* Editor's note: Gabino came back from AWP shirtless and green this week, so I asked him "Sup' bro?" and it turned out he had a chip on his shoulder about the public readings at the event, so I thought Angrybino was too good to pass up on and so, here here he is for you in all his glory in a new exclusive piece about people who suck at readings. *
I’ve been home from AWP less than 48 hours and I’m happy to
report the conference was a great experience. Besides being surrounded by books
and checking out some of what Los Angeles has to offer, I had a chance to meet
a lot of talented authors with whom I’ve been friends online for years and hung
out with old friends from the bizarre, indie lit, and crime communities.
However, the experience wasn’t perfect because there was one element that
bothered me while it was happening and still bothers me now: most of the
readings I went to were as interesting as watching paint dry on a muggy day.
Dull. Unimaginative. Uninteresting. Incredibly monotonous.
Painfully boring. Exceedingly awful. You can use any of those and still fall
short of accurately describing the mind-numbing, un-fucking-believably tedious
bullshit I had to put up with. I received my reading education at the School of
Bizarro (aka BizarroCon), and thus consider readings a chance to perform my
words in a way that hopefully sends people running to buy my work. For me, to
read is to perform. When I read, I want to take over, to become the universe of
those listening to me. Sadly, the readers I witnessed were apparently trying to
get me to grab the nearest sharp object and quickly jam it into my jugular as
many times as possible. Maybe the MFA crowd operates differently after all, but
what they’re doing is definitely not working. Luckily for boring readers
everywhere, I’m a nice guy when I want to and have decided to give you all ten
tips, in no particular order, on how to keep people from yawning, checking their phones, leaving, and
contemplating suicide while listening to you.
10. Be aware of the implicit contract of a reading
When you do a reading, the event is between you and the audience.
Don’t forget about them. When I go to a reading, I’m giving you a chunk of my
time. I’m not reading, hanging out with a friend or watching a movie; I’m there
watching/listening to you. Don’t fuck around with my time. Most authors are
convinced readings are all about them. They’re wrong. Readings are about
everyone involved, and you should respect everyone equally. When I read, I
think about everything else those folks listening to me could be doing, and I
make sure they have a good time as a thank you.
9. Time is a thing, fuckface
Five to seven minutes. That’s usually what you get.
Appreciate it if you get more and hustle faster if you get less, but respect
the other readers and your audience. Every time a reader is given seven minutes
and ends up reading for 18 minutes, I want to put kittens in a blender, freeze
the resulting pulpy mess, and then beat the reader to death with the frozen
kitty innards. Your damn phone has a stopwatch. A friend in the audience can
give you cues. Whatever. The point is, you need to respect time constraints. If
you don’t respect everyone else’s time, I don’t respect you. Also, get to know
a thing called pace. If you have seven minutes and make four-second pauses
between sentences, you need to speed things up.
8. A two-line bio will do the trick
Don’t give the MC your fucking resume, you arrogant piece of
shit. Seriously. Some of the readings I went to in LA had the MC reading for
three minutes just to introduce a writer. A reading takes place in the here and
now, so keep past stuff to a minimum. If you blow me away, I will remember your
name and Google you're ass later. Then I can read about your pieces in The
Cloud/Flower Review or the flash fiction piece you once published in some blog.
I don’t need to know you edited your high school paper or that you like long
walks on the beach. Let your reading do the talking.
7. Keep intros to a minimum
“This is a short story I wrote about my friend Jenny. I
wrote it two years ago. We were living in a tiny apartment apartment on…” Fuck
you! Get to the reading already. We're on the clock, remember? If you waste
four minutes introducing your damn story or poem or telling us about the way
your novel finally came to be published, you’re basically sabotaging yourself. It’s
easy: the MC introduces you, you get up, maybe you say hi and thank folks for
being there, you read, you sit down. Anything outside of that is a waste of
everyone’s time and you're an asshole for doing it.
6. A little thing called inflection
Okay, so here’s where I mess with the MFA crowd again and
then get all the hate for it. I don’t care because the truth is more important
than your opinion of me. Here’s the deal: apparently most MFAs have a class
that teaches writers to read in the most monotonous, hushed voice possible.
It’s as if modulation and natural rhythms are frowned upon. I have an accent,
but I own that shit. Joe Lansdale has an accent, and he owns it and uses it.
Brian Allen Carr yells until the hair in your arms stands at attention. CarltonMellick III turns into a beast. Laura Lee Bahr has a million voices. Rios de laLuz becomes la voz de la raza. Kevin Donihe erupts like a supernova every time
he reads. Just like these folks, I try to read in a way that forces people to
remember it, to remember me and my voice. Let your voice take off like a rocket.
Let is soar and crash back down. Let it shatter like a bird made of glass
against a brick wall. Let it carry your story and change with your characters. Make
sure the guy in the back hears you. Make sure the lady checking her phone
because the previous reader was putting her to sleep hears your voice and looks
up. I don’t care where you’re from; go back to doing what you're ancestors did
around a fire a very long time ago and tell a story that captivates your
audience. Scream, motherfucker!
5. Your body is a tool; use it
Just like your voice, your body is a tool, a wonderful prop
that can make your reading reach the next level. Move around. Use your arms.
Let your hands tell your story alongside your voice. Standing there with your
feet together like Dorothy getting ready to click her heels is just not gonna
cut it. Dance around. Get on top of a seat like MP Johnson does. Walk away from
the mic. If you walk up to the mic, look down at the piece of paper/cellphone
in your hand and then read a story in that monotonous voice almost all readers
use, you’re boring us to death even if what you’re reading is great. And if
boredom is what I remember when they mention you, I won’t be buying your book.
4. Learn to read the audience
Not every reading will be the best one of your life, so
learn to read your audience. If you read a decapitation scene and no one leans
forward, you got a tough crowd. If you crack a joke and it bombs, move forward
quickly. Keep moving, feeling the crowd, paying attention to how they react to
certain words. Some crowds will laugh at a story about a guy eating a rotting
fetus, but other crowds will call the cops on you if you say fuck twice.
3. Make eye contact
You wrote the thing, reread the thing, and then read it a
few more times while editing. You don’t need to keep your eyes glued to the
damn thing. Folks are looking at you, so look back at them. You’ll be surprised
how much more engaged they feel when you make eye contact with your audience.
2. Remember why you’re there
It’s okay to be nervous. It’s okay to feel a bit scared.
However, treating readings like a chore is not okay. You’re there to read
something you wrote because you needed to share it with others. That’s your
chance to do that. If you keep that in mind, it’ll be easier to overcome your
nerves.
1. Leave no ass unkicked
Passion. That’s the word you need to focus on. Be passionate
about what you’re reading. If you sound like you’d rather be at the dentist
than reading your work, how the hell am I supposed to feel about you and your
words? Passion doesn’t guarantee sales, but it guarantees a good impression.
Fuck fear. Don’t hesitate to be funny or to cry or to show that what you wrote
makes you feel vulnerable. Every reading is a war: you against yourself,
against fear, against the audience’s need to check Facebook or reply to a text,
and against the quality of other readers who may have put them to sleep or
raised the bar. Tackle all of it with passion and abandon. Leave no ass
unkicked.
