This week’s reading at the Komedia went well. “You had the audience in the palm of your hand,” one of the organisers said. That was reassuring, as I couldn’t tell how the audience was responding. The stage lighting was blinding; once up there I couldn’t see anything. Look at the stripe of intense light across my nose in the photo: I look like Adam Ant, or Charlie Sheen in Apocalypse Now. I had a stinking cold, too, as you can tell from the red eyes. There’s a bit of menace to this story, so maybe the fact I looked rather strange added to the effect.
I have photos of this reading because there were friends of mine in the audience. That was a first. It isn’t because my friends don’t want to come and see me do my thing. It’s because I’ve never invited them. That might seem like an odd strategy. Secretive, even. But I prefer reading to a room of people I don’t know, or who know me but only as a writer.
Maybe that will change now. My friends came along because they were invited – not by me, but by a mutual writing friend who was also reading. They really enjoyed themselves, and said I was excellent. So they are welcome back. I like to think I’d reach the same conclusion if they thought my story was rubbish.