I stutter less now

Morning darklings,

Recently, I read at two events. One I was even asked to say some impromptu opening remarks for.

I feel notorious for stuttering, though I’m told that’s just my perception. I’m told I notice it more than others. Still, I know that I’ve been prone to do it. I shift in my seat, I take long sips of water, I cross and un-cross my legs, I lose my place.

Or as others say, “That was great!”

But now, I believe they aren’t just being kind.

I was the headliner author at a small press event at BOLD Books. It was a Big Deal. I was getting paid. I was supposed to read for 10-15 minutes. I was supposed to be worth the time and money. I was supposed to keep people entertained.

The story I read was one I’d written for Claw Machine. When I first decided to put the anthology together, I wrote three things. One was really dark and said nothing, so I deleted it before finishing it. One was speculative, takes place in Janes, is medium dark, and ended up in the book. While the third was shorter, sweeter. It fit less with the collection, though the collection does have some heartwarming stories.

For fifteen minutes, I shared a story about a person with Hyperacusis who was drawn to a claw machine, drawn to a plushie of a moon, drawn to a field in the middle of nowhere, all for the purpose of peace and to making something whole.

We’d already been at the event for over an hour and a half, listening to readers and speakers. The other readers’ scenes had run long sometimes. So I expected the audience to be burned out.

The one time I spared a glance—I was technically unable, as I lost my place because of it—but no one seemed to be on their phones, they were paying attention to me! The rest of my reading? Well, I’ll never know.

After I read, I had two people I didn’t know tell me how much they loved my story and said I read really well. I have a recording of the whole thing (which I will totally put on YouTube at some point), so I watched it back. I only cringed at my two biggest hiccups: the spared glance, which was so slight the camera didn’t catch, and the one long brain stutter that left us with dead air, dead air for a little while.

But I was happy about it. I hear that’s how a lot of people feel at the end of readings?

At the Art Born Words launch, I was asked to give a little intro about the editing about an hour and a half before the event. I vaguely thought about what I’d say. I was too exhausted to write something. I can talk to people, after all.

In front of 20ish people, my legs wobbled. It’s the only time I’ve stood while speaking in front of an audience in a while. I told a charming story in a normal, not-as-charming-as-I-am-when-my-back-isn’t-spasming way. People seemed engaged. They chuckled. They smiled. They clapped.

I read a few minutes after that (sitting this time) for 12 or so minutes from my longer story in the book. It’s about a woman in a hospital with endometriosis. She’s seeing Death in a balloon by her bed, then begins to recount the first time she saw Death, noting that Death comes around her a lot.

It was a dark way to start a reading, talking about painful periods. But hi, hello, that’s my brand, I guess one could say. Dark, disabled, and startling? Dark, disabled, with a splash of peach? Dark, disabled, with a side of sweet? Something like that.

It went well. People seemed pleased. They even laughed, though I could tell they didn’t know if they were allowed to. That happens sometimes with these stories, people aren’t sure if they can.

Note: They can. You can. You should, if it feels right. I enjoy it.

After that, I got to sit and watch the others read. Rest my weary bones. I spent the next week recovering. Two readings—back-to-back weekends—is a lot for me.

But damn, darklings, I’m feeling really good about the Claw Machine event. If I slip, I slip. At least I know I’m getting better at this.

Until next time, harness the Little darknesses and embrace the Little things.

Some other photos from the event: