I’ve tried lots of things to make my presentations better. I’ve read countless books and articles about narrative, storytelling and communication. I’ve learned about frameworks like The Pyramid Principle and I’ve attended Dale Carnegie courses to improve my public speaking. I’ve even spent hours poring over famous keynote speeches frame by frame, trying to figure out what made them great.

But nothing really helped. Even when I thought I got things right, my presentations still weren’t explaining, informing or persuading anyone.

More recently I’ve come to realize the problem wasn’t the advice, feedback, frameworks or PowerPoint templates. It was how I was using them.

For example, I’ve often received feedback that I speak too fast. I need to speak slowly. Good advice. But I’d misunderstand it. I’d speak slowly because I thought that’s what would sound good, or would make me look good or simply because that’s what other good speakers did. 

I’d also try out things that I saw in other presentations that looked good. I’d create a slide with only one sentence on it. It looked bold and dramatic. But there was no thinking or intent. I did it because I’d seen others do it. With every decision I made like this, I’d wind up with a series of slides that didn’t really make sense together. 

I was putting together presentations like cooking without ever stopping to taste or question a particular method or ingredient. I’d remind myself to add salt without learning or understanding that one adds it to food to balance and bring out the flavor. 

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Rather than figuring out the perfect font size, I’d have been better off asking myself what my audience were actually interested in, or why my slide-deck was even needed in the first place. Even though just thinking about your audience can increase anxiety, they are the reason for your presentation and it helps to bring them into sharper focus.

This focus helps you when you are deciding on both the content and style. It’s not to say that craft and polish don’t matter. They do. But before I start nudging around rectangles, I have to keep reminding myself to ask ‘why?’. Am I making myself more clear? Does this benefit my audience? And 99% of the time it doesn’t.

When we edit, we consciously shape what others will hear, see and hopefully understand. Here’s actor/director Jesse Eisenberg answering a question about how he edited his film A Real Pain.

I feel the tone is created by the characters, and Kieran’s character is this relentless character. He’s driving the whole movie, and he’s a guy who doesn’t give you a break. I just wanted that feeling to be part of the movie. So when we were cutting the movie, it felt like: What are the characters doing in this scene? How are they driving the movie? It was 99% driven by Kieran, except one scene where Kieran’s not in — at the dinner table in the restaurant — where the camera suddenly slows down, and now the scene’s about David. But for the most part, it’s just: how are the characters driving this?

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I recognize the irony in me sharing advice about presentations. I’m living proof that reading stuff like this won’t help. More information won’t make you question, reflect and recognize what’s getting in the way of clear communication.

For me, my concern over looking good excluded more important inputs like how the audience was feeling and what they were interested in. I’d forgotten the reason why I was presenting what I was presenting.

Until we can answer those sorts of questions, or admit that we aren’t asking them and just trying to look good, we will struggle to bridge the gap between what we say and what people actually hear.