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Maybe it’s my ADHD, but when it comes to author readings, I can’t focus. I can’t stay engaged no matter how hard I try. There are any number of reasons why they suck. Let’s dispense with, perhaps, my own shortcomings as an audience member, someone with a pathological inability to not drift off or fall asleep while in an audience. But in my defense, few writers are skilled in performance. You’re a writer! You work in the quiet hours! You prefer the quiet! And now you’re being asked to turn it on? Whose idea was this, anyway?
But OK set aside how bad readings are for a moment. We must attend them because OK here’s the cynicism YOU WANT PEOPLE TO ATTEND YOURS and you’re not an asshole, are you? We work hard to not be assholes in this biz.
First, the author is standing at a lectern, by themselves, reading to an audience (if you’re lucky) and this strikes me way too much like you’re being lectured, like you’re in school being talked at. It’s not participatory and, by and large, it’s very boring. Honestly, I want to read the book in the voice that emerges in my own head. Your voice ruins that for me, you see, YOU took something from me, you asshole.
I reached out to Allison K. Williams, not an asshole, author of Seven Drafts: Self Edit Like a Pro from Blank Page to Book and of a great blog post for Brevity, “The Seven Deadly Sins of Public Readings,” an excellent reader and surprise, a performer, about tips she might have for authors.
She said, and I quote, “Try not to read from your laptop—on most podiums, the lid blocks your upper body, and it’s an old theatre trick that when the audience can see your chest, they feel more emotionally connected to you. ”
OK, now, all the perverts get out of the room, you know what Allison means. The full frontal squares to the crowd, it’s vulnerable. This isn’t about text. This is something more.
Second, a reading is a performance and so many authors I’ve seen read from their work like it’s a eulogy. And, sure, some pieces are somber and you want to reflect that tone … maybe … but you still need to have some ups and downs and swirls in your vocal cadence.
Again, Allison adds to put some “fervor” into your voice like you’re reading something powerful. She says, “Acting like it’s important makes it sound important.” And it’s not showmanship for showmanship’s sake. It has to have purpose, but also don’t bore me and I’ve been to enough of these readings where I assume you’re going to bore me so you’ve already got a pretty high bar to clear before the proprietor reads a list of accomplishments she printed out from your website’s ABOUT page. I know what I’m talking about.
The last reading I enjoyed, frankly, it might be the last one I attended, was at AWP in Portland and Hanif Abdurraqib and Elena Passarello read from their work. And it was electric, why? Elena’s voice is strong and she captivates the audience with her energy. There was no laptop in front of her. She looked like she was going to pop out of her own skin and for a moment she might have. Elena’s a friend but I’m not biased. I looked around the room and they were howling like wolves. Hanif, likewise, is subdued, but the instrumentality of his voice is singular; it lands on the ear in a way that makes you lean in so you can fully take in his message.
And sure, as writers we should read our work aloud to ourselves, but honestly, these words are meant to be read rather than spoken and sometimes the prose doesn’t lend itself to the vocal performance. You want to de-syllabize your words. You want to refrain from saying made up words like de-syllabize at the lectern … without your laptop in front of you.
Frankly, not every author is comfortable reading in front of a group of people, so why force it? Why, do you suppose, that certain audiobooks and certainly essays on This American Life are often read by actors? Unless you’re Mike Birbiglia or David Sedaris, Ira Glass will likely hire an actor. They’re performers and they make their voices the vector … man …
“You’ve laid out a bunch of problems, BO, and I’m wondering what you going to do about it? Are you just gonna sit there in your little studio speaking into your Heil PR-40 and not tell me how to do better. Maybe you’re the asshole” and you wouldn’t be wrong … man.
OK, so you’re promoting a book and you MUST do events. And maybe you have the backing of a publisher who is setting up an event or several, or maybe you sprung for a good publicist and now you’re in every major city and you gotta make the rounds. Your name is up at Powells and you’re starting to panic.
This might be a matter of taste, but my favorite events are when authors don’t read their work at all. I like a cool presentation with visuals. Go to an Austin Kleon reading, and this is what you get. His are fun and engaging and I don’t fall asleep.
Plenty of Q&A is great, assuming the audience doesn’t get bashful and doesn’t ask anything and they all look around the room like I hope someone asks a question but it sure as fuck isn’t gonna be me and then one brave soul does it, and that leads to two and now we’re getting our time’s worth.
I suppose this can be circumvented maybe by passing around an index card for people who would rather have their question read and don’t have to perform it in front of a crowd and feel judged like you’re in the pool at a press conference. Been there, hate that. Also, few people know how to ask a question and get out of the way. There’s a tendency among even professional interviewers to answer the question for the guest in an effort to not sound stupid. Don’t overexplain the question; ask the question, get out. Have you noticed that I’m unafraid to sound stupid? That maybe I’ve killed far too brain cells with 7% ABV IPAs?
Anything that gets the audience involved is a bonus. Anything that makes them think that you, the author, are a charming personality that they genuinely feel they can have an espresso with you or an sunflower-butter-based ice cream cone. Personality, man, and relatability, dude, will sell books better than reading from the work.
What’s en vogue these days are the “In Conversation With” conversations, and you see the author put their little headshot in one corner and then the other person who recently had a book out too puts their headshot in the other corner, which is basically an in-real-life podcast and these can be tricky because there’s no edit button and if the interviewer is not careful, it can start to feel like a bro sesh that everyone else is just lucky to be part of. Can you hear the scare quotes I put around lucky without saying quote unquote … that’s called wit, man. SIDEBAR: The first 20 minutes of MOST dude-hosted podcasts can and likely should be edited out.
Another thing, so, OK, you probably can’t 100% avoid reading, so maybe it’d be a good investment to hire a vocal coach or an acting coach. Your book is a script. You are the actor at the table reading, only you have to read the entire script and be all the characters and the voice over and the scene setter. So please, inflect, make a little eye contact, command the room. This isn’t to say you should be something you’re not, but I’ve seen people who are lovely conversationalists who get up to the lectern and suddenly drone on. They’re like a sad sunflower, all droopy, hunched over, petals falling out; the beauty is there, it just needs … help …
George Saunders is a great reader, Neil Gaiman, Susan Orlean, Isabel Wilkerson, the late Phillip Gerard, they are arresting vocalists and performers of their work.
I had a conversation with a poet at a reading who categorically hates “poet voice.” You’ve heard poet voice before. Don’t lie. This voice that floats like a soap bubble on the wind, eyes cast somewhere to the back of the room, speaking to you as you might a child at bedtime.
And, hey, to each their own. If that’s your jam, then you do you, attend readings of this nature and soak it up. I’m not being critical of these people or making fun, I’m pointing out my taste and reasons as to why I think readings are dull: Again, as writers we’re not trained performers and a reading is, make no mistake, a performance.
Also, if you are gonna read, keep it to 10 minutes tops. Ideally five minutes is pretty solid. Leave the audience wanting more. Leave the audience wanting.
I should say, I’m a shitty reader. During readings of my first book, before this podcast broke the internet, I was a dull reader. Probably read too fast, probably read too long. At least I think I was bad. No, I definitely was bad. I read at a horse show in the middle of the woods in Old Forge, New York between events; I’ve read at MFA programs; I’ve read at historical societies to four people sitting just across the table; I’ve read at bookstores and breweries and let me issue a formal apology to everyone. I always left room for plenty of Q&A, but I will henceforth leave more, and if I ever finish this book I’m working on now and don’t have my contract nulled and voided and have to pay back my advance (still a huge possibility, don’t tell my wife) I will refrain from reading if I can. Maybe I’ll turn my “readings” into a talk called “So You Want to Write a Biography” or “So You’ve Ruined Your Life.”
This concludes the presentation, any questions?
