I attended a family wedding last weekend, and the sister of the bride gave a great toast.

I heard her round up her brothers as the cake was being served, saying, “Now is the time. Somebody has to say something.” They looked glum and stricken, and left their wine glasses on the table as they followed her to the center of the tent.

I thought to myself, “This is going to be hard. There are a hundred people yammering and drinking. Music is playing. Some people are dancing.” But I was wrong.

Lizzy tapped a wine glass with a fork. The crowd came to a hush. Somebody turned the music off, and Lizzy said what was on her mind.

It wasn’t fancy, clever, prepared, or eloquent. Just real. Sincere. Simple. Felt. She was happy for her sister and happy that so many family members had come to witness and support the marriage.

She stood still. She projected her voice. She was able to think while she was speaking, and she seemed completely comfortable.

The brothers didn’t need to say a thing. Any more would have been overkill. We clapped. The music returned, and I went back to work on my piece of cake, impressed with Lizzie’s grace, her sentiment, and the fact that her remarks were brief and unadorned.

FUD is Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt.  I first heard the term when consulting at Gartner.  I was working with the analysts in preparing for a Gartner Symposium, and several of them used FUD at the start of their talks to engage the listeners on an emotional level.

For instance, they might have said, “While e-mail may be the killer-app of first generation internet programs, it could very well become the mass murderer of the second generation as it hurls armies of hackers, worms, viruses and spam against the the gates of your corporate security infrastructure.”

I made that up.  But something like that.

Fear-based arguments are common and valid, in my experience.  Our lives are built around the fear of pain and the hope of gain.  Every story we have ever enjoyed in novel, play, film, or ballad is about a person who had a problem (and had FUD) and struggled to make it go away.

In fact, FUD is what makes drama dramatic.  If we don’t have FUD when the pretty young thing all alone in the house on a dark and stormy night hears a sound downstairs and gets out of bed in her nightgown to see what’s happening, then the story doesn’t work.

We have to care about the girl, and we have to be afraid that something might jump out of the closet, hatchet raised.

What if a CIO heard a noise in the middle of the night, and it was her phone, and she heard that a hacker had broken through her security system at work, the one she touted and convinced the company to buy, and she had to get dressed and drive into headquarters and face the embarrassment of a crisis that higher-ups were likely to blame on her?

Those CIOs in the audience listening to the Gartner analysts are human beings motivated by the same things that everyone else is motivated by–the fear of loss, and the hope of gain.  I’m not a CIO, but if I were, I’d be worried about making bad decisions, not looking good when my systems aren’t successful, spending too much, spending too little, and taking too much time to get things done.

We know that humans are interested in their own problems.  We talk about our problems most of the time.  They’re  number one in the conversation hit parade.  If we talk to our listeners about their problems, they are much more likely to listen.  If we demonstrate a firm grasp of their problems, and the consequences for them if they don’t solve the problems, they are more likely to respect us and trust us.  So reminding them of their problems might not be a bad strategy.

There is evidence in social science that it is not wise to use FUD arguments on people who are already in a state of high anxiety.  But there is also evidence that we retain and value information when it is linked to our emotions–any emotions, positive or negative.

Consulting is based on problem solving (i.e., the removal of FUD.)  Philosophy is built around problem solving.   Politics likewise.  For the client, the voter, the audience, beyond the FUD is a vision of a new and better reality.  But our credibility as speakers depends largely on defining, in vivid and human terms, the problem that your content solves.

Let’s not be afraid of FUD.  Used appropriately, FUD can turn a dry information dump into a compelling story about a person, a product, a department, or a company that prevents disaster and saves the day.

I just finished working with a client who had to prepare and deliver an after dinner talk to clients in a museum. Her firm planned to take the clients on a private tour of the museum, feed them dinner, and then she was to stand up and offer them a short talk on investment opportunities in the current turbulent markets.

We spent a few hours crafting the talk, and another couple of hours getting her to verbalize it. At the end of the rehearsal, it was still not right, but she had to go. It was Friday afternoon–the weekend called.

As we parted, I made a few suggestions.

1. Cut it. Your audience is primarily in their 60s and beyond. They will have been on their feet, drunk a few glasses of wine, and will be looking at their watches thinking of bed.
2. Say it aloud at least five times over the weekend (she was to speak on Monday night).
3. Don’t drink any wine until you’ve spoken.
4. Go to the museum tonight, or over the weekend, to see the room where the dinner will take place. Find out where you will stand, what the acoustics are like, and whether you need a microphone or a lectern.
5. Wear something red.
6. Keep it simple, upbeat, and story-like. Don’t drill down into an analysis of the investments.

A few days after the event, I called her. “How did you do?” I asked.

“I give myself a 7 out of 10,” she said.

“How come?” I asked.

“Well, it was too long, they couldn’t hear me, the room was horrible, I didn’t go to see the room over the weekend, I had to cut it on the fly, which made me nervous and look discombobulated.”

“Great!” I said. “Now you know. After dinner speaking is intense. It is intimate. Your audience is on top of you. The rooms are often not good for speakers. There’s noise in the room. The audience is tired and drunk. They want to be entertained–period. They want funny stories and they want them short.”

“It was intense,” she said.

“You’ve had an experience,” I said. And I quoted Mark Twain: “Good judgment comes from experience. And where does experience come from? Bad judgment!”

I told her not to be discouraged. Most people fail their way to success.

She said she was not discouraged, and looked forward to trying again.

She’s a trooper.

No one likes to be pulled from a warm bed and thrust into a cold shower.  And many people I’ve met feel the same about being plucked from the blanket of everyday life to stand alone on a stage with a thousand pairs of eyes on them.   And so, when they find themselves on stage, they naturally seek refuge.

They seek refuge in two ways.  They disappear emotionally by making themselves small, or they try to dominate by increasing their size.

Disappearing emotionally is a remarkable human art.  Some of us have had an “out-of-body” experience when presenting, which is similar to the experience of passing out when in great pain: It’s a way of avoiding a difficult reality.

When I was very young, I caught a baby rabbit in my bare hands because when he saw me coming, he froze and played dead.  I walked right up to him, picked him up and took him home to show my mother.  I was very proud of myself.

Some of us become adept at disappearing emotionally as children, either because we observe that others are not emotionally present,  or we are taught that we should keep our thoughts and feelings to ourselves.  As adults, we might therefore use words, gestures, and a tone of voice that basically say, “I wish I weren’t here.”

We make ourselves absent or small by using words such as, “I guess,” “I think,” “Sort of,” “like, you know,” “kind of,” and many other common expressions that communicate uncertainty.

We absent ourselves by avoiding eye contact, slouching, hiding our hands, stepping back, and shifting our weight back and forth, as though we felt safer as a moving target.

And finally, we communicate absence or smallness by speaking too quietly, speaking too quickly, or using a rising intonation at the ends of our sentences, as though we were asking a question or seeking approval for our thoughts.

How do we make ourselves appear to be bigger than we actually are?

We use words that make us sound important, such as, “We anticipate experiencing considerable weather,” when we actually mean, “The plane ride will be bumpy.”

We might say, “We need to precipitate brand loyalty before the advent of competitive intrusion,” when we really mean, “Let’s get ‘em hooked on our stuff before the other guys come out with theirs.”

In other words, we try to sound like an institution instead of a person.

We make ourselves bigger with our bodies too.  We wear suits with padded shoulders.  We wear shoes with high heels.  We expand our gestures to occupy more space, like peacocks spreading their tails to frighten other males away.  And we practice a look of stern intention, focusing our eyes on one person at a time, as if to say, “I am a force to be reckoned with.  I will brook no dissent.”

Finally, we make ourselves bigger with our voices, by projecting more forcefully, be elongating vowels, by actually speaking in a sing-song cadence that echoes from the early 19th century but still lives in some of our political candidates.

We make ourselves smaller and bigger because we are scared.  We are scared because we are afraid of the audience.  We are afraid of the audience because we don’t know them, or we know them too well, or we simply have no experience speaking to groups.

We make ourselves small in the hope that we will not be noticed.  We make ourselves bigger hoping that the audience will not notice that we are small.  We change into something we’re not because we are afraid that, as we are, we are not all that impressive.

It’s a cop-out to be smaller than you are.  It’s a put-on to be bigger than you are.  The sweet spot is to trust that you’re big enough.

Effective speaking has many enemies. A partial list would include a speaker’s lack of experience, stage fright, lack of training, no clear point, too much information, and finally, no clear flow, or structure.

We could go on. But the items on the list are only those enemies that hide within the speaker himself. What about the external enemies–the environmental obstacles, including those that hide within the audience?

Certainly one of the most stubborn opponents you can face as a speaker is an audience that has endured a morning’s worth of presentations, escaped into a lunch of heavy food and sweet desserts, only to be herded back into their seats to listen to you!

This is a test that separates the men from the boys and the women from the girls. Such an audience can be somnolent, indifferent, and murderously hard on your ego.

What should you do?

1. Throw a match on them. Light them on fire. Henry Ward Beecher, one of the greatest preachers in American history, once found himself on a hot day in a town in West Virginia known to be Death Valley for speakers. Sure enough, that afternoon, as he was being introduced, he saw that half the town was already dozing. He rose from his chair and, wiping his brow with a large handkerchief, strode to the front of the platform.

“It’s a God-damned hot day,” the clergyman began.

A thousand pairs of eyes opened wide. An electrical shock straightened the crowd erect. Beecher paused and then, raising a finger of solemn reproof, went on, “That’s what I heard a man say here this afternoon.”

He proceeded into a stirring condemnation of blasphemy–and took his audience with him.

2. Keep it interactive. Ask the audience questions. Ask them to discuss something in small groups for a few minutes. I’ve seen speakers ask the audience to shout in unison a product name whenever he mentioned the name in his speech. They got into it and listened carefully in order to be part of the chorus.

3. Keep it short and sweet. This is true always, but especially true after lunch. Don’t try to take the audience on a death march through your comprehensive analysis of photosynthesis in the genus papaver somniferum.

4. Speak and move with energy and verve. You are the leader, and your followers need to be inspired. Breathe some life into them.

5. Tell stories. The Golden Rule of after-dinner speaking is to make a simple point by telling a whimsical but relevant story. The same rule should apply to after-lunch speaking, even though your audience is not seated at their lunch table but back in the conference hall.

6. Know your enemy. Your enemy is the food in their stomachs that demands their attention, even as you demand their attention from the lectern. You must be more compelling than the food that drags them into the arms of Morpheus. Your talk must be flavorful, adequately salted and spicy with a variety of fascinating facts, insights, and bold opinions that are sprinkled with a dash of style, passion and humor.

In other words, you’ve got to be well-prepared, well-rehearsed, and well-seasoned to capture and keep their attention.

For other highly challenging speaking environments, go to How to Give Good Webinar

Sims Wyeth is a speech coach in Montclair, NJ specializing in presentation skills and public speaking training in order to give accomplished people the knowledge and skill they need to become accomplished speakers. Learn more public speaking tips at www.SimsWyeth.com.

 

Back in the days before Gutenberg, it took months or years for a few dedicated scribes to create a single copy of a single book.  A literate medieval person, provided he or she was not interrupted by the Inquistion or bubonic plague, could probably read the book as fast as your typical modern high school student.  The problem was not finding time to read, but finding enough reading to fill the time.  Information was a seller’s market, and books were considered far more valuable than, say, peasants.

But now it’s difficult to imagine how we could possibly find enough attention to devote to all the information we generate.

60,000 new books in the US every year; 300,00 worldwide

18,000 magazines in the US

20 billion pages of editorial content on food and nutrition alone

400,000 scholarly journals

15 billion catalogues delivered to US homes

87.2 billion pieces of direct mail to US homes in 1998

40,000 different items (SKUs) offered by the average US grocery store

And yet, the average household only buys 150 SKUs per year

Suffice it to say: we live in the age of information.  The problem we have is not finding enough information.  Our problem is collecting it, organizing it, analyzing it, and taking action on it.

And here is Herbert Simon, a Nobel Prize winning economist, speaking about the relationship between information and attention:

“What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients.  Hence a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention.”

When you consider that our listeners are drinking information from a fire hose,  we ought to study what the great communicators have done in the past, and what recent research says about human attention.

After all, what’s the point of talking if they’re not listening?

With the average sales call in the pharmaceutical industry now shrunk to less than 30 seconds, medical liaisons have an important opportunity to engage the interest of key physicians at advisory board meetings.

However, there are several common problems.

First, facilitating ad boards is not presenting. In fact, it’s almost the opposite of presenting. Presenters give information, while facilitators pull information out of the audience.

That said, facilitating borrows from the skills of presenting and public speaking because it requires the leader to project confidence and authority, focus the meeting, energize the participants, and connect with the people in the seats.

Here are some tips for facilitating ad boards gathered from some of the most successful liaisons in the industry.

1. Have a battle plan. Most battles are won and lost before the fighting starts. Same with ad boards.
2. Plan the room, the sound system, the air-conditioning, the lighting, the seating, the food, the A/V equipment, etc.
3. Plan your goals, your questions, your wingman (in case you get into trouble), your scribe, your parking lot, your opening, your ground rules, and just who will be the final decision maker in the room should things get hairy. In other words, “Who is the quarterback?”
4. Plan to rehearse the night before with your colleagues.
5. Tell your colleagues to stay engaged. When physicians see industry professionals BlackBerrying, or doing other tasks in the back of the room, it sets a very bad example. Don’t let them do it, and don’t you do it when your colleague is in front of the room.
6. Choose your questions wisely and put each on its own PowerPoint slide. They should flow in a logical order.
7. Have enough energy and assertiveness to be the locomotive that pulls the train of thought in the room.
8. Enjoy yourself. You are much more engaging when you are having fun.
9. Listen to what people say. Repeat it back to them to make sure you’ve understood. Ask follow-up questions.
10. Listen to what people say. Don’t pretend to listen while you’re thinking about what you’re going to say next (this is a big one!)
11. Follow your battle plan and be prepared to switch on the fly. No battle plan survives the first encounter with the enemy.
12. Be a lion-tamer. Don’t let big cheeses stink up the place by holding forth (I’m mixing metaphors.) Say, “Doctor Lyons, thanks for your input. I want to hear from some of the others.” And then call on a mouse.
13. A mouse is a participant who doesn’t feel comfortable speaking up in a large group. Mice have good things to say. Call on them by name and encourage them to give their opinion.
14. Stifle the snakes. A snake is a doctor who is negative, who poisons the room. You should not engage in argument with such a person. Call on another doctor who has another point of view to neutralize him. Perhaps your wing man will step in and move the conversation in a different direction. Or you can simply bring up a question about other information that contradicts the negative perspective. E.g, “What does the group think of the new xyz study as it pertains to Dr. Rattler’s remarks?”
15. Demand respectful and attentive behavior. Blackberrying, newspaper reading, side conversations, and other forms of rudeness should not be tolerated.
16. It’s best to get everyone’s agreement at the beginning. Lay down the ground rules and get them to say, “Okay!”
17. Call them on it. First, ask a Blackberrying snake a question. Say, “Dr. Copperhead, what’s your response to Dr. Python’s approach?” That might do the trick.
18. If it doesn’t, try the direct approach. “Dr. Copperhead, may I please have your full attention? We need your input.”
19. If that fails, call a break and speak to Dr. Copperhead privately. Ask him if there’s some other topic that would engage him more fully. If it suits your larger purpose, then weave it in later, but still insist that he give his attention to the meeting.

The list could go on. The real trick is getting comfortable using these techniques when you’re under pressure. A good way to develop your skill is by watching others, borrowing what you like, and adding the borrowed techniques to your own style.

And of course, a good experiential training program will help you up the learning curve as well.

A good facilitator is a gift to the universe–a rare blend of expertise, assertiveness, and genuine interest in others. We are all on that journey, and I urge you to fare forward through all obstacles within you and without you.

Last week I went to the third and last day of a meeting for engineers.  After lunch, one of their senior leaders stood up and summarized every presentation they had experienced during the past three days.  As he began to speak about each presentation, he put up a new slide, and each slide was a beautiful photograph of a bridge.

London Bridge, Pont Neuf in Paris, that famous bridge in Venice I can’t remember the name of–and the George Washington Bridge, lit up with a thousand lights strung along its spans in the dark.

I liked the images, but I spent time staring at them and wondering what they meant.  Were they meant to say that he was “bridging” back to previous content in the meeting?  Or was he bridging from “Engineering” content to the upcoming presenter who was about to speak on the subject of Emotional Intelligence?

Then he added another layer of complexity to the experience by linking the lyrics of songs to each of the bridges.  Apparently he could recall the lyrics of popular songs with ease, and he would recite, say, a few lines of “Bridge over troubled waters” as the picture of the George Washington bridge appeared with the now destroyed World Trade Center in the background.

At last he announced the subject to be addressed by the next speaker, and he showed a picture of his young blond son in his shiny blue soccer uniform running at full tilt after a ball.  He spoke about his experience as a father attending his son’s games–how many other parents witnessed the entire event from behind a “chunk of plastic and wires.”  And with that, he put his hand up to his face as though he were holding a small video camera.

I felt a sensation in my body begin to move into my chest.  Because he then said that those who watched the game from behind a camera could not easily jump up with joy when their child scored their first goal, or run out onto the field to join the team as they embraced their hero, or participate head, heart and hands in the support of the team.

Nor can a camera man quickly respond when his son is injured, he said, or be the first one at his side, or engage with the other parents, or enjoy the animal spirit of competition.

“That’s my view on emotional intelligence,” he said.  Then he introduced the speaker.

He spoke with such earnestness and authenticity that I was truly moved–literally moved–because something moved through me.  Perhaps because of his previous dullness I was jolted by his sudden authenticity, but something happened in that room full of 250 engineers.  The man changed the atmosphere by speaking with real emotion.  It was palpable.  He bent the air.

Here’s the thing.  I don’t remember a thing he said about the umpteen presentations he recalled for us.  I only remember the images, the stories, and how I felt.

Makes me wonder about the 50,000 or more intelligent PowerPoint presentations delivered every day in the meeting rooms of America.  How long did it take to create them?  How much did it cost?  And just what is the ROI–The Return on Intelligence–when there is little imagery, and no emotion?

First of all, Ellen DeGeneres is an amazing performer.  She is relaxed (or appears to be), self-effacing, and playful–not mean, like some of the previous hosts of the Academy Awards.  And instead of joking about things going on “in the industry”, she joked about what was going on in the minds of her listeners–their anxiety and hope.  She actually dug into what was happening then and there–she named it and claimed it–and got people to laugh at themselves.  Give me some of what she’s having.  That goofy smile masks a clever mind.

It was great that the camera kept cutting to Will Smith howling with delight at the front of the auditorium.

Pilobolus, the dance company behind the scrim, was incredible, and so was the sound-effects choir.  Off-Broadway, alternative theater at the corporate show-biz bonanza!

Ari Sandel, who won for best short film, was masterful.  Well-prepared, to the point, and relevant.  He asked the question on the mind of the audience:  “What is a short film?”  And he answered that question very clearly: It’s a form for up-and-coming directors without access to the studios.  Then, at the end, he got to his thanks.  He didn’t start with the predictable.

God, the sound guys were boring.

Alan Arkin was surprisingly genuine and simple, and even though he was reading, I got the feeling that he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, he just wanted to make sure that he said the right things.  (Please notice that I don’t really remember what he said.  I only remember him–the person, and how he made me feel.  Big lesson there.  I had a large religious organization as a client, and one of their leaders dropped in on a workshop to encourage the young preachers, and told them, “Nobody really remembers what you say.  They remember how you make them feel.”)

Al Gore was fat and funny.  Too bad he didn’t announce he’s running for President.  That would really make things interesting.

Sherry Lansing, in a striking gown, stood like a statue of grace and stillness, spoke with impeccable diction, and … and then I had to go to bed.

I was hoping that Peter O’Toole would win.  Glad to see Helen Mirren did.  The Queen was my favorite of the year.