"Then the machine turned on and began to let out a very annoying array of loud, high-pitched tones that then repeated, like a car alarm cycle."

At a recent conference in Sonoma, California, I met the novelist Reif Larsen.

Most of the conference attendees were architects and designers, but the speakers were from very varied fields. I showed how magnetic resonance imaging can reveal the functional organization of our brains, even when we are simply resting; he read from his amazing debut novel, "The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet."

I thought I saw a twinkle in his eye when Reif told me that he had learned about functional MRI for his novel. And, a few days later, I read this in Chapter 14, wherein the novel's 12 year old protagonist undergoes an MRI scan, the sounds of which remind him of a car alarm:

Then she told me to just lie there and think of nothing, although I of course thought of car alarms. I hope this did not screw up her data sets: she would unknowingly show an MRI of "Boy Contemplating Nothing" to her colleagues at a big conference when in fact it was actually an MRI of "Boy Contemplating the Terrible Nature of Car Alarms."

"Back out of all this now too much for us ..."

At a recent conference in Sonoma, California, I met the poet Jill McDonough. 

Most of the conference attendees were architects and designers. I'd flown in from Maryland to show how magnetic resonance imaging can reveal the functional organization of the human brain; she'd flown in from Boston to read poetry at the closing dinner.

Please may I suggest, dear NeuroCooking friends, that you read this poem, then wipe your tears, and buy this book?

___________

[Note regarding post title: The opening of Robert Frost's Directive is repurposed as a line in "Blackwater" from the book "Where You Live."]

This is not a slide.

I had planned to, but I changed my mind, and I did not show this slide at last week's Applied Brilliance Conference:

However, I did show this one:

Forget Expertise; Go for Immediate Engagement

This morning, I had the pleasure of coaching a brilliant law professor on an upcoming presentation. We've been working together for two and a half years, and I am continually impressed with her passion for the law, and her sense of it as a creative and forward-thinking field. And I continually struck by how the tenets of being a good lawyer contrast with the skill set of a good presenter.

Most notably. when presenting a case to judge, or teaching to a classroom of law students, a lawyer must defend his or her position by thoroughly establishing context and background, and providing all relevant data. Expertise - and thus the right to win, pontificate, or hold forth - must be established.

When one is asked to be on a panel, present a speech, or deliver a keynote, however, expertise is already established. You are there precisely because of your expertise and the audience is anticipating - and deserves - engagement. As a speaker, you must immediately engage with your audience, and give them reason to trust you. And then, especially in the limited time allotted to a presentation, you must continue to engage them in a compelling discovery of information.

Establishing trust with an audience is different than proving expertise to a judge or oppositional lawyer. If you know your stuff, it will be communicated whether or not you say it in the bulk of your limited remarks. (You can always share it, if necessary, during Q&A.)

You don't have to prove yourself; you have to offer an invitation to conversation.

What is an algorithm?

[Reggie Watts @ Google.]

"An algorithm is someone who feels good on a rainy day..." [starting at 5:44]

Confidence in efficient communication is power.

I don't know how long it took them in the studio to make, but Jerry Lee Lewis's great 1958 Sun Records recording of "Wild One (Real Wild Child)" is just one minute and fifty-three seconds long.

surface your passion, again

Last week, Lisa Lepson of Joshua Venture Group explained social entrepreneurship to me:

Social entrepreneurship works because it is rooted in a personal and passionate story. And personal passion, powerfully packaged as story, is what drives change in the world.

surface your passion!

People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care.

Reading, Writing & Speaking

Being an authentic written communicator may be very different than being an authentic spoken communicator.

By authenticity, I mean being honest and generous with one’s knowledge and passion, and compassionately striving to fully and empathetically engage one’s reader or listener.

I may write a compelling and well-structured essay, with a clear point of view and takeaway, and woven together with pithy sentences. If I were to read it verbatim, however, it would sound horrific. If I were to get hung up on delivering each of those sentences, word for word, I would surely trip myself up; my attempt at delivering perfect paragraphs would result in my being frustrated, and then apologetic, and surely alienate my listeners.

I do have one client who writes each of his speeches out and is capable of reading and delivering them with gusto. He is an exception to most leaders.

Instead, when I deliver a keynote speech or facilitate a large program, I write my presentation out, allowing me to experiment with structure and vocabulary. Then, I read it aloud, several times, allowing me to recognize jarring transitions, play with rhythm, and toy with segue ways.

And when it comes time to present, I no longer distract myself with the fully developed expository speech. Instead, I glance at an outline. I have realized that I must compensate while presenting, with passion and engagement.

I do bring the fully developed composition with me, and reference it during program breaks. In this way, I get to bring up points I may have skipped while speaking. For me, the combination of outline plus composition provides the right measure of authentic engagement along with intellectual security and generosity.