Pitching At National

Okay, I’m gonna tell a story on myself just to convince y’all how terrified I am of public speaking.

Date and Time: 7 p.m. on a Monday night, circa 1975
The Setting: A classroom at UC Irvine
The Characters: 50 students (mostly older adults--many at the graduate level) plus the professor (on whom I had an enormous crush)
The plot: I am to present a year’s worth of research on my particular topic (something about public policy, the media, and minorities)

Now, I was one of those students who carefully scrutinized the course syllabus on the first day of the semester. If there was even a hint of a future oral presentation, I said sayonara. Unfortunately, this time, I screwed up. It was a 3-semester course and by the time I learned of the requirement, I couldn’t very well quit.

That’s how I found myself on a Monday in 1975, awaiting my turn to make a presentation.

Hip to my Achilles’ heel, I’d made a stab at solving the problem. To wit, I’d worn a dress (yes—I wore dresses in college!) with pockets so I’d have somewhere to stick my trembling hands. Truly, I figured that as long as no one could see how badly my hands were shaking, I’d be fine.

Ah, to still be that naïve.

When the professor called my name, I advanced to the front of the class and stood before a table and chair that faced the audience.

I sat.

I put my hands in my pockets.

I began my rehearsed speech.

My hands, trapped in their prisons, remained remarkably still.

So…instead…my head started shaking. I mean visibly. I mean uncontrollably.

I stopped mid-sentence and shot a look at my professor, silently beseeching him to rescue me from this nightmare. Head bowed, the coward kept his eyes averted and let me suffer.

As dead silence spread like a poisonous vapor, I briefly considered running from the room. Luckily, I had the good sense to realize flight would make me look even worse.

Oh, the humanity.

At last, I did the only thing I could do. I propped my elbows on the table and used my hands like a vice to steady my spazzy head. And gave the remainder of my speech that way.

(Just recounting this story has bugs doing the tarantella in my stomach.)

Anyway, the story doesn’t end that badly. I did get an A, I did date the professor, and the very next year I taught a class at the junior college level (it took about three weeks to get over my nerves).

Still…the prospect of sitting across the desk from a publishing professional who’s waiting to hear my pitch brings back nasty memories.

Here’s my plan: I’ve heard that picturing your audience naked really helps. Bwaahahaaa. Nope. Not gonna do that. But, maybe I’ll leave my reading glasses on so they get real blurry.