Welp, here we go again. Time to yakkity yak about coding in one of the only places left where “for the exposure” actually works as an incentive: virtual conferences.
On May 25th, I’ll be speaking at the EEConf 2022 Spring Conference , a virtual gathering of ExpressionEngine nerds (and I mean that lovingly). It’s $49 which, let’s do the math, is basically $8 an hour to mainline the latest hotness in EE and the community. That’s cheaper than a fancy coffee habit, and you might actually learn something instead of just getting the jitters.
And yep, I’m one of the speakers. Forty-five minutes of me talking. Virtually. Probably at 7 AM my time because apparently nobody likes the West Coast. (Note to self: demand an afternoon slot next time, preferably after two coffees and a donut.) I’ll be talking about my little side project, EE Objects, and why it’s awesome for ExpressionEngine development. So, you know, sign up if you want to hear me ramble about code in a way that hopefully makes sense.
The Submission Process
Getting the slot? Shockingly easy. I basically filled out a form that said, “I built this thing, let me talk about it.” Toss in some punctuation so I didn’t look like a caveman, add a link or two, and boom, instant speaker. Honestly, applying to speak is the easiest part. Everything after that is where the fun (read: stress) begins.
The Hidden Costs of Conferences
Here’s a dirty little secret: speaking at conferences can bleed your wallet dry. Travel, hotels, food, the whole deal. Sometimes conferences cover it, sometimes they don’t. I’ve done both, the “live like a king on their dime” version and the “eat ramen in a Motel 6” version.
Virtual conferences fix all that. No flights. No TSA lines where you get intimately acquainted with a stranger’s rubber gloves. No $8 airport bottled water. Of course, no speaker dinners either, which sucks because those are the best networking events (also: free steak). But hey, I’ll take “pants optional” over “middle seat in coach” any day.
Slides Are Required
Let’s talk slides. Yes, you need them. And no, you can’t just wing it with a blank screen and interpretive dance. Start with an outline—this is your roadmap.
A few rules from someone who’s sat through too many bad decks:
Don’t read your slides word for word. People can read. Shocking, I know.
Keep it structured. Big idea, then details. Build up like Lego, don’t dump the whole box at once.
And for the love of all that is holy, do not be a parrot. If I hear one more speaker just repeat bullet points, I’m pulling the fire alarm.
Once that’s done, dump it into whatever tool you like. I’m using PowerPoint because I’m lazy and it works. Feel free to be “that person” with Keynote or some obscure open-source option, but you do you.
Slide Styling
Do your slides a favor and give them some style. A little consistency with fonts and colors. I’m not saying you need Pixar-level polish, but “Times New Roman on a white background” screams “I gave up.” Your audience will notice.
AV Gear Upgrade Time
Now, the fun part of virtual conferences: justifying new toys. Laptop mics and webcams are “fine” if you’re yelling at coworkers on Zoom. But for a conference? You don’t want to sound like you’re broadcasting from the bottom of a tin can.
So yes, I’m upgrading my mic and camera. Something crisp. Something that says “I take this seriously” but also doubles for yelling at teenagers in Call of Duty later. Two birds, one very expensive stone.
Practice Makes Presentable
Once the slides and gear are ready, comes the worst part: practice. And I don’t mean reading through it once while scrolling Twitter. I mean actually standing there, talking it out loud, maybe recording yourself, and then realizing “wow, I sound like an asshole.”
But hey—that’s the magic. You keep at it until you don’t sound like you’re being held hostage by your own PowerPoint.
Wrapping Up
So yeah, here’s the recipe for surviving a virtual talk:
Submit a proposal that doesn’t make the reviewer’s eyes bleed.
Build slides that don’t double as a sleep aid.
Throw in some style points.
Buy shiny new gear because you “need it.”
Practice until you can fake charisma.
That’s it. That’s the game. The work is real, but the payoff is worth it: you get to share what you’ve built, connect with people, and maybe inspire the next poor soul to fill out a speaker form.
Now excuse me while I go beg for a later time slot.