It’s been a tumultuous few months – new writing, new projects, a novel underway, protests on the mountain where I live, interviews with media worldwide, kooky criticism from the Premier, Christmas, and even signing with a new agent. A new agent for me, that is. Carolyn herself isn’t new. But she’s not old either. I mean she’s old enough to be an agent but not so old that she reminisces about the days of huge advances and rock star authors. Which were, I must admit, interesting times…
Okay, that’s enough.
Even though there was a point to that, which I’ll return to in a moment. What I was saying before I indulged my “right parenthesis deficit disorder” is that part of the reason I haven’t been blogging is that I’ve been writing other things. Crazy, interesting, and exciting things that I bet you’d love to get your filthy mitts on. And you will. I’ll keep you posted on when, where, and how. For now, just know that my Twitter hashtag is for reals: #amwriting.
Well, except for last weekend.
Because last weekend I was taking a public speaking workshop called Stand, Speak, Soar! That’s right, I actually volunteered to spend two days with knocking knees and a papery mouth. I expected an intensive course on the usual technique-focused stuff: how to engage your audience without hemming and hawing, how to handle distractions, how to avoid looking like a vapid idiot should you completely forget what you’re saying, how to avoid rambling on so long that your audience forgets what it was you were talking about in the first place. (See above mentioned disorder). But this workshop was different because it wasn’t just about technique.
It was about personal power.
Stand, Speak, Soar is a two day active workshop where each participant makes more than thirty speeches to a room full of strangers. Thirty plus speeches, and only a topic to guide you. Sounds like hell, right? That’s because it was. But only the first couple of times. Before long, and to my great surprise, I found that standing up and bullshitting improvising was a rush. I could get up there and actually think up stuff to say – entertaining and insightful stuff. From quantum physics to psychology to hockey to fermenting. People listened. They even laughed and clapped and cheered. Talk about a boost to the self-confidence!
And yes, I lost my train of thought many times over, but that ended up being a good thing because I learned that I can relax and recover. I can rely on my brain to concoct interesting stories and insights on the fly. Even if I’m clueless about the subject I’m supposed to be speaking on, I am able to present my ignorance in a fun and engaging way. How cool is that?
The implications for writing are obvious.
If I can trust myself to address total strangers with poise, awareness, humor, and a modicum of intelligence, surely I can sit down to a computer screen (or notebook) and start talking. This goes back to something I was saying last year: it doesn’t need to be perfect at first. In fact, it shouldn’t be. This is even more true in writing than in public speaking.
In writing, the important thing is to put a bunch of words on the page. Perhaps it’s an adventure story, or a description of breakfast with Aunt Betty. Perhaps it’s a blog post. (Chris!) Whatever you’re writing, the important thing is to get the words tumbling.
Flow is more important than polish.
A friend of mine likens this first draft to a lump of clay. Ugly, misshapen, and nothing like an ashtray. BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE THE CLAY. You’ve got something to work with.
Think about that for a second.
What would happen if you tried to make a sculpture bit by perfect bit?
Here’s a perfect hand. Just excellent. You can even see the veins and fingernails! And these ears – golly, they’re perfect! Same with these shoulders – every supple muscle vigorous with life!
But paste these masterworks together and you don’t end up with a masterpiece.
You end up with Frankenstein.
Or not even that – because at least Frankenstein was alive. What you’d have is more like a museum of exquisite body parts. Ew.
So yes, public speaking (and writing) can be about personal empowerment. About learning to trust that our efforts don’t always have to be perfect in order for us to succeed. It’s a great lesson for a writer – especially one prone to putting off his blogging efforts because he thinks he doesn’t have time to make it perfect. And I don’t. So here’s my clay. Misshapen perhaps, but whole and living.