WWhen I was younger, I was so scared of public speaking that I tried to avoid it. If I had to address a crowd, I wouldn't sleep for days because the disaster scenario would replay over and over in my head. By the time the actual event came around, my hands were clammy, my breathing was erratic, and I was speaking at a rapid pace, struggling to finish my speech.
In college, I chose subjects simply because they didn't have presentations in class. I've never applied for a job dealing with crowds. And when my best friend asked me to give a speech on her 21st birthday, I drank too much cheap wine, slurred a word or two, and ran outside in embarrassment.
My fear didn't come from a lack of confidence. At school, I auditioned for my first role in a play. There are also singing parts when you can't hold down the notes. On stage, I wasn't afraid because I played roles that were separate enough from my true self to keep me safe. But when someone asked me to perform myself in front of a crowd, I messed up.
When I became a children's author, I thought that publishing a book would prevent me from ever giving a public speech again. I had an image of myself writing at home in my pajamas and not seeing any readers.
How wrong I was!
When I published my first young adult novel ten years ago, I was invited to speak at a writer's festival. I answered “Yes” without thinking too much. I had no idea that this festival would attract thousands of students and publishing luminaries. I thought I'd have a casual chat with a few teens about ghost stories and how my book came about.
The festival was held in Queensland in March. It was hot so I just wore my black Melbourne clothes and long, heavy boots. I didn't know anyone, but several writers kindly invited me to dinner the night before I left. And I slowly started to think that maybe I wasn't ready for what was about to happen.
The next morning I arrived at a large marquee set up outside on the lawn. I walked in and 200 faces stared at me. The air was thick and muddy. Five teenagers were seated close together in the front row. They kept stretching their legs and I had to dodge them as I walked back and forth in front with the microphone.
I was sweating before I even opened my mouth.
My publisher came to show her support. It was very nice, but it doubled my fear. Talking to strangers was hard enough, but telling strangers in front of people I know and respect was even harder. I saw her smiling at me in the back row.
Then it started raining. It's heavy and noisy. The roof of the marquee started leaking, and the water dripping onto the whiteboard made it impossible to write on it. There was only one book I wanted to talk about, but none of the students seemed to have read it. Or cared. As I was talking about ghosts, the five people in the front row started heckling and joking about Scooby-Doo, and I lost my place. Obviously I panicked to the core and started forgetting my words. I could feel the tears starting to flow. And I didn't know what to do.
Then a teenage boy, the marquee's technical director, grabbed a spare microphone and began reenacting his ghost story. The story was thrilling, full of horror and suspense, and better than anything I've ever said. I used his five minutes of speaking to calm down and prepare. When he finished speaking, I knew he had saved me and I thanked him. And I managed to get through the rest of the session unscathed.
There were five more presentations that week, but none were as bad as the first. And by the end of the festival, I was able to laugh about my performance. Because other than being heckled every 30 seconds, blushing, stumbling over my words and almost crying, I survived. And for someone like me who has always been afraid of public speaking, this seemed like a huge victory.
I knew I had to learn how to overcome my fear somehow. I asked other writers for tricks and advice. Added slideshows, readings, and Q&A sessions to presentations. This means there was a marker to work on. I was still scared, but I had to keep going because I needed to make a living, and the more I presented, the more I practiced navigating the unexpected.
I will never again enjoy the idea of dealing with hundreds of students, but sometimes I surprise myself by having more fun than I ever thought possible. And sometimes, the tension an actor must feel when connecting with a crowd is presented as a session or experience that makes you want to drive home with a smile on your face. And on other days, even if IT doesn't work and no one laughs at my jokes, now he knows that an hour is just an hour and he can leave the company when it's over. I know you can do it.