Yes, we scare people! We know we're all gentle souls, and treat children kindly (you never know which of them will grow up to be a writer, and write about YOU), and you like to party & that -- but goll-lee, just let a household of non-writers know that a writer, like, a published writer, is in their midst and they will do one of two things:
1. Say Oh How Interesting and ask what kind of writing, and if it is not mystery novels or Christ-centered bestsellers like The Purpose-Drive Life, steer the conversation in another direction.
2. Feel Intimidated and say, Well, mumble, mumble, guess I will dig with my index finger through the antipasto.
Come on, people! Writers are JUST LIKE YOU. What we do is hard, like brain surgery and rocket science, yeah, but we want love just like everyone else on earth; please don't be scared of us.
Showing posts with label introductions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label introductions. Show all posts
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, August 23, 2008
I Get Intimidated
Thought I was immune by now, but at this month's "Loud Mouth" hootin' & hollerin' open-mike reading at The Mack, a bar in South St. Louis, which I'd dared myself to read at, I got intimidated. I didn't read the poem I planned to road-test -- a feminist poem that would have filled my entire five-minute slot. Instead I played to the mostly-male audience's Bukowski fixation and lost all my respect for myself and whatever respect the audience might have had for me. I was one of two female writers on the bill of ten. The other wore a tube top. The emcee, a student of mine five years ago, now a stand-up comedian manque, had never recovered from the final "B" he had earned in my class. He introduced me thus, "Have you ever really wanted to get back at a teacher? One of those mean teachers who tried to destroy you?" --and so on. (I fail to see why "B" is such an injurious grade.)
Most of the readers knew one another and had brought their own entourages. I had sensed I would need one, so I dragged in a long-suffering, patient couple, the husband a fine poet I thought might get a chance at the open mike. He was cajoled to read a poem, but refused to be part of this historic lineup. At least one of the readers, volcanically loud and incoherent, was certifiable; and the others were terrible, or terribly impressed with themselves -- like the bewigged 70-year-old Parisian who stopped his reading to accuse me of laughing at him (I wasn't laughing, just unable to repress a smile). A kindly nebbish read a 9/11 poem he had laminated. The other female reader actually said, "I wrote this this morning, about 11 o'clock" -- and then there was yours truly, all rehearsed, who jumped ship on myself and gave a terrible performance. Final grade for me: D. Pride goeth.
A good learning experience and proof that I still need to work on confidence. If it is at all possible for you, learn from my mistake.
Most of the readers knew one another and had brought their own entourages. I had sensed I would need one, so I dragged in a long-suffering, patient couple, the husband a fine poet I thought might get a chance at the open mike. He was cajoled to read a poem, but refused to be part of this historic lineup. At least one of the readers, volcanically loud and incoherent, was certifiable; and the others were terrible, or terribly impressed with themselves -- like the bewigged 70-year-old Parisian who stopped his reading to accuse me of laughing at him (I wasn't laughing, just unable to repress a smile). A kindly nebbish read a 9/11 poem he had laminated. The other female reader actually said, "I wrote this this morning, about 11 o'clock" -- and then there was yours truly, all rehearsed, who jumped ship on myself and gave a terrible performance. Final grade for me: D. Pride goeth.
A good learning experience and proof that I still need to work on confidence. If it is at all possible for you, learn from my mistake.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
