or other speakers — place on their own time and attention.

Passenger comfort...

When you design your presentation, remember you’re taking your audience on a journey.

Help them understand why they’re there listening to you, where you’re going to go with your topic, and how you’re going to take them there.

They want to go along for the ride without having to work too hard. Challenge them, certainly, but entertain them, too.

Make your line of reasoning easy to follow.

Give them room to breathe, to absorb and to ponder by pacing your main points.

Use clear transitions from one subject to the next so your audience will have a sense of where they are in your presentation (“First, some background information…,” “Now, let’s move to our main points…”).

Remember, your audience won’t have a roadmap handy; only you know your destination. If you want people to travel comfortably with you as your build your case, don’t let them feel lost or adrift as you move through a topic. Keep them posted on where you are, where you’ve been and where you’re going.

And warn them as you approach your conclusion (“Here’s my final point…,” “Before I take your questions, allow me to summarize…”). You’ll be surprised at how much more attentive people can be when they know a program is close to finishing.

Simplicity...

Use simple charts and meaningful graphics.

If you need to display a legend to explain all the parts and colors of a chart or graph, then the information is much too complex to present. Your audience won’t take the time to decipher it (and if they try, that means they’re not paying attention to you). They certainly will not remember the detail. Life’s too short.

If sales are up, simply show “Sales are up” and use an up-arrow and the appropriate number or percentage.

If results are down, then simply declare “Results are down” with a correspondingly basic graphic.

Save the spreadsheet for the analysts to review later.

Use supporting images and photos sparingly, too. Otherwise, they can clutter a slide or overhead and distract your audience from your message.

Here’s a rule of thumb: If a graphic or photo contributes to your main point, use it. If it doesn’t, don’t.