Some Speaker Math

The average person can speak 125 to 150 words a minute comfortably. No rushing, taking plenty of breaths, pausing occasionally. But speaking is only half the process.

The other half is listening. Audience members can hear and comprehend as many as 700 words per minute. That means there are many opportunities for the listeners’ minds to wander. Checking Facebook. Answering emails. Daydreaming.  

I’ve seen articles on active listening as a way for the audience to combat the difference. But you can’t leave all the work to them. This is a speaker problem.

We speakers need to be aggressively interesting, fascinating even. We must keep the audience from paying attention to anything else. The simple fact is that we need to speak faster than the speed of distraction.

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What’s The Opposite of Electronic Surveillance?

I have written before about how teenagers and twenty-somethings act while sitting across from each other in public places such as coffee shops. Quite often each party’s gaze is riveted to one of their electronic devices, and not a word is exchanged. Not with each other, at any rate. 

Well, I saw it again the other day in the café at my Barnes & Noble, but this time with a twist. A man and woman sat at a table and each was deeply involved with their respective iPads. The only difference from the norm was that this man and woman were pushing 70. Hell, they could have been pulling it for all I know; I’m not a good judge of age. Suffice it to say they both had gray hair. 

It’s a widely known truism that the longer a couple is married, the less sparkling the conversation tends to be. The cliché has the man barricading himself behind the sports section of the newspaper while the woman reads her magazine. That’s yesterday’s version of ignoring someone. Not these folks. No analog ignoring for them, no sir. They had dived into the 21^st century head first and were ignoring each other electronically.

It’s a known fact that older Americans have embraced technology. These two just weren’t showing any inclination to embrace each other.

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Personal Time Machines

Here’s a modified text of the latest video, just in case you prefer to read.

Do you have a time machine? I’ll bet you have a lot of them. One of mine is the engine from the vintage 1951 Lionel train my parents got me when I was around a year and a half old. Of course, it wasn’t vintage when they gave it to me. It was brand new.  It still works, and I set it up every year at Christmas. It always reminds me of setting up the train and the tree with my father. One sniff of the engine oil does the trick. Years ago that aroma sailed up my nose and lodged in my brain right beside Necco Wafers and Vicks Vapo Rub.

Understand, this is a personal time machine just for me. It wouldn’t work for you, but don’t worry. If you have a saver in the family, you have your own. A time machine is any personal item that has story energy attached to it. Connect with your time machines in order to connect with your memories and, in turn, your stories. Whether it’s working with me to collect your stories and photographs in your private printing, or a project of your own. Time machines work.

Another of my time machines is from a few years later. My 35 mm Nikon F camera takes me back to 1970 in Japanwhere I bought it. I don’t remember the city, whether it was Saseboor Yokosuka, but I remember the store. I was watching a clerk as I was browsing. A customer walked up to the counter and the clerk smiled and said “Hi.” When it was my turn, I learned that he was saying hai, which means yes in Japanese. I didn’t speak Japanese and he didn’t speak English, but somehow I managed to buy the camera, one of the better results of my years in the Navy.

Sounds are good memory triggers, too. That camera has a mechanical shutter that makes a healthy ker-chunk when I shoot. Compared to my iPhone, the wimpy noise of its dinky digital “shutter” sounds like someone stepping on a cricket.

Speaking of cameras, here’s a surprise: photographs don’t always work as time machines. Often they’re attached only to the event they commemorate and nothing else. Black-and-white snapshots are something else that remind me of my father. When he looked at one, the first thing he did was turn it over, look at the back, and most times grumble “No date.” He was big on knowing who was who and when.

So connect with your time machines. Look at them. Hold them. Listen to them. Smell them if you want to. And then relax and see where they take you.

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View the video here at the website.

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I Need An App

Is there an app for remembering to turn off your call forwarding when you get back to the office? Here’s what happened.

Yesterday morning, I’m in my downstairs office and I get an e-mail about a lead. It sounded interesting, so I call the number from the office phone and the receptionist puts me through to voicemail. I leave a message with my number and I go back to work.

Ten minutes later, the business line starts to ring, and then cuts off immediately. And I hear my cellphone ringing. Upstairs. Egad! I hadn’t turned the call forwarding off from the day before.

Wanting to maintain the illusion of professionalism, I charge out of my chair, race up the steps, stumble on the steps, grab the railing, get to the top, and make the hard left down the hall and into the living room. I manage to get to the phone just before it goes to voicemail. I hope I sounded normal and not like I had just pulled several muscles that usually don’t have that kind of strain put on them. I made it and we had a productive conversation.

Should I look for a liniment app or just work out more often?

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Admit To Being A Writer

As time goes by, I’m less astounded at the number of people who write who don’t see themselves as writers. But I’m still moderately surprised. Is there a stigma I’m not aware of? Or is it the classic image?

You know what it is. I just trotted it out again in a recent article, but here it is in a nutshell. People think that in order to qualify for writer status, they have to be this solitary soul in a cold water walk-up shivering in a ratty bathrobe while hunched over an antiquated Underwood at 3:00 in the morning, pecking out the great American novel with an overflowing ashtray at one hand and a jelly glass of rotgut hooch at the other. Not true. The bathrobe is optional.

I’m joshing, of course, but those of you who give presentations, speak at Rotary luncheons, or give keynotes at conferences are writers. Unless you farm out the task to someone else — and I really doubt you do that — you are the creator of your work. And that means you wrote it.

You might not consider yourself a writer, but you do write. Get over it.

Read more about being a writer here. Turns out it’s not as solitary as you think.

One of my favorite topics to speak about is indeed writing. If your group or organization needs a speaker, call or send an e-mail. I could talk about writing for days, but I’ve been known to keep it as short as 30 minutes.

Contact me.

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Information For Information’s Sake?

I just learned something from Parade Magazine.

For the uninitiated, Parade is one of those supplements to the Sunday paper that most people ignore. Like the dimensions of the newspaper it’s tucked into, it has shrunk over the years. In fact, if it gets much smaller, they’ll have to change the name to Single File. I look at it out of habit and rarely, if ever, read an article. But I do read “Ask Marilyn.”

Marilyn Vos Savant is very smart and usually has something interesting in her column. Often, though, the entries have to do with impenetrable number puzzles: If a train leaves Pittsburgh at 10:00 traveling 60 MPH and another train leaves Boston at 10:15 traveling at 50 MPH, how many oranges will fit on a Frisbee? I leave them alone. But today was different.

The question a reader asked was if you wrapped a 25,000-mile-long band snugly around the Earth (assuming a flat Earth) and then spliced an additional 50 feet to the length of the band, would you be able to fit your finger under the band? The answer is yes, and then some. Turns out adding 50 feet to the band would result in the band floating eight feet from the surface of the planet.

Even more interesting, adding 50 feet to a band surrounding any round object, from a planet to an orange, will result in the same eight-foot distance from the surface. Golf ball, basketball, hot air balloon, Mars: add fifty feet, same eight foot gap.

The question is to what use do I put this nugget of info? This was probably it.

Any suggestions?

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Have a Heart: Be nice to your audience

This happened maybe 15 years ago, so the details blur. I was attending a writers conference that offered beginner and advanced classes on various aspects of professional writing. One incident stands out.

One of the sessions was conducted by a woman whose name and credentials are lost in the blur. She went around the room asking us why we were there and what our backgrounds were. A sixty-ish man said he wanted to write a novel and eagerly explained his qualifications to do so by including the fact that he had read 50 books.

Not just 50 books on writing. Or 50 books researching the subject of his novel. 50 books total. In his whole life. Nobody said anything… except the presenter. She gave a rambling reply to the man, of which I remember only this: She looked at him and said, “Fifty books is nothing.” 

Cold, right? To the gentleman’s credit, while he deflated a tad, he hung in there.

Aside: To me, part of the impact of the man’s statement was the fact that he didn’t say “Almost 50 books” or “More than 50 books.” The figure was 50 books on the nose. That tells me the poor guy had been keeping count and he had reached the magic number. Onward.

The speaker said what we were all thinking but didn’t want to say to the poor guy. It was true that, for a would-be writer or anyone who purported to be a person of letters, fifty books was indeed nothing. But she handled it wretchedly.

Maybe she wanted to save him from failing by not even trying.

Maybe she was appalled that someone could have read so few books over the course of 60 years.

Or maybe she was just unfeeling and rude.

Regardless, there were better ways to say it. Then again, this woman was not a professional speaker. Rather, she was a writer and, therefore, unaccustomed to frequent human interaction.

A good speaker never sets out to embarrass an audience member. Never. Unless you’re Don Rickles, and I’m betting you’re not. (Besides, it’s a well-documented fact that people go to a Rickles show hoping he’ll pick on them.) Audiences put themselves in your hands, and when they reveal things that go counter to the tenets of your topic, you need to find a way to correct them gently.

If you’re verbally agile, you can do it in front of the rest of the audience. Or you can take the person aside after the presentation or during a break, and talk to them out of earshot of the rest of the group. And even then you’ll be nice about it.

Standing at the front of the room, you have an effect on the individual emotions of the audience members. Challenge them, sure. Change their perceptions, certainly. But do it in a way that leaves them feeling not diminished but enhanced.

Have a heart.

Jay Speyerer is both a speaker and a writer, so he comes with solid credentials of frequent human interaction. Visit www.jayspeyerer.com to find out how to get out of the way of your own language so you can say what you really mean.

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Shopping Anomalies

I recently made a purchase at Borders that would have been way more fun on Amazon. If you’ve ever bought anything at the online site, you’re familiar with their up-sell methods. As soon as you drop something in your virtual cart, you can scroll down and see similar items to consider. 

I’ve bought a number of DVDs of 50s TV shows on Amazon. If I buy a copy of Perry Mason, I’ll see something like “Customers who bought items in your shopping cart also bought The Defenders and Arrest & Trial.” Well, I could have sent their recommendations section into vapor lock. 

After browsing the DVD cases at Borders, I picked up a copy of a performance by Eddie Izzard. He’s a transvestite, British standup comedian. Or a British transvestite standup comedian. Or a British standup comedian who happens to be a transvestite. Anyway, he’s hilariously bizarre. Or bizarrely– No, we won’t go through that again. 

But my other purchase is what could have wreaked havoc on Amazon’s little algorithm: White Christmas. 

If there’s a more white-bread and non-offensive movie than this Christmas favorite, it would be unwatchable. Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen do everything in the movie perfectly. For what it is. White Christmas is traditional, feel-good, and sentimental. In short, everything Eddie Izzard is not. 

Not that this ever happens, but what if an actual human were to spot-check the recommendations? 

“Customers who purchased Pippi Longstocking also purchased The Never-ending Story.

 ”OMG, I’m so bored. 

“Customers who purchased Eddie Izzard also purchased White Chr– Hold on a second. This can’t be right.” 

I’m picturing entire systems shutting down and on-line commerce grinding to a halt as the poor folks track down the anomaly. But then someone with a sense of media history will point to Bing’s 1977 Christmas TV special where he sang the “Little Drummer Boy”/ “Peace on Earth” mashup with glam rocker David Bowie, and everything will reboot. 

Then again, maybe no one would have noticed. The clerk at Borders didn’t bat an eye.

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Cat and Caterpillar: An Observation

Relax, Northeast America, a mild winter is on the way. I have it on good authority.

I was sitting on the patio after cutting the grass for the last time this year when I noticed my cat studying something intently. I looked down at her feet and there was one of those brown-and-black “wooly bear” caterpillars crawling across the concrete. Fleck didn’t bother it, probably because she knew it wouldn’t taste good, but she was interested. So was I.

I recalled hearing that these little guys are predictors of weather (caterpillars, not cats). So, being the lazy person I am, I didn’t get up and go in the house and get on the computer. I Googled “wooly bear caterpillars, weather” on  my phone and read the first site on the list. It said just what I wanted to believe, so I investigated no further. (The site was rife with misspellings and usage abusage, but I’m prepared to be broad-minded for the sake of unscientific folklore.)

The key is the ratio of black to brown on their bodies. Seems that the less black the little critters sport, the milder the winter will be. More black means more cold and snow. I had heard that the colors were crucial, but couldn’t recall what the black and brown meant specifically. This guy had only a small band of black at its head. The rest was a reassuring reddish-brown.

I learned something else, though, that I had never heard. The direction the caterpillar is traveling has a bearing on the severity of the coming winter season. If it’s moving north, the winter will be mild. But if the little guy is heading south, break out the galoshes and snow shovels. You’ll be pleased to know that my little visitor was inching due north. (My source made no mention of what it meant if the insect was traveling east or west. Presumably, it’s irrelevant.)

These caterpillars characteristically appear in both fall and spring, but only farmers pay any attention to them in the latter season. Oh, and cats.

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And the Winner for the Most Boring Highway Ever: The Envelope Please

Have you ever driven on the Florida Turnpike?
Have you ever been in a coma?
They’re the same thing.

I don’t mind driving long distances. There are usually interesting sights to see, and I always have plenty of things to think about. But the Florida Turnpike is a stretch of road like nothing I’ve ever encountered.

Excuse me. I mean Florida’s Turnpike. They seem to be quite possessive about it because “Florida’s Turnpike” is how it’s displayed on state road signs, maps, and my GPS, apostrophe and all. Back in mid-July, I drove from Orlando to Boca Raton, some on I-95, but most of the three-hour trip on the turnpike. I took off the last day of the National Speakers Association convention and drove south to interview a client whose book I’m writing. 

Florida is famous for things like alligators and palm trees, as well as its terrain. I live in Pennsylvania, so my car and I are accustomed to major hills. Florida is a little different. The first feature to suck the interest right out of you is the road’s flatness. As in no hills. Sure, once in a great while you get to cross a raised causeway over a river or marsh, but please. There is nothing to see on either side since it’s bordered by trees the whole way. I like trees as much as anyone, but after a few minutes, they all look alike. Oh, wait– they are all alike.

If you ever have the occasion to drive it, here’s how you’re likely to spend your time:

*You’ll change lanes just for something to do.
*You’ll find yourself saying things like, “Oh boy, a curve.”
*You’ll liken a service plaza to an oasis in the Mojave.

Please understand: the highway itself is excellent. It’s well-maintained, clean, and roadkill- and pothole-free. But that does nothing to alleviate the monotony. In fact, these sterling qualities probably exacerbate it.

At least the trip back to Orlando seemed shorter, as most return trips do. This was good, as I was racing to get back in time to attend an awards dinner at the convention. But I paid for the privilege: ten bucks and change each way.

And I didn’t even get to see an alligator.

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