We are writers, and so we should be allowed to stay in our turrets, writing. But the truth is, you will occasionally have to leave your turret and read your work in front of an audience. Here are some thoughts for making that experience a pleasant one.
EMOTE. Some time ago, a writer came out of his or her turret and made a rule that writers have to read aloud like someone is sleeping lightly three feet away, which means your reading voice should be lilting and polite, and littered with indiscriminate pauses.
I am revoking this rule.
Whatever happened to the sort of reading out loud we got when we were kids– when your mom talked in a monster’s voice, when the scary parts became whispers and there was relief in her voice when the day was saved?
Here’s an idea: treat your audience like the exhausted child-brains they are. It’s hard to listen to words without seeing them, and it’s especially hard when you’re listening to multiple readers. You’re allowed to make the experience of reading your work enjoyable for all parties involved. You’re allowed to talk the way you do when you’re telling a story in real life. You’re allowed to sound like you’re trying.
RELAX. Show up calm and prepared for your reading by keeping a few easy things in mind.
Before you get up to the podium (or the bar, or the chair, or the back porch):
- Practice. This is a no-brainer. Read your piece aloud for a pair of fresh ears and make sure they can understand every single word. Quiz them– did you understand who was talking? Did you get that guy’s name? Read it again with a stopwatch and understand how long your piece takes to read. Practice your intro and write it down if you need to, that way you’re practically guaranteed not to forget your own name while introducing yourself.
- Though drinking does make many things easier, reading small words off a piece of paper and pronouncing them clearly are generally not among them.
While you’re reading:
- Plant your feet. We can see you dancing down there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Sometimes, after a full day, it’s easier to watch the gentle swaying of a reader behind a podium than it is to listen to what she’s saying. Don’t do anything that distracts from what you’re trying to communicate.
- Breathe. It is okay to take a moment to center yourself. This is not a race.
- Look up, whenever it’s comfortable. We like to see your face. Eye contact will wake your audience up and make them feel connected to you and your words.
- Help us understand what you’re saying. This means– be slow. Be expressive. Be way slower and way more expressive than you think you need to be. Your job is to communicate to us every. Single. Word.
- You are allowed to be funny, to be charming, to enjoy yourself, and even to smile.
DON’T OVERSTAY YOUR WELCOME: Can we be honest for a minute? Remember the last time you were at a reading? How everything was going so well, and then the third reader hit the six minute mark, and you had an itch on your leg, and you noticed that crack in the ceiling, the crack that looks like a river, sort of, and why is it you never learned to sail? And could you sail on a river, if the wind were right? And then the reading is over, and six minutes have passed without your paying attention. The human brain loves to zone out during a long reading.
Your job is not to test the limits of the human brain, but to be respectful of the clock– don’t read for longer than you have been invited to. Ever. If you have five minutes in which to read a poem of earth-shattering quality and importance which clocks in at 6:45, you must not read it. If you do, your audience will be looking at you, fried, while their brains drift to happier places, and your fellow readers will be jealous of the stolen time and dismayed by the lulled crowd you’ve left them with.
Relax. Emote. Don’t overstay your welcome. Then get back to your turret and keep writing.