I step out and the book goes back.

I did it. I read my poetry at an Open Mic night yesterday. While (a decade ago) I used to do readings where I was one of the featured readers and the listeners knew who I was, this was the first time I did an Open Mic (where I was pretty much a total stranger). Immediate stage fright when I found myself in the spotlight with an amplified voice! Thirty endless seconds of stage fright. And then the Crone rose to the occasion.
Whether I want to do it again is still in question. I’m not sure I have the energy, and maybe blogging fills a need in me for that kind of “performance.” And I’m sure that I’d rather find the time/space/solitude to write more poetry than make the time to go out and read what I’ve already written. When I lived alone, I embraced activities that brought me out into the world of people (dancing, poetry readings, workshops). Now that I have so little time alone, my preference has become to seek solitude. It’s so hard to find the right balance.
Meanwhile, I flipped to the last chapter of Boomeritis, read it carefully, and will be taking the book, mostly unread, back to the library. It’s a lengthy lecture on Wilber’s philosophy disguised as a novel and interspersed with drug-enhanced sensualities, included, I imagine, in hopes that it would grab those who are used to more Hunter S. Thompsonesque reads. It’s not that the message doesn’t have some merit. It certainly is helpful to remember that each moment is all that we have of our lives and that, hopefully, we will live each with caring, compassion, a sense of justice, and enough fun and pleasure to balance out the pain. And if not, well, someday we will, or someday we won’t.
So I’m going back to reading mystery novels with kick-ass female protagonists.
Rock on.

4 thoughts on “I step out and the book goes back.

  1. And the reception of that fine poem? The story’s not complete ’til we hear that, too. Don’t be modest!

  2. Well, I signed up to read first and get it out of the way, and no one knew what to expect of my stuff. So, given all of that it went just fine. Personally, I think that my poem was more “crafted” and more conventional than all of the other readers’ — which were much more conversational. Actually, I would love to try something like the stuff that the scheduled “performance” poet did — with that rap rhythm, all kinds of internal and unexpected rhymes, the physical movements that go along with it. I did do a second poem at the end of the evening and was much more relaxed in my delivery. I probably should have done the first one second. All in all, I think, as “poetry,” mine was better than most there.

  3. If you’re looking for an offbeat set of mysteries with an intriguing female protagonist, I’ll suggest the Bast mysteries by Rosemary Edghill. There are three of them, and a couple of short stories. SPEAK DAGGERS TO HER is the first one, BOWL OF NIGHT is the third, and I forget the ones in between. They’re thinkers more than whodunits, with a definite postmodern sarcastic undertone. Enjoy.

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