DAYTON — In an era when professional credibility can be drowned out by constant digital noise, a new master class in downtown Dayton aims to help individuals cut through the clutter by refining one powerful tool: their own story.
“Story to Strategy™: Professional Narrative Master Class,” scheduled for Wednesday, Feb. 6, 2026, will bring together executives, creatives and professionals for a two-hour, hands-on session focused on shaping authentic, strategic personal narratives. The class will be held from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the Dayton Arcade, hosted by the Entrepreneurs Center.
Led by award-winning journalist and communications strategist Gery Deer, the workshop emphasizes clarity over self-promotion, guiding participants to better understand how their experiences translate into a credible and effective professional identity.
“In a world saturated with noise, credibility comes from clarity,” Deer said. “This isn’t about teaching people how to promote themselves louder—it’s about helping them define how they show up and why that matters to the people they serve.”
The session is designed as an interactive, immersive experience that draws on journalistic practices such as reporting and editing, as well as modern marketing strategies. Participants will work to identify the “through-line” in their professional journey, refine that narrative into a clear personal brand, and apply those insights to real-world decisions.

Organizers say the course is intentionally accessible, requiring no technical or artificial intelligence skills—just a willingness to engage and reflect. Attendees are encouraged to bring whatever tools they prefer for note-taking, from traditional pen and paper to laptops or tablets.
The $99 registration fee includes lunch, with a buy-one-get-one offer available to encourage collaboration and shared learning.
The February event marks the second installment in the 2026 Master Class Series presented by GLD Communications, a quarterly program aimed at equipping professionals with practical communication and branding tools. Additional sessions are planned for later in the year, including a “21st Century Public Relations Master Class” in August and a “Personal Brand Master Class” in October.
Deer, founder of GLD Communications, brings decades of experience in journalism, marketing and business development. Known for his “Deer in Headlines” newspaper column series, he has led workshops for chambers of commerce, professional associations and community organizations throughout the Midwest.
For attendees, the takeaway is intended to be immediate and actionable—not theoretical.
“A strong narrative can turn a brand into something more human, more relatable,” Deer said. “When people understand your story, they’re more likely to trust you—and that’s where real opportunity begins.”
Registration details and future class announcements are available through GLD Communications’ event listings.








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Only at this table.
In Opinion, Uncategorized on March 6, 2026 at 11:20 pmDeer In Headlines
By Gery Deer
It was late evening at a hotel restaurant in Washington, D.C. Most of the restaurant crowd were either deep in their own discussions or had eyes glued to televisions broadcasting college basketball. And there we were. A handful of adults who were born with or a parent of someone with bladder exstrophy, all of us in town as patient advocates preparing to take on Congress.
We laughed and talked, as burgers, salads and something fried occupied most of the real estate between us. Someone had to move a basket of fries so we could make room for desserts and more drinks.
On the surface, we didn’t look so different from anyone else in the room. Just another group decompressing after a long day. But the conversation? That could have only happened there. Only at this table.
Bladder exstrophy is rare – very rare. So, when you’re born with a condition that requires extensive surgery – or surgeries – and lifelong management, there are very few who can relate. Explaining it often brings sighs of pity, confused expressions, and a host of questions.
At this table, there was none of that. We didn’t have to define the anatomy. We didn’t have to summarize childhood surgical histories or explain why insurance preauthorization feels less like paperwork and more like gladiator combat. We could start mid-story.
We compared hospital experiences the way other people compare hometowns. We talked about the benefits and challenges of living with something so unusual it was often hard to explain, even to those closest to us.
That shared experience can lead to its own sort of verbal shorthand. It strips away the introductory chapter and drops you straight into the middle of the book. And shared experiences from birth? There’s no need to tiptoe around things, perform bravery or package vulnerability in tidy language. You can be direct. You can be specific. You can be understood.
There was a moment — and I won’t detail it, because some conversations belong only to those who were present — when the tone softened. Someone shared a memory from adolescence, a time when feeling different felt especially sharp. No one rushed to fix it. No one offered a motivational poster response. Instead, there was safety in letting go, in the expression of feelings and thoughts that only others like us could understand.
It manifests as a shared laugh, or a look, or a nod. It’s not dramatic. It doesn’t require a spotlight. It’s a quiet acknowledgment that says, “Yeah, I know.”
Every community has a version of this table. Veterans find it with other veterans. Cancer survivors with survivors. Parents of children with complex needs with others who speak that language fluently. I experience it whenever I talk to those who have cared for elderly parents. Even journalists have our own version — around a busy lunch counter or late dinner table, arguing about headlines.
The table isn’t about exclusivity. It’s about the rare and deeply emotional relief of not having to translate your life for someone else, and timing matters.
We weren’t children navigating surgeries for the first time. We were adults who had built careers, relationships and resilience. We had come to Washington to advocate, to push for better systems. That context shaped the conversation.
We were recounting the past, but also connecting it to the future. Even more incredible to me was the fact that the congenital flaw that made us the objects of both fascination and ridicule as children was now quite literally our superpower. It was what brought us to Capitol Hill to help others – because we can.
When we finally stood up, games still flickering on the screens and the crowd still rumbling, I looked at that table and felt the weight of its ordinariness. It was just wood and silverware and a stack of dishes.
But for a couple of hours one evening, amid basketball fans and bar noise, it was something far more. It was a place where five people shared something unique to them – an understanding. No, it was more than that. It was something as rare as the condition that we shared, but as unique as each one of us. But only at this table.