On Literary Readings

On the opening night of the Sinclair Community College Writers’ Workshop some years ago, the famous writer had just read an hour-long short story in which not much happened. She looked at her audience, flipped her hair and asked, “Do you want me to read another story?” We were relieved when the director suggested we ask some questions instead.

It’s evident that even the pros are sometimes clueless about what makes for an entertaining literary evening. As both performer and audience member at such events, I’ve developed some convictions about what works. At present I have two poet-friends eager to jump into the fray, so this is for you, Rita and Julie, as well as anyone who plans on giving or attending readings.

Ed’s Recommendations for Dynamic Readings

• Choose high entertainment-value passages or poems: funny, dramatic, poignant but maybe not too sad. :(

• Set up the passage, if it’s not the beginning, by explaining any detail that’ll make it understandable (character’s names, place, etc.). But if you have to contextualize too much, consider reading something more self-contained.

• Consider appropriateness to the audience. If you’re certain the event has been billed as adult, you’re within your rights to read a passage with sex, strong language or graphic violence; otherwise, keep it family-friendly.

• Never, ever go too long: passages of no longer than 15-20 minutes are about right—better to leave them wanting more, quit reading and answer a few questions. And if you’re one of many speakers, stay absolutely within your time limit. Respect your hosts as well as fellow readers.

• Always be yourself. You may be comfortable wearing costumes, using props, etc., but not me. I’ve found that being friendly and human is more than enough. If nervous, admit it, laugh at yourself and go on. For myself, trying to make the audience comfortable makes me comfortable.

• Practice out loud, preferably in front of someone you trust to give you honest feedback. That includes timing. Speak slowly and enunciate clearly. Mark up your writing beforehand as if it’s a musical score with pre-planned pitches and pauses.

• Offer the audience more than just your written words. Remember, it’s a performance—at minimum, use a non-monotone voice; at most, theatrical voices, complete with dialects, accents, gestures. (Also consider leaving something physical with them: a single poem, your business card, a postcard with a graphic of your book cover, plus phone number and/or website, contact info.)

• Try your best to check out the setting beforehand. Will there be a podium ? Table? Microphone? (Always adjust and speak into it; ask audience about volume.) Refreshments? Seating adequate?

• Thank your host(s) and your audience. Be humble; they’re gifting you with their precious free time; reward them as best you can.

A Revelation

If it’s not already obvious, a reading is more about the audience than it is about the reader, more about connecting than about selling lots of books. They want you to change their minds about how dull literary events can sometimes be; they want to have fun, connect with a real human being. And, despite your flyers and e-announcements, there’s nothing like a public performance to grant even those close to you permission to buy your books.

Venues: Beyond Bookstores

Writers with traditional New York publishers have major distributors to put the books into bookstores, leave them for a short time and, if they don’t sell, then remove them. What could be easier for bookstores and publishers? So no wonder store managers may consider non-traditionally-published authors nuisances, taking valuable time and shelf-space away from the traditionally-published. Also, most chain bookstores will take 30-40% of the cover price (their “discount”) of each book sold and might take many months to pay authors. Smaller, independent bookstores may take a smaller discount and appreciate you more, since they may define success on a smaller scale.

So why not think outside the bookstore box and consider readings at:

• Churches: Unitarians even pay their guest speakers!

• Classes: speak to high school or college students; however, young students don’t usually buy books, but non-traditional students such as senior citizens often do.

• Libraries: are often writer-friendly, but they do want assurance from you that you can draw a good crowd; it’s hard to justify their effort if no one from the community comes.

• Writing groups or clubs. Bookstores and alternative newspapers like Dayton City Paper often publicize them. Offer your services!

• Musical venues. Be the poetry part of the evening at the coffeehouse, open mic night, etc.

• Cultural festivals. Do you write about Appalachians, for instance? Try Dayton’s annual Mountain Days festival.

• Writing conferences: most offer their own “bookstores,” which may sell your books for free; and if you’re a speaker at this event, especially a main speaker, you’ll probably sell books. (Thus, it may be worth your registration fee and travel expense, unless you’ll simply be lost in the crowd…)

• Book fairs/festivals: speaking of being “lost in the crowd,” these events often have more writers than customers, and while you can network and socialize, you may not sell any books unless you’re very extroverted with great marketing skills!

• Private homes: I’ve been invited by friends and acquaintances to share my work with a small group invited by the host. The literary equivalent of a Tupperware party!

• Content organizations: if your work meshes with the mission and/or interests of any organization, you may be the perfect speaker. My book about saving farmland, The Measure of Everything, was a perfect complement to a Tecumseh Land Trust-sponsored farm walk outside Xenia. I read at the Old Town Methodist Church and sold 7 books. Your book about a high school runner might make you perfect for the joggers club.

Epilogue: Read Me a Story

Finding your audience may not be easy and takes a lot of time—that’s even true of the traditionally New York-published, who often complain their publishers and publicists aren’t doing enough to get their work before the public. That brings up the related topic of (shudder) marketing. I’ve learned something about that issue the hard way and would be willing to address it, if anyone’s interested. However, it’s not for the faint-hearted.

To end on a positive note: at a recent reading I gave at Sinclair’s library, one of my own young female students said, “It was just like being a kid again and being read to. I loved it.”

Not read to sleep, I hoped—but didn’t ask. :)

Meet the Authors Night

Where: Tipp City Public Library, 11 E. Main St., Tipp City, OH

When: Monday, December 7, 7:00 P.M.

What: Join the following five published writers who will provide brief introductions to their books, followed by a Q & A session, then book-signing.

Ed Davis is the author of the novels I Was So Much Older Then and The Measure of Everything as well as four poetry chapbooks, including Healing Arts. His story “Two Kings” won first place in the Dayton Daily News annual fiction contest and he recently had two short stories appear in anthologies.

Scott Trostel is a local Ohio historian and author. His books cover such topics as the railroad and the thirteen-day National Funeral Journey for Abraham Lincoln.

Cathryn Essinger, a member of The Greenville Poets and professor of English at Edison Community College, is the author of three award-winning books of poetry, including her latest, What I Know About Innocence.

Troy resident Meaghan Fisher has just published her first book, Sadie and the Skunk, for children. The illustrator is Marla Fair, who is an author in her own right.

Marla Fair's family and her hometown of Troy share a history spanning 160 years. Her books include historical novels: Copperhead—Son of the Silver Fox, Goodnight Robinson, and My French Rebel.

Tipp City Public Library is located at 11 E. Main St., and the telephone number is 667-3826. Find the library online at http://www.tippcitylibrary.org.

My Muse is Gone

Beautiful soul, wondrous healer, my cat Teaker is gone. And my grief is stronger than I’d thought—but how can you know or possibly prepare for passage . . . from having to losing a being on whom a great deal of your daily equilibrium depends? My loyal friend; my reliable muse, lounging on my lap while I wrote; my teacher; the indisputable queen of my household: Tequila Jane Church-Davis (1990-2009). Her death was beautiful: holy and simple, moving, as she portrayed her usual empathic knowingness.

Beneath the Blanket

Just before alternative veterinarian Dr. Susan Rogers arrived at our house on Tuesday evening, October 27, with her black bag and needles, my wife Viki commented how, in recent days, you could stick your hand beneath the blanket where she’d hidden and Teak no longer clutched your finger. And then she did it!—she weakly grasped the finger of the mama who’d rescued her, a screaming kitten, from the cornfield across the highway in front of our old house on Route 68 just south of Young’s Dairy.

And Teaker didn’t protest when the doctor’s husband Bob gripped her hind leg to find the vein in which to insert the needle, though she always hated for her back legs to be messed with. She knew, oh she knew, in those wise, trusting eyes why we four were gathered around her, on the floor and beside her on the couch, touching her, offering the sweetest words we had to return her great gift of kindness by helping her end her kidney-diseased life.

The Empath

As we watched the sodium pentathol take effect, I recalled how, after a few years, we became aware of Teak’s healing powers. Whenever Viki and I became excited and raised our voices as we discussed issues or people that were disturbing us, Teak would rise from whatever lap she was lying on, probably mine, and begin her circuit. We’d become gradually aware our therapist was on duty, quietly circling from my wife’s side, then to mine, beseeching us with her grave stare to relax, calm down, quit being so negative. Chill out, she seemed to say, stress the spiritual. And usually we did.

Brave Companion of the Road

As Dr. Rogers, Bob, Viki and I held and stroked her, those wide golden eyes became even more distant than they’d been the past twenty-four hours, and her tongue emerged as if to lick that last dollop of baby food (about all she would eat in her last days) off my finger. A tiny gasp or two and she was gone, my beloved, my best friend (besides my wife); my conscience, my task-master and demanding house-mate who shared with her three family members every intimacy—nothing held back from our adopted orphan, brave companion of the road for nearly two decades. I’m so grateful her end was peaceful, not traumatic; that her brother Livingston, watching from above on the back of the couch, didn’t grow alarmed as his sister relaxed, released and, as Dr. Rogers gently coaxed, looked for the white light.

God bless you forever, Teaker Jane, light of my life.