Summarizing my fall season of yapping

(714 words)

“Try and do something each and every day that’ll ensure parking at your funeral is going to be a real bitch.”

That seems to be the consensus favorite line from my talks. I think people like it because it combines aspirational good deeds, profanity and the assurance the people who mourn you will be inconvenienced when you croak.

People tweet it during my talks and come up to me afterwards and comment on it’s pithiness.

No one has ever approached me afterwards and said, despite all the groan-worthy puns, they are feeling all pithed off.

I had a wonderful, confidence-surging run this fall with several high-profile, paying gigs that should lead to more higher-profile and better-paying gigs.

And you know what that means?

Ladies and gentleman, I’m buying.

Here’s a sampling of the gushy references that stemmed from some of these talks to state-wide organizations:

• “We were so sure our membership was going to love Chris, we themed our entire fall conference after “Use All The Crayons!” He’s one of those rare speakers who combines humor with humanity.”

• ”Business people today often take life’s challenges way too seriously and forget the importance of stopping to enjoy each day. Chris brings a delightful perspective that highlights what’s really important in every life. 100 percent of our responding attendees rated Chris’s “Use All The Crayons!” presentation either ‘very good’ or ‘excellent.’ You can’t do much better than that.”

 • “Chris was a huge hit at our closing luncheon! He had our 250 associates laughing out loud and nodding with agreement regarding his insights about life and how it should be lived. His talk was both humorous but thought-provoking as well — the perfect ending for our annual conference!”

Something tells me parking at my funeral is going to be a real bitch.

I just hope they’re not all loan sharks.

Another line I use:

“Anyone who says he is his own worst critic is either single or pathologically delusional.”

It’s untrue. I am my own worst critic.

This was reinforced Wednesday morning at my keynote to Pennsylvania meeting planners.

I thought it went terribly. Many people told me otherwise.

They were mistaken.

It started off badly when no one could hear me. First impressions are huge, of course, and I’d muffed mine.

Plus, these were people who evaluate and court all the top speakers. It was a breakfast meeting so they were, I was told, grouchy.

And many of the jokes I tell to rein in an audience require engaged thoughtfulness.

So I’m off to a bad start.

I felt flop sweat developing.

Then I fall prey to one of the worst rookie mistakes by any author who’s out to speak about his or her book.

I lost my book!

It was incredible. At one point, I use a jumbo poster of the book cover as part of a joke involving the book’s actual size.

This time I happened to set the poster right in front of the bag that had the book.

So later when I turned around to read an entertaining passage from the book about the awkwardness of men telling other men, “I love you,” I can’t find the damn book. It was like I’d played a brilliant magic trick on myself.

What’d I do?

I didn’t panic. 

I pressed on.

And it went fine. Sure, it could have gone better and, truly, I am becoming accustomed to it going fantastic.

But it didn’t go bad and afterwards many people came up and thanked me.

I know it could have gone much better and been much more impactful, but those who were hearing me for the first time were satisfied.

That to me is a real step forward. Plus, my delivery is at a point where I rarely refer to notes.

Again, I’ve gone in one year from speaking before nine Butler Rotarians to successfully keynoting state-wide associations so I’m very excited about the trajectory.

I’ll conclude by sharing another steadfast line I use in each and every speech.

I do so because I believe these 10 words, if applied properly, can benefit every single human interaction throughout each of our entire lives.

I advise you to print this out and put the words someplace you’ll see them every day.

Ready?

“Learn the fine art of knowing precisely when to quit.”

Related . . .

My compliments: my day with the PR&LA

Our Greatest American Speeches & why mine’s better

The deflating results of my ballyhooed Virginia speech

My Saturday speech, a surprising sellout

I speak: some laugh, some cry, two snooze

Mom's coming to my Lebo book signing!

(716 words)

I have disappointing news for anyone planning on attending my 7 p.m. book signing tomorrow at the Mt. Lebanon Public Library. My 80-year-old mother will be attending and you all know what that means.

No profanity. No nudity.

Of course, I can’t speak for Mom. She’s always been a bit of a free spirit.

Giving a presentation or something that aims at being humorous in front of your parents is a real challenge.

And humor, indeed, is my aim.

I can’t do drama or profound revelation. No one’s going to show up to watch me try and solve even a basic math equation, something that would only be funny to the mean-spirited and just plain pathetic to everyone else.

These are called book signings, but that seems awfully presumptuous to me. 

First off, that assumes anyone else is going to show up. It might just wind up being me and Mom with her going through her hamper-sized purse and every four minutes asking me if I’d like a stick of gum.

Second, calling it a book signing hints that books will be sold. There’s no guarantee of that, either.

Maybe no one will be in a buying mood. Or maybe I’ll be so charmed by the welcome I’ll spontaneously decide to give my entire stock away. The gesture would in equal measures delight my Mom while infuriating my wife.

Either way I try and keep expectations down in the basement, which is coincidentally where I’m scheduled to speak so soaring eloquence tomorrow might not make a difference.

One of these days I’m going to start off by walking directly to the podium and going straight into a reading. No howdies. No introductory gab.

None of the great rock band comes out and and spends about four of five minutes giving some idle chat about who they are and what they’ve been up to. No, they blast right into a real rocker to seize on the throng’s enthusiasm.

This might be difficult for me to do. I’m likely to be engaged in idle chat with everyone that walks through the door. I’m guessing I’ll already be friendly with many of the people so pulling off the enigmatic and reclusive author bit will be a toughie

But it would be cool if I just burst through the doors, stomped to the podium and just launched into one of my stories. It would be even more cool if some flash pots ignited as the crowd went into a frenzy. But it’s hard to whip a crowd of probably about 15 or so into any kind of a frenzy and, guaranteed, the librarians would be furious if I set off about 50-pounds of pyro in Meeting Room A.

One of my best openings ever -- and I hope to do it again one day -- was from when I taught creative non-fiction at Point Park University. The 13-week classes were each three hours long.

First, I’d be deliberately 10 minutes late. The grad students were all furious, wondering if I was either incompetent or just rude.

I’d finally storm into the room, throw my black duster trench coat in the corner and take out one page of notes.

Then I’d begin to read, if that’s what you could call it. I stared at the paper and paused for about three seconds between each introductory word. I was trying to channel the nervous tension of Don Knotts making the speech from “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken.”

“When . . . I . . . heard . . . I’d . . . be . . . required . . . to . . . speak . . . for . . . three . . . full . . . hours  . . . I . . . figured . . .  the . . . only . . . way  . . . I  . . . could  . . . fulfill . . . the . . . duty . . . is  . . . if  . . . I . . . put . . . really . . . really . . . really . . . long . . . pauses . . . between . . . each . . . of . . . the . . . words.”

By the time I got to the second “really,” they’d all gotten the joke. They knew this was going to be fun. I’d so lowered expectations at the very first impression that classes were a breeze.

Of course, I couldn’t never pull that off with Mom in the audience.

She’d start to heckle, “You’re talking too slow! Speak up! Get to the point!”

I’d have to stop the whole silly production to tell her to pipe down and just keep her pants on.

And I’ll mean it.

I’m serious about that “no nudity” pledge.

Related . . .

Rodell returning to Lebo for book signing

My fears of public speaking

“Use All The Crayons!” a 10-star review

My fears of public speaking

I used to be very comfortable speaking in public. Did it all the time. In fact, I was a regular guest on Pittsburgh morning radio and on a popular panel TV show.

I’ve taught college classes, have spoken to writers’ groups and once addressed more than 200 people at a Manhattan awards ceremony where I was a guest of honor for a series of stories I wrote about people struggling with dystonia.

That’s why recent anxieties about public speaking left me unnerved.

Because I’m intending to do a lot more of it.

On its face, that last statement will alarm my family and my friends at the bar, my core demographics and the ones who think I never shut up.

They fail to understand a key difference between public speaking and drunken babbling.

Public speaking requires some wit, monetary incentive and an alert audience eager for entertainment or information.

For me to babble drunkenly, all I need is booze and people with ears who prefer hearing me incoherently yap at the tavern to being home and hearing a sober spouse complain about their shortcomings.

But I have a new book coming out and I plan on reaching out to every civic group in Western Pennsylvania who’ll be interested in hearing how a guy who can’t help himself is now a self-help author -- you can check out the still-evolving website, www.UseAllTheCrayons.com.

So the stakes are high. 

I want every appearance to be polished and entertaining, an oratorical home run.

It wasn’t last week on a Michigan radio show, which I’m regarding as more of a foul out. I’m friends with Michael Patrick Shiels, host of a lively program syndicated on 10 different stations across the state. Recent guests include Mitt Romney, Capt. Chesley Sullenberger and me.

Michael couldn’t have been more generous with his introduction. I remember listening and thinking, wow, this guy’s gonna be good -- and I’ll bet he’s handsome, too. It was so flattering that when he started asking me live questions about my book I responded with dumbfounded silence.

I kept waiting for the brilliant man he’d introduced to speak up and say something intelligent.

That guy was a no-show.

I was so choppy and awkward I’m convinced my old friend won’t have me on again until I heroically land a packed jumbo jet liner on the Hudson River.

The result? I had just one guy get in touch after the show asking me to send him a free copy of the book, which I happily did for reasons stated here.

It shook my confidence.

That’s why I felt relief the other night at a gathering of about 100 international journalists and Pittsburgh big shots when the microphone seemed to safely pass me by.

The Pittsburgh Regional Alliance and Visit Pittsburgh brought these distinguished journalists from as far as Spain and Germany to Pittsburgh to learn why the only color becoming more dominant than Black 'n' Gold is green.

The David L. Lawrence Convention Center, Consol Energy Center, and other dazzling new downtown structures have embraced green technologies in ways that are being hailed around the globe. Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens is unveiling the new Center for Sustainable Landscapes, which ingeniously produces all its own renewable energy and waters its lush gardens solely on water captured and treated on site.

It’s is among the greenest buildings on earth, quite a feat considering it earns the designation over thousands of other places that have an advantage of starting out being called “green” houses.

And I’m busting with pride that Pittsburgh is its home.

I just didn’t want to have to say it through an amplifier at the Monday evening reception.

We were on the spectacular 12th floor porch of the Reed Smith building, adjacent to the new Fairmont Hotel in the heart of Pittsburgh’s Golden Triangle. I was standing with fellow freelance writer Chris O’Toole, the kind of journalist I want to be when I grow up (I’ll be 50 in February so any day now)

Her credentials include bylines in many of the world’s most prestigious publications. She’s poised, classy and beloved by all.

My most impressive credential at the time was I was standing next to her.

The MC, Pittsburgh TV personality Bill Flanagan, concluded his chipper opening remarks and asked each of the visiting journalists to introduce themselves and offer a little background. Happily, he and the mic passed right by Chris and I.

I felt a huge surge of relief. I wouldn’t have to address the crowd.

And what a distinguished group it was. It included a reporter for The New York Times and representatives from many other renown publications who’ve been rejecting my inferior work for years.

I joked to Chris it was a good thing they passed us by because all I’d have to say is, “I’m Chris Rodell and I need more wine!”

And that was true. When the wine is free, I could just stand there and drink myself into a giddy little puddle. Free from concerns about having to speak, I was having a splendid time.

That’s why I almost dropped my glass when Flanagan said, “And, finally, we’d like to introduce two outstanding local journalists, Chris O’Toole and Chris Rodell!”

If we’d have just been about four stories lower, I’d have jumped off the building and made a run for it.

I don’t recall a single word she said, but I’m sure it was brilliant.

And I don’t recall a single word I said either, which is a pity because it, too, was apparently brilliant.

I was the last speaker, the clean-up hitter. As fate had it, mine were the valedictory remarks of the evening and I somehow pulled it off.

The reaction couldn’t have been better. Prominent Pittsburghers kept coming up to me to thank me for my heartfelt gush. Fellow reporters sought my acquaintance. 

I tried to think of why the results of these two episodes of public speaking differed so widely; one a failure, the other a success.

For one, I was prepared and had a list of talking points at the ready.

For the other, it was completely extemporaneous. 

After careful consideration, I blame the apparent sobriety of Michigan residents who listen to the radio at 8:30 a.m. Tough crowd.

It wasn’t like that on that scenic Pittsburgh porch. 

You see, I wasn’t the only guy there enjoying lots of free wine.

The results have me considering altering my business model for selling my book. To heck with rubber chicken dinner talks before Western Pennsylvania civic groups.

Napa Valley, here I come!