Public Speaking Is Not a Writer's Game
by Karen Williams | March 29, 2007 - Seminole Chronicle
Public speaking.
It's right up there with death and taxes on most people's desirability list. But unlike death and taxes, public speaking is not inevitable.
Unless you're me. Then speaking opportunities will stalk you, grab you by the throat, and drag you to the podium.
I'm a writer, not a speaker. Sure, I can display vast intelligence in print, as evidenced here. When placed in front of a crowd, however, I forget my own name. I stammer, I drop my "ing's" and I say "hain't."
To overcome my terror, I took speech class back in high school. Instructed not to chew gum when giving a talk, I would stride to the metal wastebasket and toss in my cud of Juicy Fruit before my speeches. It was first period and the wastebasket was empty, so my gum made a loud plopping sound. Everyone laughed, and I learned to use humor to break the ice.
Eventually I mustered courage to join the school speech club and travel to area competitions, where I gave presentations from Tennessee Williams's "The Glass Menagerie." I portrayed bossy mother Amanda Wingfield as she berated her shy daughter, Laura, for not going to typing class. I won minor awards but learned it was difficult to affect a southern drawl when you're from Northern Indiana.
Thanks to tournament experience, I was cast as Laura in our senior class production of "The Glass Menagerie." I obsessed about forgetting my lines and hoped the audience would attribute any memory lapse to my character's timidity and reticence. I still have nightmares in which it's time for Laura to hobble onstage, yet I'm frantically thumbing through my copy of the play, memorizing my lines. I learned that I'd better leave the acting to thespians and criminals.
After college, I took a job requiring me to, among other things, publicly speak to the community. Had I known of this stipulation when hired, I would have preferably signed on at the local garment factory, sewing garments, a skill that utterly eluded me at that time (and forevermore).
Before speaking to a civic group, I'd prepare my talk weeks in advance and practice it to robotic perfection, yet butterflies perpetually dive-bombed my stomach. "Can someone answer the door? My knees are knocking," I'd begin each speech.
Then the worst happened. My boss had agreed to speak to a large churchwomen's group but in the meantime was subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury regarding funds that were missing from our office.
"You're going to have to take my place with the churchwomen's group today," he informed me one morning.
"No way!" I answered, horrified. "I need weeks to prepare! Just tell the jury that you'll be there another time!"
"They won't understand!" he insisted.
"They'll get over it!" I protested, as he drove me to the church and deposited me, along with his speech notes composed of chicken scratches, at the door.
Somehow I made it through, and somehow I received positive feedback - attributed more, I'm sure, to audience pity than to my expertise. I learned that a person can survive about any public presentation by adhering to three basic rules: 1. Be sincere. 2. Be brief. 3. Be seated.
I'll remember this as I prepare to give a talk at an area library soon. I accepted the engagement although I really just want to stay home, wearing my jammies and duck slippers, interacting with life through the written word.
Copyright 2007, Karen Williams
