I ran my own accounting firm for eight years, and in 2009 was co-founder of the American Institute of Certified Tax Coaches, a nonprofit group based in San Diego that educates accountants, lawyers and other tax professionals.

My business partner, Ed Lyon, is a lawyer who owns a software company. When he and I were talking about starting the institute, I assumed that he’d do most of the speaking and training and that I’d write our materials. That turned out to be wishful thinking. Ed said he’d need me to do most of the speaking because of the demands of running his other company.

Ed loves talking in front of groups and is good at it. I, meanwhile, had always shied away from public speaking. Before we started the organization, in fact, I thought I’d better get some practice — but my first talk around that time, in front of group of 200 professional advisers for older taxpayers, was a fiasco.

To try to make taxes more interesting, I thought I’d make a point that people’s hard-earned money can go up in smoke if they don’t consider the tax consequences. I planned to ignite a piece of paper that magicians use to produce a brilliant flame. When the time came to do the trick, the paper hardly burned, so I put it in an empty coffee can I had brought and grabbed another piece of paper. This one caught fire right away.

It ended up burning my blouse, but the audience didn’t seem to notice; instead it was staring at the flames suddenly shooting out of the coffee can. An audience member jumped up and put out the fire, and I somehow got through the rest of the talk. I was never so humiliated. Usually I stay and mingle with the audience at talks like that, but this time I left as soon as I could.

After that, I decided to press on with as many speaking opportunities as possible, to try to become more comfortable with the idea of talking before groups. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I know the material — I’ve written two books about taxes — but I am a bit of a perfectionist and rely heavily on notes, which can create a lot of anxiety.

I talked to my father about how the magic trick had bombed, and he suggested that I have him critique me. I gave the same speech to him, without the magic trick. He said that I seemed more nervous when I relied on my notes and that I should speak more from my heart. I’ve done that ever since, and it has helped.

To gain more experience, I still look for speaking opportunities. I speak before various associations, and I started appearing on television news and talk shows a little more than a year ago. I’ve been on local TV in places like San Diego, Los Angeles, New Orleans and Hawaii.

On television, I’m not as nervous because I’m not in front of a roomful of people. I suppose that if I thought about the number of people watching, I’d become nervous, but I get to provide talking points to the producers, so I know beforehand what they’re going to ask. I’m most comfortable on radio because I can spread my notes all over the desk in front of me and not be self-conscious that people are looking at me.

I’ve made much progress, but the least little curveball can still throw me. Last year, Ed and I were scheduled to speak at a three-day conference in New Orleans. I finished my part on Day 2 and gave a sigh of relief. Ed was supposed to speak the next day, but at 9 that night, he told me that his son had become sick and that he was flying home. I’d have to do his part, too.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” he told me.

I didn’t even know what he was planning to talk about. The next morning I got sick to my stomach, but the speech went fine.

I could have taken a course in public speaking or joined a group like Toastmasters, but I set a goal of improving on my own. People with my fear have to decide for themselves what it’s costing them if they can’t overcome it.

Although I’m still nervous about speaking — I don’t sleep well a few days before a talk, for example — I’ve decided not to let it keep me from my mission. I feel strongly that what I’ve learned about taxes can help people.

And I’ve found I don’t need theatrics to captivate my audience. When I let go of what I think they want to hear and just be myself, it helps calm my nerves.

I’ve had several audience members come up to me and say they thought my talk was great and that they learned a lot. It’s hard to believe, but some people have asked: “Do you ever get nervous? Because you don’t look nervous at all. You’re such a natural at this.”

As told to Patricia R. Olsen. E-mail: preoccupations@nytimes.com.

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