What More Can I Say?: Why Communication Fails and What to Do About It - Softcover

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Dianna Booher is a business communication strategist, speaker, and author of numerous books. She’s the recipient of an American Library Association’s Best Nonfiction of the Year award, a member of the Speaker Hall of Fame, and one of Successful Meeting magazine’s “Top 21 Speakers for the 21St Century.”  Her consulting firm, Booher Research Institute, works with more than a third of the Fortune 500 companies to improve their communication.

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It’s Not What You Think

You can change your world by changing your words. . . . Remember, death and life are in the power of the tongue.

—Joel Osteen

Phil’s name sounded vaguely familiar. A quick Internet search confirmed the connection: Our paths had crossed about twenty years earlier at a client organization. His interview for my company’s general manager position ended up more like a college reunion. We reminisced about mutual friends in the business, swapped client names, and bemoaned travel mishaps.

“So why do you want to go to work for me?” I ask him. “Your LinkedIn page says you’re vice president of marketing for some company.”

“That’s only part-time right now. The new company I’m with is just a little ahead of the market. I need something else to bridge that gap before they can afford to hire me full-time.”

“Tell me about the new business, then.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, and he launches into an explanation about the new venture. He’s working for a Hollywood movie producer, who has a few sideline businesses of play-on-demand movies in hotel chains. They produce 3-D programming sold to networks such as ESPN, Hallmark, and Disney.

“Got any reality TV shows in mind?” he asks offhandedly as he ends his tale.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I toss out a concept that had occurred to me while writing my last book.

“Hmmm. That could work. Seriously. I’ll pass the idea on to Barry if you want me to. He’s in LA this week. Have you been to Universal Studios? Amazing place. Anyway. Barry makes all those show decisions. I don’t get into that. I just sell the programming into the hotels once the shows are shot. Occasionally, I go on one of the funding meetings—if they’re close by. Like a couple of weeks ago. Barry got a few doctors in a room. Pitched them on a new series he’s doing. Twenty-five minutes. They all invested $50,000, and that was enough to put the first series in the can. . . . But it’s unusual for me to go.”

We talk a little further about the general manager’s job. But I quickly decide it’s a no-go. He’s a nice guy, but I need a long-termer in the position.

A week later Phil calls again. “Barry will be back from LA tomorrow afternoon. I mentioned your reality TV show to him. He wants to talk to you. Can you meet with him tomorrow at two?”

“Sure.” Actually, I hadn’t given the idea another minute’s thought since Phil had left my office a week earlier. But I spend the rest of the day and evening writing up a treatment.

The next day Barry, Phil, and I meet in my office. We trade background information. Barry tells me about the movies he and his business partner have produced—a long string of titles that I recognize immediately. Then he overviews several reality TV shows they are currently shooting.

At this point, I decide to show him the two-page concept that I’d drafted.

He skims it, then looks up. “I like it.”

“So you would be expecting me to invest in this show?”

“No. That’s my job—to raise the funding. We would own the show together and split the net profits fifty-fifty.”

My first thought: Maybe he’s taking money out of the proceeds, so that there is no profit. “Could you forward a typical production budget for my review?” His assistant does so the next day.

Over the next few weeks, we meet several times to discuss the specifics of the deal. On one occasion, he brings his son with him, who is working on a documentary for the History Channel.

Barry agrees to add every clause and safeguard I propose into our written contract. He reports that a couple of networks have already expressed interest in my concept, and he has an investor for our first $60,000.

“So when are we going to start shooting the pilot?” I ask.

“As soon as I finish up the series I’m on—end of December.”

December comes and goes. “So are you ready to schedule the pilot? I need to line up the talent. They travel frequently, so I need to nail down dates with them.”

“We have to have at least $50- to $60,000 to shoot the sizzle reel and pilot.” He explains where he thinks he can cut $10,000 out of the budget by using a simpler set and a local crew.

Budget-conscious. I like that.

Joe, Barry’s show runner, calls me from Hollywood to begin discussing details: run time, music, on-camera talent, potential product placements, website, and so forth.

“So don’t we have funding already committed—at least for the pilot?” I ask the next time Barry stops by the office. “I thought you said an investor had already committed $60,000?”

“He backed out.” Long pause, then, “But I’m still committed to the idea. We’ll get it done. We just need $50- to $60,000 to get started.

“Look, no need to be disappointed. We’re busy now anyway. I’m shooting two other projects. There’s no hurry with me. Unless you’re in a hurry?”

“It’s just that Joe has already asked me to schedule the talent, and the three contestants can be available to record this month—but I don’t know about later.”

“Then, look, my company will put up half of the $50,000 if you will put up the other half,” Barry offers.

“Well, I didn’t plan to invest any money in this myself.”

“I understand. That’s completely your choice. We’ll just keep working on getting investors as we’d planned, then. And if you know of friends or colleagues who might like to invest, let me know. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I do more checking on Barry. One of his companies appears to have a contract with a pro sports team. The other company’s website is announcing the new forthcoming 3-D series programming, featuring a legendary sports figure as its star. Two more series are listed as “forthcoming.”

I write out the $25,000 check and phone him. He promises to stop by and pick it up on his next visit by the end of the week.

Joe in LA becomes the point man. I get a text message at nine a.m. “Late night. Will call you later today.” No call. Next day an email would come in at eight p.m. “Sorry. Got held up in a long script meeting. Will call Thursday.” On Thursday: “Have the flu. Think I’m going to rest over the weekend. Let’s talk on Monday.” On Monday: “No point in talking without the producer, and his current job is running over a couple of days. I’ll try to set up a conference call after he’s finished with this client.” Next, Joe has a bad auto accident.

You know the end of this story: Barry disappeared. Phil protested innocence, and then stopped returning calls—from me or my attorney. Joe’s two-line “obituary” appeared in the Los Angeles Times a few weeks later.

By nature, I’m a skeptical soul. So why begin this book by telling this tale of getting scammed? My point: Building trust and persuading people to do something can be quite easy if you know what you’re doing.

That’s both good and bad. It’s good if you have a person or group’s best interest at heart. It’s bad if you have selfish or sinister motives in mind.

Good communicators influence people in subtle ways. They find common ground, build rapport over a long period of time, and strive to appear trustworthy. They...