Be prepared to read wherever your travels may take you, even
from a smartphone, if necessary. Blurriness optional.
I reckon that, by
now, I have attended and / or managed enough literary readings—from soloist recitals to cattle
call events at several national conferences—to aver that I have witnessed
better than 2,500 authors officiating at the podium. Some of these readings
have stunned me, to be sure, influenced me, and revitalized my faith in
literature, while the majority of them have been mediocre, and within that
group, I have witnessed several bust-out disasters, and I mean vehicles afire,
crashing, amid screams. For those readings (and readers) as well as for the Future
of Our Kind, I offer this basic primer on stepping to the podium and offering a
sturdy account of one’s writings.
1. BE A PROFESSIONAL. I just love a
reader who slinks to the microphone without having selected what he intends to
read. He thumbs through a couple books, mutters like a bum, and holds the
audience responsible for his predicament. Never mind the reader who arrives an
hour late, and must be fed the Big Boy Platter, first, before he can step to
the microphone and thumb dumbly through his material. Can you prepare in
advance? Yes, you can, Hot Pants, you can apply stickies, if necessary, to your
pages, you can be on time, and you can be truly Dependable.
2. COME OUT SWINGING. That’s a
double entendre meant
to channel the spirit of a boxer, for one, but mostly
the spirit of a jazz musician. Be loud. Chase the
nerves. If you let the nerves chase you, then your voice will shrink and shrink
until it cracks, a sound not unlike a person falling through thin, thin ice
into a cold, cold lake. Need to warm up first? Why not sing? I endorse a song,
so long as it’s unpretentious, so long as you’re not pretending to be Mr. Five
By Five, since, you know, there was only
one Mr. Five By Five,
and his name was Jimmy Rushing.
3. DON’T EXPLAIN,
JUST READ. In all
likelihood, you haven’t been invited to preside over a Literary Explanation but
a Literary Reading. Show us your work. Don’t launch into lengthy
“tellings” that may rival the lengths of your stories or poems. Some
explanations turn out to be more compelling than the actual creative piece,
leading the audience to wonder why the writer had published the creative piece,
as opposed to the explanation. I’m hardly against a few short words to preface
a story, or a novel excerpt, or poems, but that’s all: a few short words.
4. KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE
/ KNOW YOUR VENUE. Perhaps you
ought to avoid reading your series of gnarly poems—“
Gigantic Beef Cutlets, 5 a.m.”—at the annual
gathering of the North American Vegan Association. [Aside: I was once invited
to read for the Senior Cits group at a synagogue, but all they wanted to talk
about was the poor lunch they’d been served; there was no reading!] A daytime
audience, for example, in columns and rows, will probably demand more measure,
whereas a night-time pub crowd will demand more chaos. Plan accordingly.
5. PLEASE AVOID THOSE
FALSE IAMBICS. Not
all
lines of fiction or poetry are meant to be
recited, “whose WEED this IS i THINK i KNOW / his STASH is IN the VILLage
THOUGH”, or if they are, then all audience members are meant to go home and
register themselves, posthaste, as Next in Line for Invasive Examination.
Deliver no two lines the same! You can read slower or faster. With more
emphasis or less. Quieter or louder. With potato starch or tapioca starch. With
Cholula or salsa verde. You can exclaim. You can hush. You can pause!
6. PRACTICE FOR THE
UNEXPECTED. I recommend
that you practice reading your writings regularly, and at that, practice with
the stereo playing. That is, practice amid distraction, such that you won’t be
thrown off-kilter when (A) Riders on horseback gallop through outdoor event* or
(B) Engineers with political haircuts heckle* or (C) Chubby man snores in front
row and
cuts boggling fart—while asleep—that sounds like
water cooler gurgling*. (Asterisk = actual event.) Oh yes, The Beast & His
Value Set will interfere with a literary reading, again and again.
7. A CONVERSION TABLE
ON DURATION. If asked to
read for 45 minutes then read for 40 minutes. If asked to read for 30 minutes,
then read for 25 minutes. If asked to read for 25 minutes, then read for 22
minutes. If asked to read for 20 minutes, then read for 18 minutes. If asked to
read for 15 minutes, then read for 12 minutes. If asked to read for 10 minutes,
then read for 8 minutes. If asked to read for 5 minutes, then read for 3
minutes. If asked to read your literature for 1 minute, then read your
literature precisely for 20 seconds, including intermission.
8. QUIT ALL THE
SELF-DEPRECATING COMMENTARY WHILST ONSTAGE. I
just love a writer who interrupts his readings to apologize
for the inadequacies of his presentation. He hardly means it, of course. To the
contrary, he’s trying to win sympathy from those assembled, and he’s shameless
in pursuing such a tack. When he offers—“That giant sucking sound going south
isn’t NAFTA, nope, it’s the sound of this reading”—he’s issuing a declaration
which compels the audience, in his estimation, to reply, “Come one, man, no,
you’re great!” Cut it out!
9. YOU CAN BE TIGHT
BUT NOT BLIND. It doesn’t make
you tough to empty a fifth of Jack Daniels at the podium, but prepares you,
instead, for
a series of slurred syllables and awkward
stumbles, as your body attempts to reconcile your inebriation with the
centripetal forces of the Earth. A drink before the reading can help steady the
nerves, of course, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but to be “blind” is to
invite embarrassment, Hot Pants, not only upon you, but upon the people who
invited you to read. Hey:
moderation ain’t just a
role in
a
dispute.
10. SPECIAL CASE: IF
SCHEDULED TO READ IN THE LATTER ROUNDS OF A CATTLE CALL EVENT. Generally speaking,
I do well enough at a literary reading, but I’ve
had trouble at the ‘Cattle Call’ events that can occur in and around
conferences such as AWP, MLA, or the Waiters’ reading at Bread Loaf. If you go
early enough, it’s no big deal, but all that nervous energy can build up, if
you’re scheduled to go later in the night. My suggestions: leave the venue at
some point; play pinball or pachinko; return a few readers before your slot.
11. WHATEVER YOU DO,
MAINTAIN A LITTLE EYE CONTACT. There
are probably a few cute people in the room, and you’d miss them, if you didn’t
sling your eyesight here and there. You won’t lose your place if you mark your
place with the thumb or pointer finger of your free hand. Meantime, check out
the hotties. Read to them. You’re not reading to a piece of paper, after all.
You’re not reading to a podium. Have fun. Enjoy yourself. Laugh at a few of
your own jokes, but don’t laugh at all of your own jokes. Maintain an
appropriate level of malevolence.
12. OFFER THANKS. At the end of your reading, don’t
forget to thank your hosts, your fellow readers, and the audience. If you’re
not in a pub, then proffer an enjoinder such that the audience—including
hotties from #11—should join you for conversation at a pub. The reading is one
thing, and is great, but community is the next logical thing, the logical
outgrowth of a reading, and fine conversation and fine libations should be
associated, at all costs, with a great event. I, myself, drink STOUT, but
there should be an array of medicaments available for all.
