In my constant (and somewhat irritating) quest for a new, better, self-improved me, I’m contemplating something I have never done before- signing up for a slot at a poetry reading night. I’ve read my fiction aloud before, but my poetry not so much. And while I love slam poetry (and slam poets= hot), my poems aren’t exactly slammin’. They’re not nearly raps and end up a lot more like tiny short stories with more metaphors and better line breaks.
I’m printing them out and shoving them in my purse. I have my cheapo, but tough, biker boots on, and we’ll see whether I work up the nerve. Either way, I’m going to hear the other poets read, because it gives me good writing mojo. If I work up the nerve, well, what’s the worst thing that can happen? Everyone laughs? Then I guess I’ll bring the funny poems. But what if I bring the funny poems and no one laughs? Argh.
I’ll let you know what happens.