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Pitch Perfect: How to Say It Right the First Time, Every Time
Pitch Perfect: How to Say It Right the First Time, Every Time
Pitch Perfect: How to Say It Right the First Time, Every Time
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Pitch Perfect: How to Say It Right the First Time, Every Time

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Media guru and Emmy Award-winning correspondent Bill McGowan—coach to some of the biggest names in business and entertainment, including Eli Manning, Kelly Clarkson, Jack Welch, Thomas Keller and Kenneth Cole teaches you how to get your message across and get what you want with pitch perfect communication.  He is also a trusted advisor in the C-suites of tech companies like, Facebook, Spotify, AirBnB, Dropbox and Salesforce.com.

Saying the right thing the right way can make the difference between sealing the deal or losing the account, getting a promotion, or getting a pink slip. It’s essential to be pitch perfect—to get the right message across to the right person at the right time. In Pitch Perfect, Bill McGowan shows you how to craft the right message and deliver it using the right language—both verbal and nonverbal.

Pitch Perfect teaches you how to overcome common communication pitfalls using McGowan’s simple Principles of Persuasion, which are highly effective and easy to learn, implement, and master. With Pitch Perfect you can harness the power of persuasion and have people not only listening closely to your every word but also remembering you long after you’ve left the room.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateApr 1, 2014
ISBN9780062273239
Author

Bill McGowan

Bill McGowan is the founder and CEO of Clarity Media Group. A two-time Emmy Award–winning correspondent, McGowan has conducted hundreds of interviews with newsmakers, CEOs, celebrities, authors, editors, attorneys, and athletes. McGowan now uses that experience to coach and train everyone from corporate CEOs to celebrities such as New York Giants quarterback Eli Manning, the actress Katherine Heigl, and the jazz great Wynton Marsalis. He also speaks regularly to large corporate audiences at such companies as Credit Suisse, Condé Nast, and Campbell's.

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A bit surprised by how good this book was. It's been almost 2 years since I read it and it still sticks with me. The author, an alum of the television show Inside Edition, delivers the good. I was no fan of the show, but I respect his ability to communicate, succinctly, directly, persuasively, in a memorable way. Lots of great examples included. I recommend it.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Pitch Perfect is my first reading venture into the world of business. I’m starting college in the fall, as a business major, and wanted to get some insight into the field I have chosen. I began searching for the best business books and this one seemed to be highly recommended. I started with it to learn the ways of the corporate world. Inside, I found more than I expected. Bill has accomplished a lot as a communications coach. Pitch Perfect is a solid source for learning to speak efficiently in any scenario. Whether it’s public speaking or catching up with an old friend, this book has you covered. I would definitely recommend it to anyone that struggles with job interviews, giving a presentation, or just looking to improve their overall talent as a speaker.

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Pitch Perfect - Bill McGowan

INTRODUCTION

Speak little, do much.

—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

IF JUST ONE piece of advice from this book brings you career success, don’t thank me. Track down a guy named Roy Schwasinger and thank him. You’ll find him in a federal prison somewhere.

I met Schwasinger thirty years ago when I was working as a correspondent for A Current Affair, the tabloid newsmagazine TV program that ran from 1986 to 1996. Schwasinger was your stereotypical bad guy. Because of the silent ch, his name nearly rhymed with swastika, further contributing to his aura of villainy. As an antigovernment activist, he was a real boil on the backside of all public and elected officials. He filed false liens, subpoenas, and arrest warrants against certain judges and prosecutors in an elaborate scheme to make their lives miserable. Even worse, he was accused of running a scam on destitute American farmers, falsely promising them, through his sham organization We the People, that he would help them win back their foreclosed farms for a mere $300 court-filing fee. That’s right, you guessed it. The cash was going straight into Schwasinger’s grubby pocket.

To imagine Schwasinger, think of the Great Santini on a bad acid trip. He was of medium height, a stocky man in his fifties sporting a military-style crew cut and a wardrobe straight off the rack at Sears. The permanent scowl on his face conveyed an unambiguous message: get away from me or I’ll hurt you. He turned down all media requests for interviews and made himself about as scarce as a survivalist in rural Idaho.

One thing was sure: If I could get close enough to ask him some tough questions, it would make for some great TV. Little did I know just how great that footage would be.

Schwasinger ignored my requests for sit-down interviews, so I flew to Fort Collins, Colorado, met up with the camera crew, drove to Schwasinger’s house, and waited for him to emerge. Walking up and knocking on the door might seem to you like a logical course of action, but that’s actually the last thing reporters generally do. Standing on his stoop would have allowed Schwasinger to call the police and claim that we were trespassing. It also would have tipped him off to our presence, possibly causing him to stay behind locked doors and wait until we lost interest and left town.

No, we wanted to wait until he left the house and put himself in some unprotected public place. Then we would catch him by surprise. So inside our rented Ford Explorer we sat. One hour ticked by. Then two. Then three. Then five. Then ten. This was the predigital era, long before Facebook, smartphone apps, and other distractions. Thoroughly exploring and analyzing all the current office gossip used up only about two hours. After that, the boredom-killing got more challenging. The fact that Hollywood filmmakers can make stakeouts appear glamorous is a true testament to their creative genius.

Finally, at ten the following morning, Roy emerged. We patiently watched as he got into his stinkin’ Lincoln and drove off. After hours of mind-numbing inactivity, I suddenly got this surge of adrenaline that caused nearly every nerve ending in my body to tingle. I even forgot how badly I had to pee.

We followed at a safe distance of several car lengths for a mile or so, until our black hat in the story pulled into a parking space outside the Larimer County Courthouse. We parked five spaces away.

You guys get the camera ready to roll while I go up and make nice, I said to my crew. Just make sure you walk up rolling.

In television parlance, this is what’s called an ambush or a sandbagging: walk up, cameras rolling, and as Andy Cohen says, watch what happens live. Under normal circumstances, cornered animals like Schwasinger don’t stay composed, and of course that’s what we were counting on.

"Mr. Schwasinger. . . . I’m Bill McGowan from A Current Affair, I said, trying to keep my surging adrenaline from making me sound nervous. I’d like to ask you some questions about We the People. . . ."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see our cameraman to my side. I gave a quick look to make sure the red tally light on the front of the camera was lit. Yes, he was recording. Good.

The minute Schwasinger noticed the camera, he cut short our handshake. His eyes ferociously darted around as they sized up the severity of this pop-up crisis. If a thought bubble had appeared over his head, it would have read, WTF is going on here?

I cannot answer anything, he said.

Why can you not answer anything? I pressed.

We were nose-to-nose. Because I’m under a restraining order from disclosing anything. Go to the U.S. District Court in the District of Nebraska and you’ll find it, he said, his saliva spray hitting me in the face, a disgusting development I was able to overlook because I knew I had this fish hooked.

I had checked with the prosecutor earlier. As a result, I already knew there were no restrictions on Schwasinger talking. In fact, the prosecutor predicted that Schwasinger would tell me that lie about the restraining order.

Right, we have, sir, and we want to know why you’re taking farmers’ money!

His goon-in-tow tried to stick his hand in the lens of our camera as Roy walked away, a cliché gesture that, to an audience, says, bad guy trying to take cover.

As Schwasinger tried to flee, I managed to keep up with him, walking alongside him, step for step, pressing him for an answer as the cameras followed. After about seven or eight steps, Roy gave me pure TV gold. He reared back and threw a formidable right cross that connected solidly with my chin and throat. His fist connected close to my wireless microphone, so it gave the audio of the punch an overly dramatic, bone-crunching quality.

My head snapped back and I stumbled, but strangely I felt no pain. In fact, I bounced right back up like an inflatable shmoo doll.

My first thought? Whatever happens after this is gravy! The office is going to love this footage!

My next thought? Isn’t that guy over there a cop? Indeed he was. We showed the videotape of the punch to the Fort Collins policeman, and he promptly handcuffed and arrested my attacker.

It was later that day, during a precautionary visit to the hospital, that I had an epiphany. My jaw might have been sore, but my eyes had suddenly been opened. There must be countless other people (not so nefarious, one hopes) who handle all kinds of public communication situations poorly. If Roy Schwasinger had received some good advice, he could have tried to persuade me instead of trying to deck me. There were at least a half dozen communication tricks he could have used to emerge from our ambush with his dignity and image intact. After all, when you coldcock a reporter in front of rolling cameras, your stature in the community tends to suffer.

In the aftermath of the farm belt, as it came to be known around the office, I suddenly noticed example after example of someone doing and saying something stupid during a high-stakes situation. It was a lot like looking up the meaning of an unfamiliar word and then suddenly noticing that same word in three different places that same week. These communication self-saboteurs weren’t just people like Schwasinger who found themselves sandbagged by a reporter. They were celebrities and politicians and executives and everyone in between.

Long before Sarah Palin provided us with endless amusement, former vice president Dan Quayle was almost single-handedly validating the need for communication coaches. For years he was the benchmark for bonehead statements. Who can forget his attempt to paraphrase the United Negro College Fund’s slogan, A mind is a terrible thing to waste? which instead came out as, What a waste it is to lose one’s mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is. The degree of his wastefulness was hard to dispute.

But plenty of household names were keeping the veep company.

The word genius isn’t applicable in football. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein.

—Joe Theismann, NFL football quarterback and sports analyst

Smoking can kill you. And if you’ve been killed, you’ve lost a very important part of your life.

—Brooke Shields, model and actress

Outside of the killings, DC has one of the lowest crime rates in the country.

—Mayor Marion Barry, Washington, DC

Pick an era, any era, and you’ll find faux pas of historic proportions. Many of these memorable manglings came from people who belonged to the communication One Percent Club. They were the elite public speakers—politicians, athletes, actresses, and executives in the public eye. These were folks who had a team of image experts and communications specialists at the ready. So that got me thinking: If they say things off pitch, what chance do the rest of us, the ninety-nine percenters, have of tiptoeing through the communications minefield unscathed? Someone capable of steering them in the right direction and building sound communication instincts could really make a positive impact and be a valuable resource.

It would be a few more years before I realized that maybe I could be the one providing that trusted counsel.

At the time, I was writing and producing long-format news magazine stories for Connie Chung at ABC News’s 20/20, a position that would soon be coming to an end. I like Connie a lot. She is warm and gracious, with a deliciously edgy sense of humor that strays into bluntly provocative territory every now and then. But 20/20 was a no-win situation for both of us. Connie was in the unenviable and frustrating position of being pushed to the periphery of significance. As her producer, I could clearly see the future. ABC was a dead end for Connie. As a result, planning my own escape was a must.

It was around this time that a friend asked me if I was interested in producing a three-minute branding video for a client of hers who was launching a job-search website. She wanted a substantive sizzle reel to prove to the venture-capital community that her company was worthy of funding.

Part of the shoot involved a sit-down interview. After it was over, she asked, Do you mind playing some of the videotape back so I can see how I did? Initially I thought what a pain this was going to be, setting up a special monitor and cutting into valuable shooting time for a sneak preview just to satisfy her curiosity. But I had just crossed the threshold from TV journalist to businessman, where pleasing the client at all costs is the prime directive. So of course my response was Sure, we can do that. And it was during that playback that my transformational aha moment occurred. Instinctively I started telling this client that she would be better served starting her answers a different way, keeping her answers in an affirmative tone and active, rather than passive voice. Oh and while you’re at it, sit forward in your chair a bit, don’t be afraid to punctuate your key points with some hand gestures and maintain more sustained eye contact with your interviewer.

She reached forward to hit PAUSE on the video player and said, "This is what you should be doing. I mean I’m sure you’re a perfectly good TV producer, but you’re really good at this. Do you have any idea of the value of this kind of guidance?"

The friend who had connected us overheard this conversation and must have tucked it away because, at a cocktail party the following week, when the head of PR for Real Simple magazine said to her, We just had to get rid of our media trainer. Do you know a good one? she said, I sure do. So in a somewhat intimidating, initiation-by-fire situation, my first client was one of the hottest magazines on the newsstands.

The new emboldened me went back to Connie to tell her that it was time for me to move on. The next chapter in my career was about to start.

Now, after twelve years as a communications coach, I study language just as meticulously as the former New York Times statistician Nate Silver studies numbers. Watching a big interview or major speech on TV with me is probably as annoying as going to a movie with a film director: I just can’t help dissecting, analyzing, and critiquing. Anyone who monitors their Facebook Newsfeed during a political convention, a presidential debate, or the Academy Awards is probably tempted to defriend me.

On any given day, I help my clients decide what to say and how to say it. That may include coaching:

  •  Corporate executives to craft a compelling and relatable narrative that stresses the possibilities of what lies ahead more than any current problems.

  •  Heads of nonprofits to bring a sense of poignancy and urgency to their case for why their cause is deserving of people’s support.

  •  Employees to stand out by articulating their thoughts with clarity, brevity, and conviction.

  •  Public speakers, not only to overcome their nerves and deliver their content without stumbles, but also keep the audience’s attention throughout their speech or presentation and ultimately say something memorable.

  •  Authors to talk about their work in a way that fuels book sales but without sounding overtly salesy.

  •  Professional on-air reporters and anchors not to become a caricature of a TV news talking head.

  •  Computer engineers at technology companies to convey clearly the practical importance of what they’ve designed and built.

  •  Sales teams to win over new clients by telling a compelling story about their company’s distinctiveness.

  •  Job seekers to highlight their competitive strengths by illustrating them through case-study-type storytelling.

No matter the client or the scenario and regardless of whether I’m working with people one-on-one or in groups, I’m often asked for advice about the same areas of concern. Broadly (notice I did not say from a macro perspective?—you’ll learn more about breaking free of mindless corporate jargon in chapter 7), that could be:

  •  How do I project greater confidence and command?

  •  How can I admit to a mistake without losing people’s confidence?

  •  How do I inspire others to deliver their very best?

  •  How do I ask for what I deserve in a way that’s persuasive, not whiny?

The more specific guidance often centers on:

  •  What do I do with my hands while I’m talking?

  •  How do I get rid of filler words (ums and ahs)?

  •  How do I bring more gravitas to the sound of my voice?

  •  How can I be more concise and stop rambling?

No matter the concern, the solutions reside in the Seven Principles of Persuasion that you’ll learn more about throughout the pages of Pitch Perfect. I leaned on these principles during my broadcast career and have since adapted and developed them to help anyone communicate more effectively in virtually any situation. They apply to everything you could possibly ever want to say at work and even at home.

It gives me great personal satisfaction to teach some of the principles to family and friends who ask for help with a wedding toast, winning answers for a big job interview, or techniques for delivering a great bar mitzvah speech. I’ve also had the privilege of coaching some people who are regarded by others as naturals, the Roy Hobbses of communications. What I’ve learned is that those born-great types are rare. The overwhelming majority of people we admire for their public speaking prowess have two simple ingredients behind their greatness:

1.  They put themselves in the hands of an insightful coach who isn’t trying to turn them into somebody else but rather brings out their best.

2.  Once they have useful guidance, they work tirelessly to get better.

I’ll make a deal with you. This book will take care of number one. I will impart everything I know, everything I have learned during my four thousand coaching sessions. What you will come away with is a thorough yet simple set of principles for deftly handling a wide variety of personal and professional communication scenarios so you can achieve the best of all possible results. And if you have a few good laughs along the way, just consider it an added bonus.

Number two is on you. Prepare, prepare, prepare. Practice, practice, practice. From here on, accept every invitation you get to do public speaking. Be the first one with your hand in the air when someone asks, Would anybody like to say a few words? Think of me as your golf or tennis coach. I’ll give you the secret to the right swing, but then you have to go out and play so you can ingrain this new muscle memory.

Let’s each hold up our respective ends of the bargain. That’s the best way I know for you to become Pitch Perfect.

1

THE LANGUAGE OF SUCCESS

Think twice before you speak, because your words and influence will plant the seed of either success or failure in the mind of your listener.

—NAPOLEON HILL

IF ELOQUENCE WERE a commodity listed on the New York Stock Exchange, every analyst on Wall Street would issue a buy order. That’s because its value constantly rises, and investment in it pays increasingly huge dividends.

At no time was this more apparent to me than the afternoon an executive at a major company asked me to improve the communication skills of one of his managers. Donald is not going to advance in the organization if his presentation skills don’t improve, I was told. At first I was stunned. Did communication skills matter that much that a manager could not advance without them? In this company, they did. The good news was, Donald’s issues were common and fixable. His delivery had lacked any sense that he found his own content even mildly interesting, and rather than stories, he relied on empty industry jargon that ensured his presentation would be forgettable. I’m happy to say that six months after our sessions together, Donald joined the VP ranks at his company and has outlasted many of his peers.

Since then, however, I’ve heard about the importance of communication skills from so many executives that I’m no longer surprised.

From clients I also hear:

I have good ideas, but I just can’t seem to convey them well to my bosses in meetings.

Landing this big account probably hinges on this one presentation.

I get called back for second- and third-round interviews but I never seem to get the big job.

And that’s just in the workplace. Think of all the personal scenarios in which we’re judged by not just what we do but what we say: first dates, college interviews, meeting future in-laws, delicate family conversations, and resolving conflicts with close friends.

Whether at work or at home, great communication skills are your secret to holding someone’s attention, making a persuasive point, being remembered, and appearing smart and confident. Every time you speak, it’s an opportunity to inform, influence, and inspire. The right language—both verbal and nonverbal—can make you seem self-assured, persuasive, and certain. It can move people, changing their minds and emotions. It can stir them to listen closely to your every word and remember you long after you’ve left the room.

THE PITCH-PERFECT MOMENT

During pivotal moments of our lives, results are often determined not by what we do, but instead by what we say.

Saying the right thing the right way can make the difference between sealing the deal or losing the account, advancing in your career or stagnating, earning a powerful ally or burning an important career bridge. Get it right and your reputation will shine from that halo effect awarded to those who are seen as confident, smart, likable, and sincere. Get it wrong and you run the risk of being labeled annoying, tedious, ineffectual, or irrelevant.

During such moments, it’s important to be Pitch Perfect, to use precisely the right tone to convey the right message to the right person at the right time. Such Pitch-Perfect moments serve as crucial junctures in our personal and professional lives. In business they take place every day, sometimes several times a day. They come up during meetings, presentations, events, parties, in hallways, over coffee, on smartphones, and in front of cameras.

One of my own most memorable Pitch-Perfect moments unfolded in a taxicab speeding south on the 101 just outside of San Francisco.

I had just scored Facebook, my biggest client in the eight years since I launched my communications-coaching firm. I flew in the night before and stayed at the Westin on the recommendation of Brandee Barker, Facebook’s director of communications. Brandee suggested the hotel because, as she put it, It’s practically within walking distance of the Facebook offices at 1601 California Avenue.

The training day was scheduled to start at 9:00 a.m., so, driven by my business mantra that if you’re on time, you’re late, I sauntered down to the hotel lobby at 7:45 a.m. and approached the concierge for a play-it-safe double check.

1601 California—that’s walking distance, right?

Well, . . . he said, with an expression that conveyed, If you’re a total nutcase I guess you could walk it. Probably better to take a cab. Walking it would probably take you forty-five minutes.

I ignored this first-stage crisis warning. Hmm, I thought. Maybe Brandee’s a really fast walker. Into the cab I got.

The stage-two crisis warning came ten minutes later, when the cabbie was having trouble finding 1601 California.

Stage-three alarms sounded when 1601 California turned out to not be Facebook headquarters, but rather a nail salon. During meltdown moments like this, it’s amazing how tightly a person can find himself in the grip of denial. As the cab pulled away, I looked toward the second floor of the modest building praying that somehow the biggest social network in the world was headquartered above Mani/Pedi-land.

It wasn’t.

At 8:20 a.m., a text from my assistant back in New York came through: Facebook is on the phone and they want to know where you are.

More denial washed over me. Maybe I just got the building number mixed up, I thought.

I called and got Brandee’s assistant. Hi, it’s Bill McGowan. I’m standing in front of 1601 California, but I can’t seem to find the office.

OK, well describe what you see in front of you.

(This was before Facebook developed the location-based Check-In feature, which would have immediately exposed the severity of my screw-up.)

Well, let’s see. There’s a bagel shop to my right, a dry cleaners to my left . . .

What city are you in?

I’m in San Francisco.

We’re located in Palo Alto!

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