What is there to say? It’s difficult to really sum up the past three years I’ve spent in the NCFCA. (Well, the first year is easy to sum up: tears and agony. The end.) God has used a seemingly simple extracurricular activity to change me radically—to shape me into the person I will be for the rest of my life.

Ironically, I don’t think most of that radical change came through learning how to speak. Sure, cultivating my ability to command the platform has boosted my confidence and allowed me to share important messages and think through deep issues. But most of my training in communication happened on a much more personal level—and I have a feeling that that’s what will stick with me.

NCFCA was long car trips poring over unmemorized scripts and unread evidence.

NCFCA was ice cream socials on Thursday nights, running around the auditorium to find the friends you hadn’t seen in weeks.

NCFCA was waking up at terrible hours of the morning and putting on a suit.

NCFCA was getting together as a club every day, cheering each other on.

NCFCA was Mountain Dew, Starbucks frappuccinos, and Jamba Juice.

NCFCA was walking into that first Apologetics round and drawing the topic for which God had already given you words.

NCFCA was high heels and blisters.

NCFCA was whispering in the hall–but not really.

NCFCA was being asked, “Can I pray with you before your round?”

NCFCA was walking across the gym floor to accept a shiny trophy.

NCFCA was setting that same shiny trophy on a shelf back home, where no one really sees it.

NCFCA was awkward moments in Original Oratory, but beautiful ballots expressing thanks for speaking the truth.

NCFCA was that second of sheer insanity when you register for an unwritten speech.

NCFCA was watching outrounds with friends–”flowing” more than just the debate round.

NCFCA was coming out of a competition room and crying.

NCFCA was stressful days before the tournament, hastily constructing boards for Illustrated Oratory.

NCFCA was ballots parties late Saturday night, when everyone’s a little crazy from exhaustion but wonderfully happy in spite of it.

NCFCA was bittersweet break announcements.

NCFCA was lessons about pride and humility.

NCFCA was talking, laughing, smiling.

NCFCA was people.

People. They are incredible. Used as vessels of God’s perfect plan, they are truly awesome.

That’s what I got out of NCFCA.

And that’s what I’ll miss.

More pictures would probably be here…except I’m tired. Sorry. But with this fancy new Mac of mine, I’m having huge amounts of fun playing around with iMovie…so y’all can probably expect a wonderfully long video blog at the end of this trip. (Good enough?)

Who tips $6.85? Would it hurt that much to round it to $7.00? Just a thought. Not that I’m [really] complaining…

It’s been a whole lot of days since I posted on this blog. (I had something a whole lot deeper planned…but I decided to let it marinate in my mind just a little longer.) {Marinate. Yes.}

Boston is incredible, and I can’t wait to go there next month!

Speech and debate wears me out. Period. As much as I enjoy all this, there’s something in me that’s beginning to feel a bit restless.

Those adorable little foster kiddos I’ve mentioned for the past year? They’re becoming Maisanos. Or, as Hayden informs my mother, “YOUR-sanos!”

I did an [almost] 360 on a wet road two weeks ago. Thanks, God, for small towns with no traffic (either to come in contact with my car…or to see me freak out afterwards.)

Hayden came into my bedroom yesterday and said [and I quote]: “Oh, Beth! This is beautiful!” …he apparently liked my shirt. I appreciate three-year-old compliments.

It’s been too long since I’ve been able to go riding.

My bestest friend, the amazing Hopie, placed 7th in Team Policy at her Regional Championship. I’m kinda proud of her. (Actually…she got me into speech and debate.)

College is in three and a half months! I’m scared of this whole “pot-luck roommate” thing…but excited too. However that works.

Some days…I really want to write again. This summer, maybe? Yes? Hopefully?

Okay. I’m not one to ramble on here, but hey, I had to do something to fill y’all in on the past month and a half. Don’t complain.

[And don't worry...I'm stopping now.]

The first step is deciding on your topic, of course. After a long process of internal debate and external agony, you settle on something particularly meaningful and sit down to write.

Then you stop yourself.

Wait! you think. I can’t start writing yet, or I’d be violating The One And Only Rule Of Platform Speeches! How can I possibly write a speech without three points?

Let’s be very clear here:

Having three points means nothing.

Where did this ubiquitous trio come from, anyway?

The talk goes like this:

“If you want to write a speech, you must have organization. One great way to organize your thoughts is to split the idea into three points, grouping your sub-points underneath. This way, you’ll have direction when you write, and your audience will understand where you’re going. Start out by telling them your three points; give the three points; and then recap the three points.”

Meh.

It’s true that having three points brings organization to the chaotic thing they call an “idea.” The problem is that sometimes, using three points to organize your speech is detrimental to the idea you’re trying to present. No two speeches are the same, and so trying to apply the three-point structure across the board is bound to result in horrors of some sort.

Take, for example, an informational speech on heroes. You decide to talk about three heroes of yours, and why their lives are meaningful. This works.

On the other hand, you might decide to take things from a different angle. You’d rather address a problem in society, pointing out that true heroism is declining due to a disregard for moral standards. How would you structure your three points?

If you think about it, this topic doesn’t fit quite so nicely into those [despicable] three points of yours. Why? Because you’re trying to get the listener to arrive at a conclusion–not necessarily informing them of one straight up. It’s a logical progression, not a statement of information.

Three points provide structure–but they miss out on a few other important factors.

What the three points lose:

1. Suspense

“Today, we’ll be looking at three points: what heroism is, how it has declined in recent years, and how our lack of moral standards is at the root of this problem.” Great! Now that I know the entire contents of your speech…can I go home?

In a ten minute speech, you have an incredible opportunity: you can put a listener to sleep, or give them something that catches their attention. Suspense is one way to capture and hold their interest–and you simply can’t do it as effectively if you lay out your three points from the very beginning.

2. Progression

Having three points lends itself well to purely informational topics–but not so well to a topic that requires a progression of ideas. In other words, the three point system might work great when classifying or dividing, but lacks much power when you need to “build up” your idea.

This goes hand in hand with the suspense factor: taking away the logical progression of your idea takes away the suspense you can create along the way. Result? Sleeping listeners.

3. Uniqueness

Okay, let’s face it. Everyone has three points.

Do you want to be like everyone else? Answer: no. Solution: don’t have three points.

Suspense. Literally.

SO I CAN NEVER USE THREE POINTS AGAIN???

No! You can use three points if you want to be a) boring, b) non-unique, or c) a spineless wimp who melts under peer pressure.

Um…I’m actually totally kidding.

If three points work best for your topic, go for it. All I would point out is that usually, three points will not be as effective as other means. Evaluate your subject carefully to make sure you’re not missing out on any opportunities to build suspense, allow for progression, or create uniqueness. (Also: for those who insist on sticking with your three points, do the world a favor and never reference these as “points” in your speech. Call them “reasons” or “ideas” or “fire-breathing dragons.” But not points. Thank you.)

What, then, shall we do? WE HAVE NOTHING IF NOT OUR THREE POINTS!

Back up, please. What is the purpose of our precious three points? Structure.

Believe it or not, structure exists outside of three points.

For those of your with speeches heavily oriented around a logical progression of ideas…believe it or not, this, in and of itself, forms a structure. Your audience isn’t inept; they’ll understand a well-reasoned flow of thoughts. Make use of that. Ditch the three points, and build your suspense instead. Chances are, your listeners won’t even notice the lack of a traditional “structure.”

The fact of the matter: a good speech will have structure, but not necessarily three points.

Now go. Kill those ridiculous triads. Be free.

Allow me to provide some clarity.

Debaters Are:

1. Nerds. First and foremost.
2. The people who understand that “inherency” is a word regardless of what spell check says.
3. Violent highschoolers who always talk about who they’re “hitting.”
4. Flowers. (Think about that one.)
5. Easy to shop for: pens and sticky notes should do the trick.
6. Predictable. No questions will be asked until they establish that you are, in fact, doing good today.
7. A demographic that comprises approximately 83% of Google’s total user base.
8. People who bring everything back to nuclear war and imminent doom.
9. The only ones who don’t believe Latin is a dead language, and prove it by using phrases like “ad hominem.”
10. A formidable group with the constant potential to mob, usually due to the word “postings.”
11. Kids who shop for suits and enjoy it.
12. Those annoying friends who know what’s going on in the world. Almost before it happens.
13. Notorious for their intimate knowledge of just exactly how many words one can say in five minutes.
14. Brilliant geniuses who might actually do important things someday. If they have time in between tournaments.

And that’s pretty much the way we roll.

Wednesday afternoon, getting ready to leave:

Toni: “You guys can just go win the tournament, okay?”

Me: “Um…I think I’ll pass.”

Thursday morning, standing outside of the impromptu room:

Me: “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die.”

Anna: “No. I think you’re gonna break.”

Me: “…I’m gonna die.”

Friday evening, finished with preliminary rounds:

Me: “Yay! I’m done giving the awkward original oratory!”

[Break announcements]: “Breaking to semifinals in Original Oratory…Beth Maisano…”

Saturday morning, debating in outrounds:

Me: “Jonathan. I do not want to debate in finals. I do not want to debate in finals.”

[Break announcements]: “Your team policy finalists…Maisano/Morgan…”

_____

What did I learn at this tournament? In a nutshell…God laughs when we tell him what we can’t do.

And He laughed a lot last weekend.

So it begins.

As usual, these final 24 hours find me memorizing a speech, giving a few random impromptus, and hoping Office Depot gets all that printing done on time.  We’ll be heading out tomorrow afternoon for the first qualifier of the year. And in the end…we’ll enjoy it, whether or not that speech gets completely memorized.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Nationals 2010

And with that, consider yourself up-to-speed.  More to come!

I am always listening.  Even when I don’t understand the words you use, I hear you speak, and I will remember.  What you say is important, but how you say it is what I will imitate.  When I am you.

The numbers on your ballot don’t matter to me.  I don’t care how many trophies you get or how many medals hang around your neck.  I’m human, too, and I will face success and failure—maybe one more than the other.  No one will care in a few years, will they?

Sometimes, I laugh a little when I see you so caught up in the temporal.  It makes me wonder–do you realize that I am here?  Do you understand the weight of your own words?  Your own attitudes?  Your own actions?  Anyone can smile on a stage, holding a trophy.  But I see so much more.  I see it all.  I hear it all.  I will remember those of you who impact me.

Who am I?

I’m that kid making noise in the hallway while you compete.  I’m the one you don’t really notice because I’m too young to understand what you mean.  I’m the timer who doodles during your constructive.  I am the audience.  I am the world.  I’m a few years behind you, or maybe a decade, or maybe close to two—and one day, I will be you.  I will be speaking, and others will listen.  What will I say?

I am the future.  And I am listening.