A Confession: Public Speaking

Does an artist need to know how to speak in public?

Isn’t it a distraction from the actual work?

I’ve given a few talks by now — one in front of a live audience of about 700 people in the creative field. I’ve also conducted meetings and presentations for various companies I’ve worked with in different roles.

One might assume that with practice, my journey in public speaking is complete, problem solved. Bye.

Well… one might assume:

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I’m very scared of public speaking and still, I say yes to every public speaking opportunity I get, dumb dumb.

Recently, I attended an event to present Megalith, the project Lizz Lunney and I are co-developing. Megalith follows the adventure of two best friends traveling through the fantastical Megalith Islands. More about this project in future updates.

As usual, I prepared meticulously. I wrote the presentation, polished it, showed it to my partner, revised it again, practiced, polished—repeating this process through many iterations to keep it as controlled as possible. Boring the shit out of my partner with the practice.

But there’s something that’s hard to replicate in practice: standing in front of a live audience. Getting them to sleep. Still, I was confident—I’ve spoken in front of large groups before, and I’m a professional in the entertainment industry, right??

I arrived at the event, alone, and quickly realized that I’m not great at networking. It seemed like everyone else knew each other. So, I stuck to watching other presentations and wandering around.

I knew Megalith was strong — the narrative and the art were solid.

Yet, I found myself locked in ego battles throughout the event. At times, I thought, “I can do this better than the people in front of me.” Other times, the opposite: “I suck, they’re way ahead of me.” I struggled between these extremes. Normally, I stay grounded—I know my work, and I’m confident in what I’ve done, no comparisons. But in a setting like this in an event, insecurity creeps in, and the internal battles begin.

Then, the day arrived. I went up to the stage, trying to appear cool and collected, like someone with years of experience who’s got everything under control. lmao.

But I felt like a balloon, puffed up with air. The moment I stepped on stage, it deflated. An old, insecure part of me resurfaced, and I no longer felt like the seasoned artist I’ve tried to become. Instead, I was the same kid from years ago, unsure of myself, in an event where I didn’t know anyone — and no one knew me.

Then I looked at the screen, saw a page from Megalith, and realized: it was okay. The work was good. The story was strong. It wasn’t about me — it was about the story we wanted to tell.

Later, when I watched a recording of my presentation, I realized something surprising: I didn’t look panicked.

The conclusion, still scared as f*ck of speaking in public. It is a necessary evil. Work on your projects and less talking.

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