As anyone who’s been to one of my readings knows, I don’t like readings. By anyone, anywhere and at any time. Even by me. Yes, I suppose readings are essential to the publishing and sales cycle. But still. I mean, it’s the rare writer who is also an entertaining reader (I’m thinking of you here, Rob Shearman – and, of course, all my other writer friends who do scintillating readings). Me, though, I’m a terrible reader, and I would not wish to inflict a nasally rendition of one of my dark works of genius on anyone. So, at the launch of my first book, I made fun of the others readers and my dead parents, then read the last line from every story in my collection. It went over well and my book sold out. Aha, I thought to myself, I don’t have to read at my readings! So I haven’t, save for one time I did as a kind of experiment to an exclusive (i.e. very sparse) audience, and didn’t sell a single copy of the book I was flogging. Case closed.
Below is the text from one of my subsequent non-reading readings to give you a sense of how I don’t read.
Apology to Potential Readers of This Work (Book of Thomas)
Apology, Book II: The Reapology (The Book of David)