Simple and Clear

by R. L. Howser on August 20, 2011 · 6 comments

There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts.
-Voltaire

I speak often to audiences of Japanese English speakers. Though many of them function at a very high level of fluency, English is not their native language. It can be very frustrating to prepare a presentation for such an audience.

First to go is the high level vocabulary, then the slang and idioms that seem to slip almost unnoticed into our speech. Complex grammar has to be cut down into bite-sized pieces. Cultural references get the ax too. “Gee, Wally” isn’t going to play as well in Tokyo as it does in Toledo. If I want to connect and communicate with my audience, it’s all got to go.

In the end, all I have to work with is basic, unadorned English; common words, simple grammar and short sentences. I’m left with nothing but that and the quality of my thoughts, the logic of my argument or the validity of my experience.

And that’s a good thing. For of such limits comes the art of straight, honest communication. Far from impoverishing my script, stripping away euphemism, slang and pointless grammatical embellishment tightens my thinking, snaps the kinks out of my logic and sharpens my meager wit.

It has made me a far better writer and speaker because it has forced me to be simple, clear and direct. I can’t hide behind euphemisms. I can’t subtly imply thoughts I’m not willing to voice. I can’t use rhetorical flourishes to gloss over gaps in my logic.

To steal from the master, Dr. Seuss, I have to say what I mean and mean what I say.

Far too often, when we speak it is to disguise our thoughts; to avoid committing ourselves to a position, to imply without taking responsibility for our words or to sound serious and important when we have nothing to say.

Simple and clear may not be as impressive to your audience, but as a speaker, there is no more noble goal.

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It takes a certain amount of arrogance to voluntarily speak in public.

Whether you call yourself an expert or not, when you take the stage you are implying that you know more, or better, than your audience does. There’s no other reason for you to be up there.

Most audiences will give you the benefit of the doubt, at first, assuming you present yourself with confidence and authority, but in the end, you still have to deliver the goods.  So what does it take to back up your claim to the stage?

Do you have a deeper knowledge of the facts than we do? If you have up-to-date research data, specialized training, extended academic study or recent experience, you probably know more than we do. Share the most important and relevant information with us.

Have you thought deeply about the issues at hand? Most of us are so caught up in the daily crises of life and business that we barely have time to think. We’re just chopping down trees as fast as we can. Lift us up above the trees. Show us the shape of the forest. Show us how it is changing and how it will look in the future.

Can you challenge our perspective? We all get stuck in ruts at times. We do things a certain way, or think of things a certain way, just because we always have. It’s a habit. Open our eyes to a different way of understanding an issue, dealing with a problem or accomplishing a goal.

Can you lead us to a better place? A man, or woman, with a plan can be a powerful force for change. Present a compelling vision for where you want to take us. Lay out the path before us, the obstacles in our way and your plan to surmount them.

Give us something of value. Help us know more, do more, get more or be more and we’ll happily give you our time and attention. We will care what you think.

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I watched a speech a few weeks ago and something I saw crystalized a thought that has been bouncing around my head for some time.

The speaker was struggling through the opening section of her speech, about her parent’s English ability. As she strained to remember the words she had memorized, it was clear that her body was not cooperating with her. Her hands were locked together in a death grip in front of her chest. Her eyes frantically searched the room, looking at nobody. She spoke haltingly. Her face was a mask of tension and the tendons in her neck were as taut as guitar strings

I wasn’t at all sure if she was going to make it through her speech, but then she began to tell a story about the time her parents had accompanied her to America to meet the family with whom their daughter would be living for a homestay. As she told of her father’s efforts to communicate through a dictionary and her mother’s carefree attitude towards grammar, she completely changed.

Her voice became lively; her face, animated. Her body relaxed and opened to us, her hands began to move in broad, smooth, natural gestures and her eyes began to search, not for an escape route, but for faces to engage.

Suddenly she wasn’t giving a “speech”; she was reliving a wonderful memory. She wasn’t speaking about language proficiency; she was sharing her affection for her parents. The title of the speech may have been about English, but the unstated subject was very clearly love. And it was beautiful.

I watched her, amazed at the change, and saw that it had all resulted just from a simple shift of focus, from inward on herself, to outward on her audience. And in that moment, so many of my other thoughts and observations all came together into a single realization.

When we focus in on ourselves, our own thoughts, our fears and feelings and the words we have memorized, our bodies fight us. We can try to mechanically reduce or eliminate the bad habits we struggle with; try to force ourselves to relax, stand up straight and make eye contact, deliberately vary our style of speaking and emphasize key words and phrases, but that tension will always find clever, new ways to leak out of us.

But when we forget ourselves and focus out on our audience, on the gift we have brought for them and on their reactions to it, most of the bad habits that bedevil us are almost magically swept away. Our bodies begin to work with us; to reinforce and amplify our words. Our voices, faces and gestures become lively and animated. Our eyes begin to seek out other eyes to engage.

Simply shifting our focus from inward to outward makes all the difference in the world. The cause may be simple, but the effect is magical.

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I have been transformed.

I’ve always considered myself a decent storyteller. I was a writer long before I became a speaker, so I know how to structure a story and use foreshadowing, twists and contradictions to keep the audience’s attention.

This past year, however, at the hands of Darren LaCroix, Craig Valentine, Ed Tate, Mark Brown and Patricia Fripp at the World Champion’s Edge, I have come to understand the importance of using dialogue and character to go beyond telling a story and actually recreate the event for the audience to experience firsthand.

I have come to understand it, but I have done so grudgingly. I have been dropping more lines of dialogue into my stories, but it has always seemed so much more efficient to primarily tell the story. Dialogue and character seemed best as a seasoning to be sprinkled on top of the narrative.

But this weekend, I gave a speech about a hair-raising flight out of Mexico in a small plane. The first half of the speech went very well. I had a number of funny lines and I got a good response from the audience. The second half of the speech, about the actual flight, I told almost entirely in dialogue and character and my audience absolutely exploded.

In my seven years as a speaker and well over a hundred speeches, I have never felt such an immediate and visceral reaction from an audience. It was almost intimidating in its primal energy.

It was also intoxicating, as if my jalopy of a speech had suddenly become a Ferrari, and all that raw, throbbing power was right at my fingertips, just waiting to be unleashed.

For the first time, I see the potential to turbocharge not only humor, but emotion, persuasion and passion of all kinds.

Finally, I have seen the light.

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Would you like to watch a master communicator at work?

When Apple first entered the mobile telephone business, it faced a difficult challenge. It was up against several well-established companies that dominated the mobile phone market and many wondered how a computer company could expect to compete in such a crowded, cutthroat business.

So Apple had to do what it always does; create a new category that it could dominate. The iPhone was a new kind of telephone; far more powerful and flexible than its rivals, but that wouldn’t be enough to crack the market, unless it was perceived by the public to be new and different.

That was the task that Apple’s Steve Jobs faced, when he walked out on to the stage to introduce the iPhone at the 2007 MacWorld. He had to convince the audience, the media and the world that the iPhone wasn’t just another mobile phone. It was like nothing they had ever seen before.

Take a look.

This is just part of a much larger presentation covering several different products and issues, but there is so much to learn from this one short clip that I could build a full-day seminar around it.

First of all, look at how calm and patient Jobs is. He’s in absolutely no hurry to start. He knows his audience will wait as he slowly strolls across the stage. There’s no better way to communicate power and authority than to move and speak slowly, as if you have all the time in the world.

Look at how bare and simple the stage is. There is nothing there to take attention away from Jobs. It’s just him, the spotlight and a few simple graphics, words or numbers displayed behind him (in his case, undoubtedly, by Keynote). The display doesn’t dominate or lead the presentation, as it so often does. Jobs is unmistakably the star of the show.

Listen to how he teases the audience with his opening line, “This is a day I’ve been looking forward to for two and a half years. (pause)” You can almost feel the crowd surging forward, thinking, “Wow, this is going to be big.” He speaks deliberately, pausing to build the anticipation and to let the audience reflect.

He lays out the narrative that, several times before, an Apple product didn’t just change Apple, it changed the whole music industry or computer industry, anchoring that idea with images of tangible, groundbreaking products – the Macintosh and the iPod – until we’re already prepared to accept that Apple has done it again, before we even know what IT is.

Even when he stumbles, as he does when he gets ahead of himself and has to backtrack about how he would have been “Fortunate to get to work on just one of these”, he doesn’t get flustered and he doesn’t apologize. He just continues as coolly as ever.

He whips his audience to a fever pitch, unveils the iPhone and then he hits us with his message; the one clear, simple sentence that he wants us to hear, understand and remember – “Apple is reinventing the phone.”

Jobs entire presentation is built around planting that one message in the minds of his audience. It encapsulates his whole purpose of his presentation; to convince the world that the iPhone is not just another telephone. And it worked.

If you do a search of tech magazines and blogs of the time, you see the same headline again and again; “Apple reinvents the phone”, “Apple reinventing the phone” and “Jobs says, Apple is reinventing the phone.” Jobs didn’t leave up to the journalists to figure out what he said, he wrote the headline for them.

The result? We now have a completely new category of mobile phone – the smart phone. And who dominates that market? Apple, of course.

None of this can substitute for actually having an innovative, well-designed product to introduce, but there have been dozens of failed companies that had brilliantly innovative products or services. They failed because they weren’t able to differentiate themselves from the mediocre pack. Steve Jobs did that in just five words – “Apple is reinventing the phone”

Steve Jobs may have thought he was just introducing a product, but to us, he was giving a master class in effective corporate presentation.

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In my recent posts, In It’s not always what you say and It’s just like an analogy, and It’s your call, we’ve been talking about different ways of indirectly communicating our message to the audience. It’s always going to be more powerful if the audience feels that they have independently come to a conclusion, rather than having one stuffed down their throats.

The last way of doing this, or at least the last one I can think of, is to build your presentation around a question.

Rhetorical questions can be very powerful as a way of getting your audience to think about the issue you are going to address. It can be risky, however, to rely on questions that require input from your audience. I’ve seen so many speakers derailed by question openers.

As the famous Green Bay Packer’s (American football) coach, Vince Lombardi once said about throwing the football, three things can happen (a completed pass, an incomplete pass or an interception by the defense) and two of them are bad.

Your audience might respond promptly and in the way you expected, but sometimes they won’t respond at all, hanging you out to dry unless you can coax, coerce or cajole answers from them. Other times they’ll give you answers that are either irrelevant or contradict the thrust of the message you are trying to deliver, putting you on the defensive right off the bat.

What you can do, however, is prepare the ground by laying out the evidence that will support the conclusion you want them to reach, disarming any possible objections or counter-arguments and setting up the line of reasoning that will allow them to take that final step. Then end on the question.

One great example of this might be if you were presenting the famous Drake equation that estimates the number advanced civilizations that must logically exist in the universe.

It states the number of civilizations in our galaxy with whom we could communicate equals (The average rate of star formation in our galaxy) x (The fraction of those stars that have planets) x (The average number of those planets, per star, that can support life) x (The fraction of those planets on which life develops) x (The fraction of those the develop intelligent life) x The fraction of those civilizations that develop technology that emits signals that would be detectable from space) x (The length of time that those signals are emitted into space).

I don’t pretend to know those figures. No one knows them with any certainty. Each member of your audience would have to supply their own estimates. So their answers would be dependent on the figures they supplied. They might disagree with your methodologies, but they can’t disagree with their answer, because it came from their own estimates.

After running through the various estimates of probability, letting the audience supply their own values for each step, and calculating the number of extraterrestrial civilizations that each set of estimate produces, you might end with, “What do you think the odds that we are alone in the universe?”

Whatever answer they come up with will be far more powerfully persuasive to them than any answer you could give them.

 

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It’s Your Call

by R. L. Howser on June 12, 2011 · 0 comments

I’ve been recently thinking about the various ways of indirectly getting a message across. In It’s not always what you say and It’s just like an analogy, we looked at some examples of communicating a message more powerfully by leading the audience to apply the issue we present to another, sometimes unstated, but analogous, issue.

Another way of doing this is to simply and clearly lay out all of the evidence that leads to an obvious conclusion, but then stop short of stating that conclusion. You might state that a conclusion needs to be reached, a decision made or an answer found, but that it’s not your call to make.

This can be particularly effective, if you are presenting to business superiors, who may not appreciate being told what to do. Letting them make the call preserves at least the illusion that you respect their experience and knowledge and will defer to their judgment.

Of course, there is a danger in this approach. You have to trust that they will come to the conclusion you want. Even if you feel you have brilliantly laid out the facts that can lead to only one conclusion, they may surprise you.

In that case, the impact of having them reach their own conclusion, an impact that can work so powerfully for you, is turned against you. Once they have a stated their own, different conclusion, they have a vested psychological interest in it and will be very tough to turn around.

There is also the risk of them not recognizing that a decision or conclusion is called for. They may just take your information under advisement and leave it at that.

I’m of the opinion that it’s usually best to be clear about what you are trying to achieve. Your audience may not agree with you, and may not make the decision you are advocating, but they should at least know what your position is. Still, leaving the conclusion up to them is another arrow in your quiver, and used with care, a sometimes effective one at that.

 

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It occurs to me that in my last post, It’s Not Always What You Say, I broke a cardinal rule. It’s pointless to tell people what they should do, if they don’t know how to go about it. So let’s talk about how we can communicate our message without stating it explicitly.

One way is the method that I used in the speech about misleading history text books. Analogies allow you to make your case implicitly, without raising the audience’s collective hackles by pointing directly at an uncomfortable issue.

It’s rarely productive to address an issue as inflammatory as racism directly, particularly for a middle-aged, white guy. Yet living as a visible minority in a very foreign culture for nearly twenty years has taught me a lot about the subtly corrosive effects of both overt and covert racism.

If I were to speak of my own experiences in Japan to an all-white audience in America, I don’t think it would be much of a stretch for them to apply the same insights to their own attitudes about those of other races, even if I never make that point directly.

You can also use analogy to frame an issue explicitly, yet indirectly. In a government budget debate, you could use describe the issue of government debt as similar to the way rising interest payments on credit card debt puts pressure on a household budget. As more and more income has to be diverted to service credit card payments, there is less and less to spend on piano lessons and dinners out.

You could make specific points about the inevitable end result of such profligate borrowing, without calling out your political opponents by name or pointing to specific programs as wasteful.

Relating the arcane details of a budget debate to a household budget also allows you to both personalize the issue, as everyone can identify with personal finances, and to make it more concrete

Of course, there are times when you need to name names and point fingers. If that is what is called for, then by all means, fire away. But often, you’ll get more cooperation and be more effective in reaching your goals, if you let the audience extrapolate the point from an analogy.

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I once set myself a delicate task. I live in Japan, and was considering giving a Toastmasters speech about the recurring controversy of Japanese history textbooks. The textbooks for schoolchildren here tend to either gloss over or completely ignore the less savory aspects of Japan’s involvement in World War II, particularly with regard to the sometimes brutal behavior of Japanese soldiers in China and Korea.

There’s nothing unusual about this. Most countries, including the USA, tend to airbrush their pasts. In fact, I was shocked to realize how much of the history in my own school books was either carefully shaped by omission, or even blatantly inaccurate.

Not wanting to be the ugly, hypocritical American, I didn’t see the benefit in tackling the issue of the Japanese textbooks head on. So I made the choice to never explicitly state my message, that the Japanese themselves are the poorer for ignoring the darker aspects of their history.

I chose to make the analogous case about how American history is whitewashed in school textbooks. Some would bellow that I am “blaming America first”, but I agree with the Bible. I think it’s best to first remove the plank from my own eye, before pointing out the speck in another’s.

In recounting both the trivial, and the more sinister and consequential, of the lies that I was taught as a child, as well as the uncomfortable facts that were ignored, I made the point that, as George Santayana famously said, “Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.”, and then tied that to very recent events in which the American government and electorate have clearly ignored important lessons of history, to our national detriment.

I never mentioned the Japanese textbook controversy, never even said the word Japan, yet five different people, all Japanese, came up to me later and independently brought the issue up, expressing their own discomfort with the way the issue was handled by their government and culture.

Would they have been as forthright and open, had I just finished haranguing them? Perhaps, but I doubt it. The point certainly wouldn’t have had the same impact and resonance, if they hadn’t reached their own conclusions about how it related to Japanese history.

Often, it’s not what we say, that sticks in the audience’s minds. It’s the conclusions they reach on their own that affect their thoughts and behavior, long after they have forgotten our words. And that’s the goal of every speech and presentation, isn’t it?

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There is nothing so useless as doing efficiently that which should not be done at all.
-Peter Drucker

When I stumbled across this quote from Peter Drucker, it was, quite literally, minutes after I had tried, yet again, to convince someone of the futility of presenting detailed technical data in a presentation.

A potential client was asking me about training his company’s staff to better present raw engineering data in sales presentations. I did my usual song and dance about the need to identify the story within the numbers and present that, and then to make the raw data available at the end of the presentation as a hand out. He listened politely, said that was a very interesting idea, and then asked again how they could best present the data.

There certainly are some ways of presenting detailed numbers that work better than others, but I’m not much interested in ferreting them out, because that’s not the point. Presenting detailed data in a form that is ill-suited to the task, particularly when much more effective and efficient avenues are readily available (paper anyone?) shouldn’t be done more efficiently. It should not be done at all.

I can’t put it any more clearly than Mr. Drucker has.

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