Enter, stage left.

In early February this year, three of us North Vancouver writers drove halfway to the US to see Ivan Coyote at the Semiahoo Library. “The stage is a sacred place,” she said in her presentation Talking the Talk. Ivan emphasized that writers who are invited to participate in public readings or launches should treat the event with respect. They should work as hard preparing for public readings as they did writing the material in the first place.

Word count 425              Reading time: 2 minutes

This spring my novel Lockdown will be launched. That means for the first time, I’m going to have to read this work in public. That thought terrifies and excites me. Pain is so closely linked to pleasure after all.

Thank you, Ivan, for the wisdom, humour, and experience you shared that night. For those of you who may never have the opportunity to hear this wonderful speaker, here are some of her points:

• Foundation rule: who are you on stage for? Choose material with your audience in mind.
• Listen to other performers who are sharing your stage—and reference them.
• Watch other authors reading and learn from them. (Hint: google spoken word artists and open mic events).
• If you are reading from a book, let the audience see it.
• If you are reading from your own copy, print the material in a large enough font that is easy to read.
• Read the material aloud before you stand in front of the crowd. And practice practice practice it—at least twenty times beforehand.
• Think of your piece as ascending a 15 story building. Pace your reading so there are landings—pauses that allow your listener to absorb the material.
• The length of your pieces should be timed to fill about 85% of your time slot. See previous comment about landings.
• Arrive early and check the facility out. Introduce yourself to the sound people and event managers. Try to remember names.
• Don’t go on stage starving, after drinking carbonated beverages, dehydrated, or after a big meal.
• Most importantly, bring your best self to the stage. Don’t trash anyone or complain.

Still, I think the book launch will be a challenge for someone like me who avoids the spotlight. But it’s an essential part of the writing caper so I’ll set a date, put on my extrovert disguise, and take the leap.

What are your experiences with public readings? Is there something else that prepares a person for the first time (or the tenth) that they read their work in public?

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Photo from Wikimedia Commons: Sarah Bernhardt performs as Sorceress, Library of Congress 

Been there, done that, what's next?

Last Saturday, for the first time, I appeared in public as a writer. Another milestone now behind me. Some people are attracted to such events like butterflies to bright flowers. I’m more like a unicorn; I’d rather not be seen. However, remaining anonymous is a luxury no 21^st century writer can afford. In the Forbes’ article, Five Lessons For Authors and Self-Publishers, Neil Gaiman tells writers that you have to get out there, you have to be a part of your community, and you have to be the signal, not the noise.  

Word count: 600                                                        Reading time: 1-2 minutes

I accepted the invitation to join the panel because I knew I needed to. In days before the event, I reminded myself of Eleanor Roosevelt’s words: Do one thing every day that scares you.  It’s not like I’m naturally timid and desperately in need of that advice. I’ve travelled to Europe alone, I’ve moved across Canada by myself, I’ve moved across the Pacific. Twice. I’ve camped in the Outback and scuba dived in the icy waters of the Pacific Northwest. But none of those were as daunting as public speaking.

I prepared myself as best I could. I read aloud, into a voice recorder, and forced myself to listen to it. I asked the moderator if I needed to bring notes on any subject but she said no, it would just be informal questions and answers. I sang at the top of my lungs on my way to the library where the festival was held. This seemed to strengthen my vocal chords or at least clear the cobwebs. I couldn’t be more ready, or so I thought.

Then there was a moment of horror when the moderator asked us all to speak, for three to five minutes, on our journey to publication. If you’ve followed this blog, you know I’m not yet published. I have a contract to publish. I do not yet have a book in my hand but the organizers considered that an important point in the road and thus I was included. As the junior panel member, it was natural that I’d be first off the mark. But I hadn’t brought notes.

Being first meant I didn’t have the benefit of gathering my thoughts as others spoke. So I took the microphone (another first) and winged it. I tried to speak slowly, not my usual geyser rush of words. I made eye contact with members of the audience. The session went on for an hour and a half. I seem to remember being on my feet a fair bit of it. I wonder what I said. I really can’t remember.

As Robert Brockway states in the blog, Writing is the easy part, the burden of promotion and marketing now falls squarely on the writer’s shoulders. The North Shore Writers’ Festival was my first chance to test the waters of getting known, of a little self-promotion.

When it was all over, I realized I’d learned a lot:

• People who attend writers’ festivals are incredibly supportive.
• When a speaker makes eye contact with an audience member, and she nods in agreement, it’s incredibly helpful. It lets the speaker know she is understood.
• People who go up to a speaker after a talk and say something like, “that was really interesting” make the speaker’s day.
• I will be a better audience member from now on.

Have you ventured into some peripheral realm of writing that you dreaded, only to discover it wasn’t nearly as bad as you expected? Or was it even worse? Where have your greatest joys and biggest disappointments been?

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Photo by: Raksit

Making it alone

 Word count: 324                                Reading time: 2 mins

Until I met my husband I was unaccustomed to asking for help with anything. Ever. Years together taught me to accept his assistance with challenges that I would formerly have considered mine and mine alone.  However, Alan’s not a writer so he couldn’t help much with this compulsion once it was unleashed.

Never mind, I thought. I’ll embrace the cliché; I’ll be a writer scribbling away in a small dark room with little help from the outside world. <sigh> It always amazes me that as I get older I remain chronically naïve, clueless even, about some aspects of life. When I broke out of my self-imposed isolation and started taking courses in 2009 my writing improved in leaps and bounds.

As a recent article in the New Yorker pointed out, there will be no Maxwell Perkins to encourage today’s writers to reach for the sky. The days of publishers grooming new talent are long gone. We have to find our own mentors, usually at a real financial cost. But find them we must. Just like musicians need external ears, writers need independent eyes to excel. And, as always with writing, we must remember this is a highly subjective business. The top mentors and coaches in all disciplines have blind spots. It’s up to the mentee to listen, learn, and then choose the best path. 

Case in point: the gold medal high jumper from the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City. If Dick Fosbury hadn’t defied his coaches, high jumpers might still be using the Straddle technique to clear the bar. He revolutionized the sport by hanging on to his vision and developing the Fosbury Flop.

Fosbury’s achievement also illustrates an irony in all this; coaches and mentors can help us reach our potential but when we jump, we jump alone.

What are the roses and thorns of working alone? Of working with a mentor or a coach? What did you look for when you chose your coach or mentor?

Unlocking the door

Word count: 275                         Reading time: 2 mins

I didn’t need to take the Jung Typology Test* to find out I was an innie. But I did and it confirmed that I am squarely in the introvert camp. All of my life I’ve known that my energy strengthens when I am alone. I happily spend long hours walking and looking at solitary sunsets, lost in private thoughts.

Sometimes I wish it were otherwise, just as I occasionally wish my brown eyes were blue or grey or hazel. While being an introvert is an advantage for the isolated work of writing, it is a distinct disadvantage for gathering fodder for the story. So this year I’ve pushed myself out of the grotto more than ever. I’ve gone to fund-raisers and parties. I’ve seen the Kodo Drummers and the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. I’ve had interesting conversations with complete strangers. It’s been a new me. Okay, a less reserved me.

Last week was one of the best tickets of the year: the Vancouver International Writers’ Festival. I went to the session, Culture in a Petri Dish. When David Gilmour talked about the bruising apprenticeship that comes with being a writer, it resonated strongly. Even without meeting him or the other panel members, Abdou, Lynn Coady, and Timothy Taylor, their ideas and experiences inspired me.  

In November I have tickets to David Sedaris. In spite of all indications above, I’m looking forward to the crowds, the noise, and the buzz of downtown on a Saturday night. Are my spots changing? When I wake one morning will my eyes have turned green?

What is your strongest trait? Is it also your weakest?

Photo: Alan Bolitho

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* Take the personality test here: http://www.humanmetrics.com/