Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

No speeches but in stories: Advice for public speakers of all ages

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Recently I got an email that I might have dismissed as Not My Job. But the email was from a teacher. And this teacher clearly needed my help.

Hi David,

My name is Ariel Margolis. I am an 8th Grade Teacher at Kehillah Schechter Academy, located south of Boston, MA (USA). One of my school's special traditions is to have every 8th grader compose and deliver a graduation speech. As the teacher in charge of the ceremony, I want to give the very best I can to my students so that they not only feel empowered to deliver their words but also give them important skills that they will need for their futures.

I was wondering if you would be willing to speak with me to share your thoughts, ideas, and suggestions along with best practices about speech writing and delivery that would help make my students' speeches pop and as a result, have my students shine.

Please let me know if you are willing to speak with me.

Thank you in advance.

Best,

Ariel

I didn’t answer Ariel right away. In fact, I slept on it. In fact, before sleeping on it, I drank on it. The next day, I wrote Ariel back through a clarifying hangover.

Ariel—

I understand why you're looking for help. Your task is impossible! How many speeches are we talking about here? How long are the speeches supposed to be? How many days and nights will the ceremony last?!

More importantly: How in the world are all these kids going to find something candid, fresh and worthwhile to say to fellow students who know full well that all they're thinking about is summer break, and making it last as long as possible because on the other side is the terror of high school? And how are the other students and parents going to bring themselves to listen to one another grind through these platitudes? This “special tradition” that you speak of sounds more like a hoary habit, and a guaranteed snoozefest for everyone involved.

The idea of which personally offends me, a thousand miles away in Chicago. That's because I'm editor of Vital Speeches of the Day, which means it's my job to search the world for vital speeches. Most days, this feels like scouring the Indian Ocean for Malaysian Airlines Flight 370. Why? Because most speeches delivered in the world are mind-numbing. Why? Because children learn very early on that a speech is a compulsory ceremonial thing, rather than a voluntary communication thing. So CEOs, nonprofit directors, government officials and church elders use speeches to do exactly what they learned as children that speeches are for: saying nothing, at length. This is not a proper use of precious human time.

Besides, these are eight graders. Even theoretically speaking, how many of them could have developed a genuine idea that hasn't occurred to their classmates a thousand times?

This ceremony is going to be torture, Ariel, for everyone involved. And you're the only person who can stop it!

And the good news is, you don't have to stop it. Just alter it. Instead of asking them to “compose and deliver a graduation speech,” simply have them write and tell a story that illustrates the significance of their time at Kehillah Schechter Academy. Tell them the only requirement for the story is that it be true (even if that means it's preposterously exaggerated and full of outright fabrications). “No ideas but in things,” said the poet William Carlos Williams. No speeches but in stories, says Vital Speeches editor David Murray.

If you can teach your students to stand in front of their fellow travelers and give meaning to life's long slog by organizing it into mythology that welds individuals into a community—well now, that's something worth doing. And something that will make them valuable citizens for the rest of their lives. It's a special tradition indeed.

That's the extent of my thoughts, ideas, suggestions and best practices.

Even if you follow my advice—and I understand if you don't; special traditions don't change easy—I can't guarantee you a scintillating graduation ceremony. Lots of kids, like lots of grown-ups, are pretty dreadful storytellers. But if your school is truly an interesting and distinctive place, there's a chance that the graduates' stories will harmonize, and something truly magical and memorable could take place. Whereas, with the Forced March of the Graduation Speeches, there is no chance of that at all.

Whether or not you take my advice, please do let me know how it goes.

Best regards,

David Murray, Editor

Vital Speeches of the Day

How did Ariel respond? He took a couple of days, during which I assumed he had written me off as an asshole. I always forget that teachers have actual work to do.

Finally he wrote back to say:

"Your response was… TOTALLY HILARIOUS AND WITH MUCH TRUTH TO IT. Being part of this school and its traditions, I can fairly say that unless members of the audience have a close connection with the speakers, they would probably rather (a) melt ice (b) swallow a pitchfork or (c) both."

He shared my advice with the heads of the school, who also received it well, one writing back:

"I love that you wrote [DAVID] and even more so loved his answer. I HATE graduation speeches and I HATE the quotes from Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers). None of this is genuine and it is written to please the adults."

The ambitious Ariel is looking for professional speechwriters to help the students craft their stories. Anyone interested may reach out to him at amargolis at ksa-ne dot org.

The rest of us wish him luck in his attempt to change the stubbornest tradition in one school—and then the world!

Rhetoric, for ill

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People like to compare their enemies to Adolf Hilter. But maybe they should compare their clients.

Someone who has given me much to think about in terms of Hitler's use of our tool, rhetoric, to achieve his epic, evil ends is Christan Nicholas Eversbusch, who is a consultant with the Danish speechwriting firm, Rhetor.

Christian is a friend forged in frequent but intense meetings. I've met him three times but we speak as if we've known one another much longer.

So when I told him last week that I wanted to record a bit of wisdom that I saw him deliver at another conference a few years ago—an explanation and demonstration of the elocution of Hitler—he trusted me to present it to my audience in a tasteful way. And in turn I ask you, my trusted audience, to receive it in the instructive way in which it was offered.

What can Hitler teach us about the power of rhetoric to achieve fearsome goals as well as worthy ones? Here's Christian's take on it, which you can put to the test by watching the actual Hitler speech that follows.

When good communicators do bad work

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"If we don't do bad work, bad work won't get done."

That was easy for my dad to say back in 1972, because he was writing to the staff of his just-opened advertising agency. They hadn't done any bad work yet, unlike the rest of us, who if we have been employed by any organization for awhile, are each mired in a traditions of bad work: ain't-broke-don't-fix-it rituals and we've-always-done-it-that-way mores and shabby games where grownups play pretend.

For instance: An association's speechwriter writes to tell me she has to write the same speech every year "when our executive director gives his year-end report to the membership at our national conference. His goal is to touch on each area of the organization and mention names of as many member volunteers as possible … in 20 minutes. My goal is to make this litany of accomplishments and names as interesting as possible for the audience. To that end, I would greatly appreciate any thoughts you may have as to how I might better accomplish both goals in the future."

What did I tell her? I told her what she already knew. Her first goal was idiotic and the second was an impossibility. That's not exactly how I said it.

You'll never write a truly elegant speech that is also a litany. As one of the Cicero [Speechwriting Awards] judges said about [a] speech that didn't win an award, "But a great speech can't be a list; it just can't."

What I'd recommend to your executive director is that he put out a print document of some kind with the litany of volunteers and the roundup of activities, and focus the speech on the most pressing issue of the moment. (One of the consequences of your current format is that the audience gets to the end of the speech without knowing what's the most urgent fact of life at [the association]. Is it the bad economy? Is it the new web portal? It's hard to know. But don't members deserve to know that from their leader?)

Given the format of this speech … I can't imagine how you could have done a better job. It's nicely crafted. But if the speech is going to ring anybody's bell, or be remembered or be influential, the format is going to have to change.

The way I describe this to clients is this: When you have the unique and rare opportunity to look your constituents in the eyeballs, you ought to take advantage, and communicate something to them—a strong conviction, a hard truth, a bold new plan, a call to action—that you couldn't do via print, via intranet, via Internet, etc.

Phone books (and ceremonial speeches) hold litanies. Books (and memorable speeches) hold singular, coherent messages.

Not to be too obtuse about all this, I will offer one suggested compromise: Next year, you might open with a strong message—I have something very important to talk to you about, a crossroads in our association (or whatever) but first I want to give you a brief rundown of some amazing things we've accomplished this year, and the people who made them happen. Then hold them in some kind of suspense while he breathlessly runs through the highlights, and then returns to the big message.

That's not ideal—ideal would be to dispense with the fancy opening metaphor, "Traditionally this speech has been a litany of the accomplishments … and we've made lots of those this year too. But this year I'd like to talk about one issue in more detail …."

Once he does that ONE YEAR, it sets the precedent for doing it every year hence. And a focused, strategic message (rather than reading a list of names and achievements, however nicely crafted) is what a leader owes his constituency.

Did I tell her the right thing? What would you have told her? It seems to me somebody ought to create a book that lists—in a litany, you might say—the 100 dumbest communication rituals and common worst-practices (the news-free news release, the hollow CEO's letter in the employee publication, the ribbon-cutting story) and collects strategies like the one I've offered above, for breaking the spell.

Here's the title of the book: If We Stop Doing Bad Work, Bad Work Will Stop Getting Done.