Burnt Tongues And Lamenfieber!
THE GERMAN PHRASE FOR “stage-fright,” is Lamenfieber! which translates to “light-fever,” and is a better description of what happened to me on stage, one year ago, at TEDx Temecula.
I’d memorized my talk weeks in advance. You could have found me rehearsing at the beach or in my backyard, mumbling it out each night while brushing my teeth. What’s the German phrase for over-prepared?
For the first two minutes, my talk flowed. My hair white, my teeth combed. So prepped and ready under the spotlight. So sure of myself it was almost boring. But then… Das fever rose fast.
First, a pulsing ring in my ear. Then my mind went white-paper blank. I completely lost my place and what followed was a long, awkward pause. Too dramatic to be intentional. One of the video editors would tell me later: “It was eight seconds and painful to watch.”
Painful is a good word for it. I felt the collective fear of the audience spread from the front row to the balcony as desperation poured down my face. What is that strange euphoria that comes just before you witness a disaster? No one wants to see the tightrope walker fall, but oh how we cherish that sudden gust of wind.
I won’t bury the lead anymore-I did recover. And thanks to some brilliant editing (thanks, Jim!) you can barely, hardly notice my brain freeze at all. If I wasn’t telling you now, you’d never know. So, why am I telling you?
I’m not your speaker coach, but if you asked me a surefire way to engage an audience, I’d tell you: Do something wrogn.
Because if anyone wasn’t listening before, I sure had their attention now.
There’s a writing device in fiction known as Burnt Tongue, popularized by author Chuck Palahnuik. He describes:
“A way of saying something, but saying it wrong, in an awkward and interesting way, twisting it to slow down the reader. Forcing the reader to read close, maybe read twice.”
I’m writing this in Lisbon, Portugal, where almost everyone speaks almost perfect English. Outside, where the sun chirps and the birds shine, the Portuguese lull native English speakers into a false sense of security. American ears almost forget their abroad until the burnt tongue comes.
“They must don’t care.”
“I cuted my foot on the reef.”
“It’s super ok.”
Consider this sign in the cafe bathroom:
A few days ago in Morocco, my driver explained their political system to me. He told me in almost perfect English, like he’d said it all before. So sure of himself it was almost boring. Until he said, “We got a new Prime Minister last year. That was a long and tough erection cycle. It divided the country. One of the hardest and most disappointing erections of my life.”
If I wasn’t listening before, he had my attention now.
I said, “Tell me about it. Every four years we have a national erection that lasts so long half the country is sore for months.”
What is it about a mistake that creates intimacy? At the breakfast table, spinach in your teeth feels like spinach in mine. Hidden truths, minor conspiracy: these are the secret handshakes that form a bond. Punchlines are forgotten by the time of the curtain, but an inside joke is like trauma: It can last a lifetime.
Burnt tongues, stage fright, frozen moments that set you aflame. They create immediacy and honesty in an interaction, forcing daydreamers back to the present moment. To be vulnerable and engaging, it’s not enough to “own your truth.” The audience must be forced to carry your burden as well. If only for a short gust of wind.
It’s probably for the best my lamenfieber! is edited out of my TEDx talk. But part of me wishes those eight seconds of panic were still there for the world to see. That contagious fever. The collective rush of a packed audience begging, “Please don’t make us watch you fall.”
To see how it really ends, use the link below. If you have the nerve…
The Temperature is hotter than eight seconds of brain-feeze! 🔥
-Corey
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