Sunday, June 6, 2010

A Heartbreaking Reading of No-One-Cares

Now that my grad school years have ended, it's time for some perspective. Newly degree-d, I saw a fiction reading recently. But in the "real world" (which must be based on some MTV reality show), I feel less beholden to honor my noble, struggling literary friends. Yes, I've sat through poetry workshops just like you. I've churned out chapters the night before. But if you're reading, I expect you to hold my attention for fifteen straight minutes. That means...


1. Make me laugh. Not the hesitant maybe that's meant to be amusing laugh, or the oh it's so silent, I'll give a little titter laugh. You know how these stories that are so original, about what you did from 9:41 a.m. to 9:43 a.m. spread out across three chapters, and we laugh kind-of-sort-of, but they're totally unlike anything that's been published? Hint: Read something that will be published.

2. Don't ask, five minutes over, if you have time left. And seven minutes over, and nine minutes over. Bring a stopwatch. Maybe an egg timer.

3. You're among people who want you to succeed and who will clap no matter what. Don't abuse their sincere desire for you to not suck.

4. I don't want to know about your sex life. Unless it's my sex life too; in which case, please don't write a story about it.

5. Consider your spot in the queue. If you are last, don't send us off to the bar with gang rape or the Third Reich. (Though because we want you to succeed, we will probably say it was "deep" or "whoa, that was... wow.")

6. Mix and match. Listening to twenty minutes of one nonfiction piece about your grandmother, who you ate breakfast with from 9:41 to 9:43 this morning, requires superhuman attention span.

7. Don't talk about your process. Unless it involves Himalayan dwarf trolls and/or Satanic goat sacrifices.

I expect a performance. You expect to sell copies of your latest book. You don't have to read your most profound work. Or Chapter 45 from your four-hundred-page opus. Just be a down-to-earth, semi-literate dude(-ette) who doesn't take yourself too seriously. Because, let's face it, everyone pre-gamed anyway.

2 comments:

AlexisV said...

Hahaha... genius. This should be in the Emerson Graduate Studies handbook.

Carrie Fab said...

oh joshwah. thank you for your lovely informational tidbits

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