PRACTICE
Your main character must give a public presentation. Is he nervous? What is she going to say? How does he imagine the audience will act? How does the speech go?
Write about public speaking for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to give feedback on a few practices by your fellow writers.
Enjoy!
Photo by Brisbane City Council
Here's my practice:
When he woke up at 5:34 that morning the speech, which would be held in just six hours and twenty-six minutes in the Biltmore Hotel, was already pressing on him. On television, he watched a show about a mother who put her child's head in a vice as punishment and slowly tightened the clamps until the boy's skull cracked and he was taken to the hospital (he “fell”). While less barbaric, he felt parents regularly inflict emotional vices on their children with damages just as permanent. To him, three o'clock in the afternoon was a jaw—rigid and unrelenting—that would crush him. The other jaw was this moment, now 5:37, which was turning him inextricably closer to his doom.
His assigned speech was, “True love is not a pop song.” His mother was enthusiastic about the topic. She bought him a stack of ten CDs and a large pair of earmuff headphones. He sat cross legged before the stereo in the living room listening to Katy Perry and Celine Dion (his mother's choices) and she took breaks from cooking dinner to sit beside him, plugging in her own matching pair. While she listened, she looked wistfully into the distance, no doubt reliving her own “true love” moments, and then broke her gaze to suggest talking points. He felt he would die.
“Who has butterflies in the stomach, or worse?” The students’ eyes flicked, some at each other, others to their laps. “Oh, you all do, whether you put your hands up or not.” The professor smiled. “That’s good. Means you take your audience seriously. Let me tell you, it doesn’t get better with practice.” Eyebrows and eyes jerked up: what? Wasn’t that what this course was for? “No, those butterflies will always be there, more loyal even than pet dogs. And cheaper to feed.” Tentative titters. “Ladies and gentlemen, the fear before public speaking is a given. But you will learn here how to make your speeches so compelling, so persuasive, so powerful that you will have confidence in your audience’s interest. And then your butterflies will fly in formation.”
Well-said. I really liked the last line.
I agree with James.
Agree with James!
I like your style of writing. I like the way the professor was talking to the students—assertive, but not disrespectful and even with a hint of humor. The writing flows well.
This first-day-of-class presentation would do any Public Speaking professor proud, I would think! To be so powerful a speaker that the audience’s interest is assured, and those butterflies fly in formation — makes me want to sign up for her/his class!
I love the statement of the butterflies being more loyal than pet dogs. Very humorous.
Great piece! I think John Fisher’s comments are spot on. Thanks for the pep talk.
well done
What am I doing? I scream inside, waiting for my turn to speak. I’ve gone over this again and again, stood in front of the mirror, watched my posture, made sure there were no keys or coins in my pocket to jiggle and distract. What if I forget what I am going to say? What if the audience shows clear dislike for
my subject, or even worse, challenges it on academic principle? What then? Will I melt into a puddle of embarrassment there on the stage? Will I slink back into the shadows, never to speak again? Will I develop a stutter worthy of a king? And worse yet, do I have anything worth saying? Now there I go again, self-prophesying myself into the ground. I glance furtively at crowd, knowing they expect something greater than I feel, at this moment, that I can deliver.
“Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” the master of ceremonies booms. I feel my throat constrict, my hands go weak, my voice elevate into some version of Alvin and the Chipmunks…. and then I walk out, sucking my stomach in and throwing my shoulders back. I smile and made sure that each portion of
the auditorium receives my glowing approval.
The applause dies down and I glance at my notes. The words are swimming on the page, I can’t focus on them, but after all I do know what I want to say. So I just start saying it, and as soon as I start, all eyes are on me and I enter the zone where nothing exists but the words, the sound of my voice, and the silence of the audience.
Good portrayal of the “what-if” fears that tend to come to mind just before a speech or performance, the hard-to-resist temptation to place self-esteem on the line according to how this next hour goes. I love “a stutter worthy of a king” reminding me of that great true story. But then poise is remembered and connecting with the audience before speaking a word, the Zone is attained. Sweet!
I love this. You can feel the anxiousness of the character as you read. I loved the comparison to Alvin and the Chipmunks.
You have nailed the magic key – if there is one – to public speaking I think, which is to just say what you know you want to say. Notes or no, that’s what you will say with the conviction that will glue your words in the listeners’ minds. All the rest is just power-point choreography.
Public speaking… just this morning I trained a group on a topic they were experts in but had a requirement to be trained. I wondered, acknowledge my insecurities? Give them credit for already knowing all I’m going to tell them? Put my spin on it through personal and genuine application stories? Assume they’re not really interested, but required to listen? So, I choose to try the connection route. i train on a serious topic but incorporate stories of how I’ve interfaced with people and how my experiences have led to my responses. I tell stories of my personal day to day and I smile. I make eye contact. I chuckle at my lack of knowing all. I am human, I am approachable…I just happen to be the one standing at the front of the room.
Clearly and honestly told. To tell personal anecdotes, to make eye contact, to laugh at one’s less-than-omniscience is to connect with the audience. I find an axiom in “how I’ve interfaced with people and how my experiences have led to my responses.” Well-written!
He looked out over the congregation he had come to think of as “his” in subtle ways that co-existed without undermining his determined and studied rationalism, and found his heart in his throat on seeing faces in the crowd that evoked memories of being in hospital, in debt, in jail, in love, in celebration of the joys of a life.
He had always been an upbeat speaker, and that upbeat-ness didn’t desert him now: “Jeanine and I have mulled and studied and considered this from every angle, and we have concluded that she simply cannot pass up the offer of the new position in Boston; it will mean advancement and enhancement of not merely her career but the service her company can perform, and that will produce nothing but winners.”
“But at the same time, there is a reluctance to leave this community we have served for eleven years. There are any number of Unitarian Universalist congregations in Boston, but my experience here . . . ”
He choked up four times that morning. And that was only the first service! But the sanctuary was filled with the energy, the empathy, the best wishes generated yet again between himself and this group of skeptical, widely diverse, contentious, generous, welcoming souls — and the joy springing from consideration of the community they had built together.
I like the way the picture is painted. I can see this happening in my imagination. If this were a book, I would keep reading.
Thanks, Sherma! Maybe this would make a good short story . . . thinking, thinking . . .
Another Monday. Another orientation. The uneasiness was present as soon as she woke up. There was a scientific name for what she was experiencing—glossophobia. Come 1:00pm, she would be standing in front of an apathetic group of newly-hired employees who were probably going to be dozing off after their hour lunch break and be oblivious to the topic she would be presenting.
“Good afternoon everybody, welcome on board,” she would always say at the start of the orientation session. After this, she would be looking at a crowd whose blank-staring faces and body language expressed their desire to get this over and done with pronto. This was one part of her job she truly despised. In general, her job was making her miserable, and she felt it was time to move on; look for other venues.
As her nervous energy escalated, it made her pace back and forth as she addressed the crowd. “Does anybody have any questions?” she would conclude with this leading question at the end of her lecture. And yes, you guessed it— blank stares. What a waste of an hour, she always ended up thinking.
I like the style of your writing. It’s so true the picture you painted about workplace orientation.
Thanks for your comment, Christy. I lived it, so it was easy to write about it. Nothing like writing about what you know.
I agree.
Wow! Too bad the new employees are so unenthusiastic even on their first day! The over-all impression is one of apathy due to a lack of morale. There is a suggestion that staff turn-over is high, and I guess this could be the cause.
Being naturally curious, I wanted to know more about the individual recruits. I’d love it if you added a description of them all!
Appreciate your comment, Katie. The premise behind the apathy was exactly that—lack of morale, and you hit it right on the nail—the staff turnover was high secondary to that factor.
I know this scenario well, the blank stares, no questions. I would have liked to have read more of the feeling the character was battling with as a person experiencing glossophobia. Mentioning that she was pacing helped.
Thanks for your comment. I see we have the commonality of having had the same kind of experience. If I get to expand this story, I will take your suggestion of writing more about the character’s feeling with regard to her glossophobia. Thanks again. BTW, I like your picture of the pooch.
If you have a chance to read my submission, I would appreciate the feedback.
I scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face but finding nothing. She said she would be here to support me but has yet to show up. I am not sure if I
can go on with this. My chest tightens as I loosen my tie. It’s become hot in
here. My vision is becoming blurry. Am I going to pass out?
Before I know it they call my name and it’s my turn. I have prepared for days. This cannot go wrong. My job is on the line. I walk out to the podium and look at the people sitting in front of me. My throat tightens and I feel bile rise in my stomach. Please don’t let me throw up. It’s all I can think about.
“Carl. Would you like to share with us?”
I stood up and cleared my throat. “Hello. My name is Carl and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hello Carl.”
Warmth surged through my body. Here were people that were on my side. They were here to help me, not fight me. For the first time in my life I felt as if a clear path had opened right before me. I needed to head down that path, finding
strength and courage along the way. It had been so long since I’d had either I didn’t know if I could recognize it when the opportunity came to pass.
“I have been an alcoholic for five years. My wife passed away exactly five years and four days ago today. I lost control of everything. My life was spinning out of control. Without her I couldn’t go on. She had been my Juliet and I her Romeo. Fate stepped in and took her from me. Four days after her funeral I began drinking to ease the pain. One night I woke up in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there. My head was bandaged and my arm was broken. It had been days that I didn’t remember what I had done, who I had talked to or if I was going to work. My boss came in to the hospital later that day and told me I had one chance to make this right. I was put on paid medical leave to take care
of all the shit that had sent me spiraling downward. That was a month ago. I know I have a long road ahead of me. But I am on the road to recovery. Thanks to this group and the Twelve Steps. Thank you.”
I sat back down while everyone clapped. My hands were sweaty and cold. It was relieving yet somewhat unnerving that I had just told my life’s story in a few minutes. I was sorry she was not here to see it. Guess I can’t fix the relationship between my daughter and I. What’s lost is lost. We just move forward from here.
I love the link between the missed face in the first two sentences and the last three. Nice bookends! And I could feel the heat on my neck with the tie loosening.
Thank you!
I like your story and its contents, Christy. It’s a good theme—people fighting against their own demons and bearing their souls. Quite poignant in some instances since it certainly pulls at your heartstrings. It reads with great fluidity. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Claire.
I have been thinking, what is it that I want? I look into the field. I am utterly perplexed at the thought of these human beings, staring down at me like that. I want to give them the boot and kick them to the curb. I can’t believe I have to impress these people. Why am I doing this? I should pull out a gun and just plow them down. I still can’t believe I am forced to present this piece of garbage. Do they not value my time and expertise? How can they do this to me? They will pay. They will pay heavily and dearly. In the moment that I start to do this, I will be immersed in boiling pain. I can’t fathom them doing this to me. I can’t. No! I will not tolerate this ludicrous behavior. Someone needs to teach them a lesson. what better way than for me to be to pass judgment on these fools. Yes. They won’t even know what hit them. Okay, I need to show them who they messed with. I will design a flawless plan to push forward my idea within this piece of garbage presentation. I will succeed. I will triumph. What is this? I do not need this crap.
OOOoooo~~. I now have all these ideas flowing in my head. My plan of revenge will be accomplished beautifully. Just you wait PEOPLE! I will triumph TOMORROW!
“I’m pumped! I’m psyched! I’m pumped! I’m psyched!”
Catherine stood in front of the steamy bathroom mirror at the sink, teasing her hair up then combing it flat, only to repeat the process seconds later. The fake pep talk wasn’t working and neither was her hair.
“By far, the most well-received and important seminar of the conference was delivered by the keynote speaker–”
“Practicing?”
Catherine dropped her comb into the sink at the sudden sound of her husband’s voice. She fumbled to retrieve it and wiped stray hairs from the basin.
“Sort of,” she answered without looking at him. Her voice was disappearing and she hadn’t even left the house yet. Catherine wondered how it would feel to actually faint in front of a roomful of people–coworkers, her boss. Would she feel her head hit the carpet and then pass out or vice versa?
“Are you okay? You look kind of funny,” Matthew asked through the green toothpaste in his mouth.
She knew he was watching her and she opened her mouth to beg for help–maybe he could call in sick for her–or dump her fears onto his shoulder, but the words clung to her throat refusing to be uttered.
“You’ll do fine,” Matthew said, spitting out the toothpaste and wiping his mouth.
“I’m really nervous,” Catherine admitted, finally looking up when she knew she was alone.
I liked how you began your story and the rest of your narrative. You gave the reader a genuine feeling of the character’s nervous energy. The last line gives you a sense of the character’s despair at the thought that she has to do something that she doesn’t really like. The story flows quite nicely, and I think it’s a great beginning for a short story.
Oh gosh, oh gosh, what am I to do? I ask myself silently. My whole body shakes beneath me and the thought that my legs might not hold me up enters my mind. But that’d be almost impossible. They don’t have much to hold up anyway. What if I mess up my words? What if people don’t like it? Or they laugh? I feel totally exposed.
Come on, get a hold of yourself. I breathe deeply, I’m pretty sure everyone heard it. Strike one. I begin reading my neat handwriting off my notepaper. I try to look at the audience, but my eyes keep looking down at my words. Strike two. Finally, I finish it. My body shakes everywhere and I’m positive everyone can tell. And then afterward, my dad says I spoke a little too fast. Strike three.
I feel completely used up walking into the crowd. But, people are congratulating me, thanking me for my words. I tell them I had been nervous like heck and shaking like a leaf the whole time but that doesn’t change their minds or anything. I’m astonished. Maybe public speaking isn’t so bad after all.
Then again, I don’t think I’ll be doing it again any time soon.
Oh, God, she thought. This is impossible.
She stood in front of the mirror and smiled at herself. That was the easy part. There was only one of her and, as much as she was her own worst critic most of the time, she accepted herself. She thought of the class of her peers staring stone-faced back at her. Quiet even among friends, she was distressingly uncomfortable in front of others.
Hands down, feet quiet, she reminded herself.
The feedback from her professor had been immediate. “Most of you did really well on your speeches. Just remember to control your body. Some of you had every body part in motion.”
She had blushed at the comment. She knew it was directed at her. Growing up in dance classes gave her an ease of performing that involved the body, but not the voice. When she got up in front of the crowd, it wanted to move. Her hands had been gesturing, which is not uncommon, but her feet had been doing their own sort of dance, crossing themselves and tapping quietly like impatient children doing time in line at the grocery store. And if there was any doubt about whether or not it was her, her latest performance evaluation directly addressed the issue of the moving feet. She sighed.
Be still, she told herself, and took a deep breath. She looked at herself in the mirror. What would you do if you were not afraid? It was her mom’s mantra. She could feel her mom there with her, the quiet confidence and gentle encouragement. She let the warm feeling of motherly love wash over her.
Picture them in their underwear. She could never do this. She wouldn’t be able to speak at all. She always wondered at this advice to public speakers. Still, saying the phrase was part of her warm-up routine, and she couldn’t imagine proceeding without it.
She imagined the classroom, desks turned toward her, all eyes on her. She took another deep breath through her nose and smiled. She dissected her reflection in the mirror. Was there any trace of the nervousness she knew she would feel. She couldn’t detect it, even as the memory of her last speech set the butterflies aflutter in her stomach. She knew if she could just hide the nervousness she felt, the class would think she was a confident woman. Oh, if they only knew!
She launched into her speech. It was a good speech. She had a knack for mixing research and writing in such a way as to make just about any topic one people could relate to. This one was on fracking, something she had recently learned about and felt particularly strongly about. She watched herself as she spoke. She looked knowledgeable and confident, here in the bathroom at least. Would she be able to pull that look of in front of her peers? Fear started welling up in her throat. Focus. The fear subsided, if only slightly.
She got to the end of her speech, made her final point, and made as if to scan the audience. She smiled, looked at her reflection, and once again took a deep breath through her nose. Feet still. Hands still. Fear under control. Breathe.
She would never feel truly comfortable in front of an audience, but she was getting better at pretending. It’s going to be all right, she told herself, and she knew it would be.