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While the rest of the nation was watching President Obama’s State of the Union speech last week, I was moderating a rare and powerful panel discussion on the importance of public relations in government at St. Edward’s University in Austin, Texas. 

I coordinated the evening’s discussion for the benefit of my public relations class and other university students. The panel was awe-inspiring: a member of the Texas House of Representatives, a U.S. Attorney, a Texas Supreme Court Justice and an Ambassador to the United Nations for Economic and Social Policy. That these four sacrificed their time on Tuesday night, when millions of others were focused on the State of the Union, or work, or their families, spoke volumes about their hearts and passion for education.

One panelist had an additional challenge – she’s a state legislator. In Texas, the state legislature meets for 140 days every other year, and our biennial legislative session is currently underway. Dr. Diane Patrick, a rising star in the Texas House of Representatives (from Arlington), set aside her busy legislative schedule, a committee meeting, and time with her family to join us. Rep. Patrick serves on the Texas Public and Higher Education Committee (among others) and her background is one of educator and community activist. Before she was elected to the Texas House of Representatives, she was a college professor at UT-Arlington.

By day, Supreme Court Justice Don Willett is immersed in researching, writing opinions, and communicating with judges, attorneys, clerks, staff, and folks who are impacted by appellate cases that reach the state supreme court. He is also a busy family man — father of two with a third on the way. U.S. Attorney Johnny Sutton’s district covers 93,000 square miles of Texas, from Brenham (east of Austin) to El Paso, including Austin and San Antonio. His communications tasks are enormous; he oversees 140 prosecutors who handle thousands of cases.  As for my guest the Ambassador, I could fill the rest of this blog with a list of his responsibilities and communications.

Rep. Patrick explained the complexities of communicating with constituents, lawmakers, legislative staffers, government officials, etc., and of separating legislative communications from political communications. She answers most of her 500 daily e-mails herself and her staff takes scores of calls a day.

Her office produces an electronic newsletter every 2 weeks to keep constituents informed about legislative issues, including the 6,000 bills that will be run through the legislature this session.  Rep. Patrick said her legislative job is to help people solve problems; and a top priority is informing and educating her audiences (which can be a challenge; many voters couldn’t tell you whether their representatives work in Austin or Washington, D.C.).

We discussed the unique communication challenges of the judicial branch: judges must hold themselves above the fray, must be impartial and non-political (even though Texas judges are elected), and must follow legal and ethical standards that are far more strident than any other branch.  Justice Willett told students that one tough part of the job is setting aside personal feelings or values to issue rulings that uphold the rule of law. 

He admitted there were times he has been personally opposed to an opinion that he was bound by a higher calling as judge to write in favor of. “The law isn’t wet clay that you can mold,” he said. It’s interesting to think about public service demanding personal sacrifice in this way, and in this branch of government. I can’t help but admire people with the strength of character to defend the Constitution and the rule of law against a multitude of influences, including one’s own conscience.

These public servants have the added task of communicating about emotionally-charged issues with passionate people from every walk of life. Anyone who’s ever tangled with an angry mom knows that it’s just about as dangerous to take on an emotional 40-year-old woman with children as it is to corner a grizzly bear with a den of cubs. Put that in a courtroom, and you’ve got what Johnny Sutton does for a living. If a case goes badly, there’s a family involved who’s going to want to know why.

A sobering moment for me was when Sutton, who prosecutes cyber-crime, pornography, and sex offenses (among other federal crimes), warned my students to be careful when they’re online. He recounted a chilling story about a case in Dallas in which a small “mom and pop” organization had 70,000 subscribers to its child pornography Web site (which brought in about $25 million a year).  Roughly 1 in 7 children are preyed upon when they’re online in the safety of their own homes. As great of a tool the Internet might be, it is still a dangerous place for unsupervised children.  So parents, put your computers in a centrally located room, like the living room, where kids can be supervised online.

The Ambassador discussed government’s duty to be a “Democracy of Deeds” and obligation to report how those deeds are being carried out.  He praised the effort to create Recovery.gov, which anyone can visit to see how federal money is being spent.  It’s a great first step for a government that moves very slowly (a source of both security and frustration).  But governments generally lag behind in this world which grows more connected by the hour. As I write this, borders are erased as new global communities are formed in another dimension, which is as real to many as the guy you bumped into in the hallway this morning.

Government benefits from the Internet and its countless powerful and emerging tools for communicating and organizing constituencies. Citizens mobilize online to help countless causes and non-profits. And the more we Tweet or book Facebook time around the world, the more able we will be to make our own decisions about our counterparts on other continents (who are remarkably similar to you and me, it turns out).

The Ambassador said these tremendous movements and interesting financial times have produced a greater demand for transparency, honesty, and accuracy in government communications. People want to know more. They expect more from the institutions that receive tax dollars (and the schools that receive tuition checks). Our country’s actions should align with our ideals. People want to know what’s being done: where, when, and how much it cost us. And people want to know their voices are being heard. 

The panelists answered thoughtful questions about the constraints of communicating in their unique jobs, balancing personal values with sworn duties, and public service as a career choice. They left my students with a challenge to never stop seeking truth.  They encouraged students to analyze and research ideas; to consider many news sources and read opposing viewpoints.  One student asked Mr. Sutton how to become a better communicator.  He said, “Be yourself.”  He’s right. The rest will follow.

Our discussion was scheduled to conclude in an hour. All four panelists stayed past 9 p.m. (the two-hour mark), and Justice Willett and Mr. Sutton stayed for the entire three-hour class. They answered every last question and offered to be a resource to any of the students who might have additional questions about public service.

I’ve been marveling about this panel, and all the knowledge it imparted.  Collectively, the speakers represented about 100 years of noteworthy public service. I was moved by the magnanimity of that moment — by the rare and candid, heartfelt discussion. My students have no idea how lucky they were to have the undivided attention of four spectacularly kind, intelligent, and passionate public servants for three hours on a Tuesday night. But they will someday.

Maine Senator Margaret Chase Smith (1897-1955) said, “Public service must be more than doing a job efficiently and honestly. It must be a complete dedication to the people and to the nation with full recognition that every human being is entitled to courtesy and consideration, that constructive criticism is not only to be expected but sought, that smears are not only to be expected but fought, that honor is to be earned, not bought.”

Indeed.

BUDGET FREEZES, HIRING FREEZES..AND NOW YOU WANT TO GIVE YOUR CUSTOMERS THE COLD SHOULDER? THIS IS NOT THE ICE AGE, FELLAS. IT’S THE 21st Century.

Recent reports suggest that many U.S. organizations have reacted to the recession by cutting budgets and employees in their communications, public relations and public affairs divisions — a decision that stems from a belief, often at the top of an organization, that such areas are non-essential.

Yet during any period of crisis, the opposite is actually true: The greater the crisis, the more vital the need for leaders to engage and communicate with internal and external audiences (employees, shareholders, analysts, consumers, media, opinion leaders, regulatory agencies, governments, and the general public).

Clear, consistent messages promote trust, confidence and loyalty. Perception is a powerful force that can dramatically impact a business bottom line. The leadership of any organization would do well to keep the lines of communication open during any critical decision-making or action-taking process. It’s equally important to relay known facts and decisions as information becomes available.

Experts in marketing and communications point to the benefits of advertising products, sales, money-saving tools and financial services during a recession. One solution to the communication gap — especially for organizations that have already made budget cuts (and those looking to save money)– is outsourcing to firms that specialize in communications and public relations.

Small and independent firms have less overhead, and therefore can offer better prices and personalized service. Corporations that bid on government contracts or receive taxpayer dollars earn incentives and win bids when they work with firms that are certified woman-owned, minority-owned, and disadvantaged businesses (WBEs, MBEs, and DBEs).

The pool of talent in small, independent companies continues to grow as highly skilled professionals with subject-matter expertise strike out their own. And contractors cost less than full-time employees in terms of taxes, training, benefits and resources.

I’ve worked in the field of communications for 18 years, as a print news reporter and editor and a government press aide; as a White House speechwriter and corporate public affairs director of executive communications; and now as a business owner. I have seen the salvationary effect of consistent, honest communication. And I have seen the failure of strategies that call for being forthright only when the law requires people to be.

If outsourcing isn’t a viable option, then deploying strong communicators internally must be the alternative. Organizations must focus today on hiring, promoting and developing talent with communication skills throughout the ranks of both leadership and staff.

It boggles the mind that people place more value on a good pair of shoes than they do on the caliber of their words or the content of their Web sites. A good friend at the White House Writers Group once told me that some leading ladies pay their fashion consultants more than their speechwriters. I marvel about what that says about their priorities. So long as they look good, who cares if they sound good? As long as you’re keeping up appearances, there’s no need to provide much value or substance. Sound familiar? Sound like a few mighty corporations that have fallen of late?

Welcome to the 21st Century. Innovation is reshaping societies and ideas on a global scale, while average folks struggle to make sense of it all. Technology is growing faster than a speeding government, it’s more powerful than a local server; it’s able to leap entire generations in a single bound. What does it mean? It means, simply, that communicating with people matters more than ever. People want relevant, useful information from organizations and leaders they can trust. Organizations must embrace these values — change or lose leadership, employees and audiences. History doesn’t matter. Size doesn’t matter. People with courage, integrity and strong communication skills matter.

A recent report on research, training, and organizational development stated, “As it becomes increasingly difficult to obtain and retain top performers with strong leadership experience, organizations may find their greatest asset — their workforce — in jeopardy.” The report, which included comments from hundreds of HR professionals and line managers from North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Brazil and South Africa, highlighted growing concern about ill-equipped employees who assume higher-level positions due to a lack of available talent. “If businesses continue to ignore the oncoming leadership gap, they may see devastating consequences,” the report warned.

A research scientist who worked on this project said, “Companies should be concerned, because poor leadership can have serious top-to-bottom ripple effects, from employee burnout to under-performance of the entire company.”

Indeed.

Today, those who strive to communicate (which means both listening and talking) will come out ahead of the competition when the country recovers from this economic downturn.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fuDDqU6n4o]

There’s a message in this madness. Are you willing to listen — and deliver?

Another clever ad for T-Mobile, which highlights one of the problems of non-flip phones: derrière dialing. Here’s how it did on the “viral” charts.

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I recently saw a commercial for Dryel (a home dry-cleaning product), and I had one of those “Aha!” moments. Dry-cleaning is one of the first casualties of a household budget during a recession, and that’s a problem for all those “Dry Clean Only” garments in our closets.

For Dryel, penny pinching times present an opportunity to reach an important audience: Upper-middle and middle-class Americans (and Canadians) with a wrinkle in their dry-cleaning budgets. Dryel has a cost-saving solution for that growing pile of “Dry Clean Only” clothes in the hamper.

And someone on that company’s executive committee realized that now is the time to spend money on ads that put Dryel in front of an emerging market. People may try Dryel now because they have to. If the product is good enough, though, people will buy Dryel later because they want to.

I looked at the company’s Web site statistics, and there was a substantial spike in traffic in October 2008, when news of the recession was really starting to hit hard. I suspect that their website will continue to have higher-than-usual traffic as people start looking for ways to save money…and Dryel makes an effort to show them a different dry-cleaning solution.

So listen up, all you companies out there who are cutting your advertising and marketing budgets, take note. Now is not the time to stop communicating with your audiences. Now is the time to, in the words of character Jean Luc Picard, “Engage.” (Thanks Jim Mitchem, advertising guru and expert on the high-impact use of the color orange, for sharing the video, below, with folks on your blog.)

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They might even be able to keep up with my three-year-old. He’s THAT fast.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=at_f98qOGY0]

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2834087&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1
Fifty People, One Question: London from Crush + Lovely on Vimeo.
My answer: at Sarah’s house in Hayle.

//www.youtube.com/get_player

Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s all writers in general, but there’s something about the process of writing that I find fascinating. Thinking about writing leads to thinking about thinking. And when others talk about writing — about their own personal writing habits and rituals — I learn a little something about how they work and how their brains work.

Chris Brogan’s brain does not work like mine. He can apparently sit down at any moment, rip open an ink-filled vein, and let words spill all over the pages without feeling a lot of pain.

Beth’s brain works a lot like mine. It’s kind of like a cat. If I want to have a good experience writing, I have to convince my brain that it is writing because it wants to write. You can’t force a brain like mine into doing any writing that it doesn’t want to do and expect anything less than a painful outcome. And who wants to write when the fur is flying and the claws are out?

Beth’s blog explores some of the ways that she prods, cajoles, tricks, and negotiates with her cat-writer brain. She does other things and waits for the ideas to come to her. Make no mistake, that girl can write on a deadline, all right — I saw her do it plenty of times in college. But that kind of writing just isn’t the same as the kind of writing that comes from a brain that tells you it wants to write.

I am the same way. I wait for the ideas to fall from the heavens and spend afternoons chasing after them with a butterfly net. I usually catch enough to start most any assignment. But when I’m forced to write and I have little inspiration, I turn to reading to jump-start my brain.

Chris Brogan and I are alike in that way. He loves to read. And he is absolutely right that great writers are even better readers. I especially love to read writing by writers for writers.

Good writing is a relief to read. Great writing is fun to read. But brilliant writing — poetry and prose for true logophiles – that sings to a different part of my soul. I’m talking about writing like you’ll find in Catch-22, a book so loaded with irony that it spills right over into the sentence structure.

One of my favorite writers is William H. Gass. His essays are not for the faint of heart. They are intellectual beefsteaks – chewy, delicious, time consuming and worth the effort.  I stumbled across his writing in Harper’s, where I read his essay “In Defense of the Book: On the Enduring Pleasures of Paper, Type, Page, and Ink” and nearly wept with joy at the exercise (indeed, folks like Stephen Schenkenberg have rightfully credited Gass with turning reading into an aerobic activity).

After reading that essay, I marched right out and bought his book “Tests of Time,” a collection of essays that, for me, are roller coaster-ride thrilling to read — better, actually, because the ride lasts a lot longer, and there’s no line to wait in if you want to read the ride again. When I’m in the middle of one of his essays, I can’t help but marvel at his skill. I also can’t help but think, “My God, how does this man’s brain work?”

I’ve often wondered about his career as a writer. Did William H. Gass perform well under pressure? Did he relish the fast pace of a deadline-driven world, or did he prefer the more organic approach like my friend Beth and I do? Or, did it matter either way?

In my other life as a professionally trained, practicing journalist (in the early 90s) I performed well under pressure. I could negotiate deadlines with ease (I was late in every other area of my life, but I got my copy in on time, most of the time). I eventually discovered my limitations. I discovered the point at which the pressure and stress of a job could be too great – and it would affect the end-product of my writing.

I was a speechwriter for Laura Bush and I worked for the White House on 9-11. An already stressful job became enormously difficult in the aftermath. I was shell-shocked and probably suffered from PTSD for some time after that (remember D.C. had the anthrax scare and the snipers around that same time).

In the midst of all that chaos and terror, I had a difficult time crunching data, processing complex ideas, remembering details, and producing thoughtful, clear, original speeches. Working under such pressure had a profound impact on my writing ability and productivity. Writing a speech was like giving birth – agonizing, painful and ultimately exhausting.

I remember one particularly bad day I was researching a speech, and I was looking at a page of printed type when I realized that I had lost the ability to read. I knew that there were words on the page, but I couldn’t tell you what they meant. I was literally dumbfounded. I got up and left my office. 

I rarely left my desk when I was working on a speech, but that wasn’t by choice. There were too many demands that kept me in my chair, on the phone, or at the computer, and I could rarely get away and find a peaceful place to think and write. Usually a short break would give me just enough energy to finish a job. But that day I just shut down. I had to go home and rest for a few hours before I could read and write again.

It took several years to mentally unwind after I left the White House. Whenever I was presented with an important or complex writing job, I had to slog through it — coaxing, cajoling, tricking, and finally flat-out forcing my brain to think, think, think. I wasn’t pleased with any of my work. It was adequate but not inspired.

Writing – the one thing that I loved most in life; the thing that had been therapeutic and inspiring since childhood – drained me. My brain was empty and silent. I wasn’t sure if I would recover that joy again, but I did, thank God. The internal dialogue came back, one word at a time. I found inspiration in reading. In writing poetry. In writing for myself instead of someone else. In not forcing it, but allowing it to rain down on me. The old cliche is true. Time does heal most wounds.

The brain is a fascinating thing that we are only now beginning to peel apart and understand. From what I’ve gathered over years of reading about early childhood cognitive development, psychology, and current research about the brain, in some patients with PTSD or depression, the amygdala (the “fight or flight” center of the brain) often usurps the

hippocampus — the amygdala’s next-door neighbor that controls learning and recall (memory). It essentially dampens the sort of creativity we need to develop unique ideas and write beautiful sentences.

Well, I’ve been tagged in a “meme”– which, according to my tagger, is something like a blog version of those “getting to know you” e-mails that find their way to my in-box on occasion.

Unlike that damn redhead, Stacy Lukas who tagged me, I had no idea what a “meme” was, nor what volunteering that information would mean for my free time over the next day or two. But, as she promised in her own blog, it’s relatively simple: I’m supposed to list seven random things about myself for your enjoyment and/or education. Without further ado:

1) I am a hopeless Anglophile, from the top of my red head to the bottom of my pale and freckled feet. My love for Great Britain is an incurable disease that takes stronger hold with my every exposure. I suspect that it has something to do with lineage: They are my people. I am of English, Irish, and Scottish descent (from England’s Portsmouth, Ireland’s Loch Conn, and unknown parts of Scotland) It’s also been rumored that we are descendants of Lord William Canning, and we have a family crest that my cousins swear is older than QVC. I adore the British people. I love the food of England (including and especially the cheeses, clotted cream and “Extermely Chocolatey Mini Bites”). And oh, how I love Guinness. I also find something sacred and powerfully comforting about the British tradition of tea. It is my religion. I love that I blend in with everyone on the beaches of Cornwall: nearly all of us day-glo white and freckled with red blotches where we missed with the sunscreen. And I love the wildlife. Ravens, magpies, seagulls; even rabbits. Once, when I was walking along the Hayle Towans (grass-covered dunes) with my friend Sarah, we happened upon a coven or two of rabbits. I squealed with delight at the spectacle of dozens of long ears disappearing down rabbit holes. As I stood there taking it all in, Sarah shook her head in dismay. “We eat them, you know,” she said, smiling wryly. I know better — I’ve seen them immortalized in art. The only thing I don’t like about England is leaving it. Look out, Bill Bryson. I could take you for the Anglophile title.

2) I am nicknamed after my great-uncle, Charlie Fern. He was a fascinating caricature of a man; a pioneering aviator (barnstormer) and journalist (a self-proclaimed “UPI man”) in Hawaii, who worked his way up to owner and publisher of the Garden Isle. A problem with the fuel gauge on his twin-engine “Jenny” led to his becoming the first man to fly a plane round-trip in the Hawaiian islands. I’ve found few writings about him that didn’t include adjectives like “talented”, “daring”, and “legendary”. Uncle Charlie was responsible for developing my love of letters and of writing. My nom de plume and company name isn’t just a tribute to this personal hero; it is a legacy that I continually strive to honor in my own life and profession. It is also a daily reminder that you cannot live a large and honorable life without taking risks and maintaining integrity. A bittersweet asterisk: The man who knows the most about Uncle Charlie’s life is his son Charles Jr. (who goes by Mike), whom I have never met because my family lost track of him. They claim he is a recluse (and a genius). I know very little about Mike, except that he’s about 85 and he lives somewhere in Orange County. And he is the guardian of the remainder of details about the life of one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.

3) I have an irrational fear of bridges, especially tall ones. I will bring a car to a screeching halt on the shoulder of a road that presents a sudden and unexpected bridge ahead. I am terrified of the Delaware Memorial Bridge (or DEL MEM BR, as the sign says), and I am physically unable to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and the bridge that leads into Newport, Rhode Island. So, if you’re ever caught on a road trip and I’m behind the wheel, I suggest you check the map and make sure you know what’s ahead.

4) I love olives — especially fancy name-brand pitted black olives. I have loved olives since I was a child, and I have been known to eat an entire can in one sitting. In my family, it was a Thanksgiving tradition to set a bowl of black olives out on the dinner table. And traditionally, they never lasted till dinner if there were any kids around. It was one of life’s early pleasures, popping an olive over the tip of each finger, wiggling them, and eating them. And many a Christmas stocking was stuffed with a can of olives for me. Mine, all mine.

5) I sang a duet with Fred Rogers (as in Mr. Rogers Neighborhood) on April 3, 2002. I was staffing an event in the East Wing — The White House Conference on Early Childhood Education. Mr. Rogers was one of the guest speakers. I should insert here that I have met, and worked for, a lot of very famous people. By that point in my tenure at the White House, I was fairly numb to the celebrity effect. So it is somewhat embarrassing to say that of all the big-name people I’ve encountered in my life, it was Fred Rogers who reduced me to a giddy kid who could hardly find her voice upon meeting him. He’s just exactly as the world saw him on television: Warm, kind, attentive, sincere.

I shook his hand after the event and told him (babbled, actually) that when I was a kid, I didn’t much care for his show, but I had grown to appreciate him (and his music) as an adult. I often called my grown-up friends and sang “It’s Such a Good Feeling” to them — in fact, a friend and I had worked out a little stage routine to the song. His face lit up and he said, “Why don’t we sing it together?” I was utterly stunned. This was an opportunity I simply could not refuse, but I risked being fired for upsetting the program to accommodate him. Yet he insisted, and hnd his “handler” (manager) agreed.

Once all the guests from the conference were seated in the dining room for lunch, Fred Rogers excused himself from the room. He walked out to the main corridor on the first floor of the White House, where the Marine Corps band was playing. Mr. Rogers and I were alone there except for the musicians and one or two staffers. He walked up to the White House Steinway piano – the one with golden eagles for legs – and asked the Marine who had just finished playing a song on it if he (Fred Rogers) might sit down and play a song. The Marine promptly and cheerfully obliged. Mr. Rogers signaled me over. He started to play “It’s Such a Good Feeling,” and I couldn’t believe what a magnificent pianist he was. He rolled across the keyboard with exquisite grace and started to sing. He looked at me expectantly. When I could find my voice, I squeaked along with him. By the end of the song, I had tears running down my face. Yep. It was such a good feeling. A month or two later, I received a package in the mail. It contained an autographed picture (he’d also written a bar of notes from the song on it) and his entire collection of CDs (which I play for my 3-year-old son on a regular basis). Funny how one of the pinnacles of my career had nothing to do with speechwriting.

6) I nearly lit a man on fire on April 23, 2001. It happened when I was a White House speechwriter. One morning my boss, the head speechwriter for the President, brought around a man in a nice suit. I was deeply focused on an article I was reading. They appeared at my office door and I wheeled around in time to hear my boss introduce him. I know—at least I think I know – I heard “Josh Bolten,” but as I stood up and stuck out my hand, I said “Hi John.”

I was swiftly corrected. My boss explained to Josh that I was the First Lady’s speechwriter. Josh’s expression conveyed a mental filing of information that made me uneasy. As I held his steel grip in my handshake, I realized that his sleeve was dangling perilously above the open flame of a candle I had lit on my desk. Bolton, who must’ve felt the heat, looked down and asked me what the “altar” was for. My boss, who had been standing silently in the doorway, shifted uncomfortably.

I stammered that the painters had just finished our offices and the candle was ridding the room of the paint smell. They were halfway down the hall as my voice trailed off…I picked up our office staff directory. I thumbed over to the section marked “Chief of Staff”. There it was: Third person from the top. Josh Bolten. Assistant to the President and Deputy Chief of Staff of Policy. I’d just met the fourth most powerful man in the White House, got his name wrong, and nearly lit his suit on fire.

7) I know The Number One place to watch Marine One take off from the White House Grounds without getting shot by the secret service. It’s from the Old Executive Office Building; specifically, on a narrow ledge just outside a window in a top-floor hallway near the library. I and two colleagues found this spot when we worked in that building. I’m fairly certain you won’t be shot, because when we were watching a departure one morning from that very spot, I noticed two pairs of binoculars pointed at me — by two secret service guys on the roof of the White House. We waved. They waved back. I lived to tell the story.