I remember it like it was yesterday.
The seats were blue. I was sitting in the front row, and no one sat next to me.
I remember my sweaty palms clenching my speech cards.
I remember the big knot in my throat. It felt so tight I was scared to take a sip of water. But that was okay; I didn’t want to drink it anyway… in case I had too much… and needed to pee…
What I remember most, though, is the panic.
The panic that was preoccupying my mind to the point that it felt way more than just ‘panic’ — I was terrified.
I didn’t think I could say a single word.
In a few moments, the host will say my name, and it will be my turn to walk on that stage and deliver my presentation in front of all these people.
But instead of waiting for the cue to get up there, I was desperately coming up with ways to get out of this. Maybe I can just stand up and simply walk out of the room? Or whisper to the host that I have to leave, and before they have a chance to react — go? Fainting is an option too.
All scenarios sounded very tempting, very plausible, and also…
…ridiculous.
The ridiculous side came from the fact that I’m not scared of public speaking! I don’t get intimidated by standing in front of a large audience. I taught classes, ran seminars, and gave presentations to boardrooms, department teams, and marketing and sales executives…
I presented to friendly audiences and to sceptical audiences. To people who wanted to poke holes in my presentations, and to people who were fascinated by what I had to say.
Presenting really wasn’t a problem.
The problem came from something else entirely. Something that happened two days before...
Something that threw me completely off my game.
Two days earlier, my boss (also the organiser of this event) ripped my presentation to shreds (and I’m not speaking figuratively). The criticism was unexpectedly harsh and overwhelmingly last-minute.
Two weeks of work went down the drain in a matter of 10 minutes, and now I had essentially a day to write a brand-new presentation. Same topic, same audience, same event, and yet I had to come up with completely different talking points.
I didn’t know it then, but that was when the panic started, and it wouldn’t let go. I didn’t sleep, and I questioned my every idea. By the time I sat in those blue seats, my nerves were shredded, and my confidence was shot.
Even though I managed to put together a brand new presentation, the idea of presenting it was, quite simply…
…dreadful.
My thoughts of escaping were interrupted when the host said my name. My bio followed, then the audience clapped...
Show time!
I walk toward the mic, look at the rows of people in front of me, and for the next five seconds (which felt like an eternity), I can’t move, let alone say a single word.
One Mississippi…
Psst… This is where the preview ends…
Outrageous!
Did I get a word out?
My subscribers found out — the full issue went straight to their inboxes.
Here is what else they got:
The one question to ask before you tell that story. Get it wrong, and your story reads like a pity party rathen than a reason to buy
The sneaky trick that builds suspense for your reader and buys you time to compose your thoughts.
Why the details you remember most vividly are often the ones to cut, and how to avoid trimming so much that your story loses its charm.
The simple change in narrative that stops your emotions hijacking the story and keeps it pointed at the lesson.
Why your first draft should be an absolute mess, tears and swearing included, and what to do before you write draft two.
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