GIVING BETTER TALKS
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The most interesting thing I learned on a recent trip to London: Winston
Churchill wrote his speeches out in verse. Not the rhyming kind, but a blank
verse that allowed him to balance his phrases, hit his pauses and cadence,
perhaps add the occasional alliteration. I have tried this in a few talks and it
works well. As long as you don’t follow the cadences too slavishly, as this
gives your speech a sing-song quality.
I’ve argued that few of us think much about the words we use in our writing.
Fewer still pay any attention to our spoken words. This is obvious at almost
any academic meeting. At our best we dress up in khaki pants and blue
blazer, even a suit; we glide through a smooth Powerpoint outline. If we are
lucky, the audience dozes sufficiently so they don’t notice the dullness of
our words and voices – and ideas. At our worst we read papers, looking
down most of the time, until we are startled by the presider’s note that our
time is up. Famous scholars seem to take pride in giving bad talks (judging
from the frequency with which they do it), as though incoherence
demonstrates their fame. Gibberish would not be tolerated from lesser lights.
Rhetoric is dead. Required composition has replaced required speech
classes in college. Only the odd boy scout pursues a public speaking merit
badge. Toastmasters International mostly offers its services to corporate
sales staffs. Among academics, the so-called revival of rhetoric is actually a
concern for culture, more in written than spoken form. Kenneth Burke was a
better writer than speaker.
What could spice up our speeches? We don’t have much choice in our
word order, a major dimension of ancient Roman rhetoric. But other lessons
we could import directly from Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian. Think about
your audience and their perspective, so that you begin where they begin,
and use the appropriate (lofty or earthy) tone for the subject matter. Don’t
bring attention to your own oratorical abilities, indeed, apologize for your
inadequate skills. Let the argument seem to rest on its own merits, not on
your presentation of it. (But of course don’t actually leave it to its own
merits!) When you have two audiences, say a judge and a public, it is
especially tempting to build your reputation by playing to the latter–but this
is not helpful for your immediate cause.
We can keep the attention of our audience with a joke, a deft example, or a
pretty turn of phrase. We must know our own voice, finding ways of
speaking with and without a microphone that resonate nicely. We also need
to find ways to deal with the inevitable nerves that come before (and
sometimes erupt during) public speaking. Concentrate on familiar faces in
the crowd–and try to increase the number of these by getting to know your
audience beforehand. Write pauses into your talk, and ask yourself
constantly if you are talking too fast.
One way to improve your rhetoric is to memorize your talk. This is child’s
play but it inevitably impresses. It also forces you to follow a natural
progression, as that is easier to remember, and it lends your talk a
spontaneous feel. How do you do it? First structure your talk into natural
parts, for instance those of a journal article: introduction, theoretical
background, data, results, implications. Who could forget that? Within each
part, remember how many points you have: three in the introduction, four
main schools of thought in the background, two simple statements about
data, and so forth. To remember each item on these lists, you may wish to
make up acronyms. Your schools of thought, for instance, may have
representative thinkers: Shelby, Hilton, Innes, and Thompson, whose
names form a memorable acronym. (You may further have to remember
that you have three criticisms of each of them.)
According to the ancients, you should select a familiar building with many
rooms or a route with landmarks. You can associate one point with each, as
you imagine yourself moving along. I haven’t had luck with this technique,
but I have another way to associate ideas with visual images. I remember
where on the page, in the written version of my notes, an idea falls. I can
imagine myself working my way down the page as I talk. I memorize the look
of my outline along with its content. (“There are three big points on the
second page, and one continues onto the next…”)
Finally, memorize a little of your talk at a time, working at it for only ten
minutes a day. As soon as I start working on a talk I wish to memorize, I
begin trying to recite it while on dull machines at the gym. This tests me,
telling me what I can remember and what I cannot. Often, something proves
hard to remember because it is not in the right place or does not fit with the
rest of my talk–signs it should be removed. Talking naturally may help you
think naturally.
Wouldn’t it be swell if our audiences looked forward to our talks, as
pleasurable entertainment, rather than tolerating them as civic duty?
Churchill wrote his speeches out in verse. Not the rhyming kind, but a blank
verse that allowed him to balance his phrases, hit his pauses and cadence,
perhaps add the occasional alliteration. I have tried this in a few talks and it
works well. As long as you don’t follow the cadences too slavishly, as this
gives your speech a sing-song quality.
I’ve argued that few of us think much about the words we use in our writing.
Fewer still pay any attention to our spoken words. This is obvious at almost
any academic meeting. At our best we dress up in khaki pants and blue
blazer, even a suit; we glide through a smooth Powerpoint outline. If we are
lucky, the audience dozes sufficiently so they don’t notice the dullness of
our words and voices – and ideas. At our worst we read papers, looking
down most of the time, until we are startled by the presider’s note that our
time is up. Famous scholars seem to take pride in giving bad talks (judging
from the frequency with which they do it), as though incoherence
demonstrates their fame. Gibberish would not be tolerated from lesser lights.
Rhetoric is dead. Required composition has replaced required speech
classes in college. Only the odd boy scout pursues a public speaking merit
badge. Toastmasters International mostly offers its services to corporate
sales staffs. Among academics, the so-called revival of rhetoric is actually a
concern for culture, more in written than spoken form. Kenneth Burke was a
better writer than speaker.
What could spice up our speeches? We don’t have much choice in our
word order, a major dimension of ancient Roman rhetoric. But other lessons
we could import directly from Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian. Think about
your audience and their perspective, so that you begin where they begin,
and use the appropriate (lofty or earthy) tone for the subject matter. Don’t
bring attention to your own oratorical abilities, indeed, apologize for your
inadequate skills. Let the argument seem to rest on its own merits, not on
your presentation of it. (But of course don’t actually leave it to its own
merits!) When you have two audiences, say a judge and a public, it is
especially tempting to build your reputation by playing to the latter–but this
is not helpful for your immediate cause.
We can keep the attention of our audience with a joke, a deft example, or a
pretty turn of phrase. We must know our own voice, finding ways of
speaking with and without a microphone that resonate nicely. We also need
to find ways to deal with the inevitable nerves that come before (and
sometimes erupt during) public speaking. Concentrate on familiar faces in
the crowd–and try to increase the number of these by getting to know your
audience beforehand. Write pauses into your talk, and ask yourself
constantly if you are talking too fast.
One way to improve your rhetoric is to memorize your talk. This is child’s
play but it inevitably impresses. It also forces you to follow a natural
progression, as that is easier to remember, and it lends your talk a
spontaneous feel. How do you do it? First structure your talk into natural
parts, for instance those of a journal article: introduction, theoretical
background, data, results, implications. Who could forget that? Within each
part, remember how many points you have: three in the introduction, four
main schools of thought in the background, two simple statements about
data, and so forth. To remember each item on these lists, you may wish to
make up acronyms. Your schools of thought, for instance, may have
representative thinkers: Shelby, Hilton, Innes, and Thompson, whose
names form a memorable acronym. (You may further have to remember
that you have three criticisms of each of them.)
According to the ancients, you should select a familiar building with many
rooms or a route with landmarks. You can associate one point with each, as
you imagine yourself moving along. I haven’t had luck with this technique,
but I have another way to associate ideas with visual images. I remember
where on the page, in the written version of my notes, an idea falls. I can
imagine myself working my way down the page as I talk. I memorize the look
of my outline along with its content. (“There are three big points on the
second page, and one continues onto the next…”)
Finally, memorize a little of your talk at a time, working at it for only ten
minutes a day. As soon as I start working on a talk I wish to memorize, I
begin trying to recite it while on dull machines at the gym. This tests me,
telling me what I can remember and what I cannot. Often, something proves
hard to remember because it is not in the right place or does not fit with the
rest of my talk–signs it should be removed. Talking naturally may help you
think naturally.
Wouldn’t it be swell if our audiences looked forward to our talks, as
pleasurable entertainment, rather than tolerating them as civic duty?