Hillel

4. Revise! Use your rehearsal, take out the bad parts of the draft and add in more good parts! 3. Rehearse! Now that the bad bits are gone, you see the subtle problems. Complex examples, extraneous steps, tangents. Time to cut those, too. 4. Revise. Make it better.

3. Rehearse. No, it's not coming together. Just words you're saying, it's not _right_. It doesn't feel like a cohesive talk. Is there a structural problem? 1. Outline. More carefully this time, a tighter, more focused, structure. 2. Write the new parts, keep it all cohesive.

3. Rehearse. You think you're getting closer. It's worse than your last one, but the potential is there. You can make a much better talk now. 4. Revise. Trimming it like a gardener would. The talk is a living thing, now entrusted to your care, and the responsibility is heavy.

3. Rehearse. For the first time, with an audience, a friend. At the end they say it's great, but you see some confusion in their eyes. You dig in deeper. "I didn't understand X." The whole talk hinges on them knowing X. You assumed everybody knew X. You were wrong.

1. Outline. The talk is dead. Grind it up for fertilizer and start over. More time on the fundamentals. Purifying the idea. The talk must be for itself and nothing but itself, an artifact outside your slides and words. It must hurtle to the sky and drag you with it.

2. Write. There are only five slides from your original talk now. The rest is new, unfamiliar and alien, even though you wrote it. This doesn't seem like your writing anymore. Everybody who reads it disagrees, thinks it's totally yours, but you can't get yourself to feel that.

3. Rehearse. It's terrible. Of course it is, you started over. You feel like you're no further along than when you started, and the conference is getting closer. 4. Revise. Battlefield surgery, ugly and messy, tearing out organs and filling in with sawdust.

3. Rehearse. You hate this talk more and more. But you're the only person who thinks that; you try it on an audience again, and they cheer. Best talk you've written, your friend says. Only a few minor tweaks. 4. Revise. Each tweak gives you ideas, more changes.

4. Revise. One night you wake up from uneasy dreams and have an idea. It's a big change, but it must be done. It will make things better. 3. Rehearse. You hate it more than ever, but the conference is almost here. You have no more time for major revisions. You are disgusted.

4. Revise. No more big changes, but you still have time for small ones. Polish the talk. Break off every twig, sand down every edge, keep polishing until you can see your reflection. It's not enough, it will never be enough. 3. Rehearse. Four days until the conference.

3. Rehearse. Three days until the conference. You feel every slip and stumble, every "uh" and "y'know", like a sharp pain in your skull. The talk needs to be part of your body. It needs to come out, unbidden, the words as natural as breathing. 4. Revise.

3. Rehearse. Two days until the conference. It's not your talk anymore, it needs to exist by itself, you are just the messenger. You never changed the talk, you were only bringing your understanding of it more in line with what it actually is. The platonic form punching through.

3. Rehearse. It's the night before the conference and the hatred is gone, you're calm, the talk is ready. The audience doesn't matter anymore. Whether it's 10 or 10,000 people, you will stand on stage and the talk will flow from you. All that matters is giving the words life.

5. Give the talk.