My Word
by Katherine Collette @kecollette
W
hen I first hear of competitive public speaking, I think, Who would want to do that? It’s bad enough having to get up and talk in front of people; imagine being ranked for how terrible you are. I can’t imagine ever attempting it. But a few years after joining a public speaking club, I do exactly that. Round One is the club competition, which hardly anybody enters. Hardly anybody comes to watch either; the audience consists of two other competitors, three judges and the MC. So far as “public speaking” goes, there’s a lot of the speaking, not so much of the public. It’s still nerve-racking, though. I stand at the lectern, hands gripping its sides. I try to imagine the audience naked but it’s more helpful to imagine them asleep. It’s not difficult, given how few people are there. My speech is a tale of adversity and struggle, about how I bravely, naively, attempted building a flat-pack bookshelf. It begins with the question, Do you really need the instructions? and ends with a smattering of applause. Then, an announcement: I’ve won. I receive an enormous trophy. “I don’t know where I’ll put it,” I say. At home, I set it on the mantlepiece, where everyone can see. I take photos and post them on Instagram. After my thrilling victory, I prepare for the next round, recording and watching myself on my phone. I look stiff, awkward; I barely move. I realise I need to work on my delivery. Delivery is important. I understand this doubly when I check the judges’ criteria and find that no points are allocated for content. I take this to mean that it isn’t what you say that matters, it’s how you say it that counts. I consult YouTube to see what other competitors have said and how they’ve said it: The word “love” – hands to heart. The word “we” – arms outstretched. “You can do it” (voice loud), “you just have to try” (barely a whisper). On competition day I feel positive… Until I see the size of the audience. Then I start wondering what I’m doing. Why am I here? I hate public speaking. Is it too late to drop out?
My heart thumps as I walk on stage, and across it, back and forth – part of my effort to increase visual engagement. I gesture a lot too, palms open, fingers pressed together (pointing is frowned upon). A second victory! Amid widespread applause, holding another gargantuan trophy aloft, I think I don’t hate public speaking, I love public speaking. The post‑performance high sustains me to the next round. If more movement helped, surely even more movement will help even more? This time I don’t walk across the stage, I flutter. I hold an invisible hammer, knock in imaginary nails. I’ve got facial expressions! A prolonged pause! I pose a question and when the audience answers, I put my hand to my ear and say, “I can’t hear you!” Weirdly, I don’t win. But the second-place speaker is disqualified for going overtime and I scrape through to the next round. No trophy, just a certificate. Round Four. I’m not obsessed, just very interested in winning – which is how I end up in a speaking coach’s living room. I stand between her TV and kitchen table, pretending to make eye contact – Miming! Pausing! – to an audience that isn’t there. At the end the coach says, somewhat dubiously, “That’s a lot.” I tell her my “it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it” theory: “It’s very meta. That’s the way the world’s going, all style and no substance.” The coach isn’t convinced. She thinks my speech needs a message. Stories with messages, parables for how to live your life, do well. It never hurts to be inspiring. Like the woman with unruly children who found patience. Or the marathon runner who realised the beauty of standing still. But all I’m talking about is assembling a flat pack, a flat pack I abandoned half-way through. It’s hard to find inspiration in that. However, by the time I reach the semi-finals, I think I’ve managed to hit on something. “How to assemble a flat-pack bookshelf,” I begin. “Step 1: Don’t.” The point is sometimes you need to know your limitations. It doesn’t resonate; I don’t make the grand final. Retrospectively, a better message might have been about continuing to try, because eventually you will succeed. You will end up with a working bookshelf. Or a few impressively sized trophies for your mantle.
Katherine Collette co-hosts The First Time podcast. Her novel about public speaking, The Competition, is out now.
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Sometimes you’ve just got to know when to pack it in, writes Katherine Collette. Unless you’re trying to win a public speaking prize.
04 MAR 2022
Let Me Introduce My Shelf
