(First published on my old blog 2nd October 2013)
I’d hate to give anyone the wrong impression, so I’ll state now that while the title was a pleasing oxymoron for me and apt for this topic, I won’t be covering any erotica today – sorry about that 😉
September 2013 saw the University of York once again hosting the Festival of Writing. I was one part excitement to two parts bundle of nerves. It wasn’t just the thought of meeting agents for the first time ever (that actually deserves a blog of it’s own, so I won’t go into it here) it was the idea of meeting complete strangers and not so complete strangers (people I’d met and befriended via theWord Cloud) and talking about myself.
In a bizarre conjunction of personality traits, I’m quite happy public speaking, talking to strangers doesn’t bother me; I’ve stood in front of classes of 300 adult karate students and taught for 4 hrs with nary a twinge of nerves or the idea that, objecting to my gender, comparative youth and scrawniness, they might reckon me unable to teach them anything and rebel. (In point of fact they never did – I think it helps when you don’t question your own authority, maybe?) Ask me to stand and talk about anything personal or more specifically anything close to my soul and suddenly all the shyness I thought I’d left behind in childhood crashes down on me. I like to think I’m fairly articulate. Ask me what my book is about and … blank.
Of course when you gather around 400 people together for a writer’s convention, the popular opening line is ‘What do you write?’ In fact that line is pretty much guaranteed to open up a whole vista of new acquaintance. Except that when I was asked that question I got as far as ‘Young Adult Urban Fantasy’ and then got stuck. I know exactly what my book is about. Of course I do. I worked hard on plot and themes and character – all that good stuff. I am just rubbish at selling myself. And consequently, not that good at pitching my book. There is hope however. This appears to be a skill you can learn.
When you think about it though, it’s not so weird to be overcome with shyness talking about your own writing. Aside from the fairly commonly held anxiety that what you write is probably pap that good trees shouldn’t die for, how often would you sit down to dinner or a drink with a stranger and bare your soul? Abruptly you find yourself in deep conversation on the finer points of part of your novel with someone who’s last name you don’t know. Might not ever know. You may not get around to talking about your husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, kids, pets… All the things that you would have talked to a really close friend about at some point. Usually before you got on to examining the deep seated dreams you’ve nourished in private for years. Because when writers talk shop, they really talk shop. So yes it is a strange intimacy.
Did I get over it? Well I still stumbled over discussing my work if the question came out of the blue at me. But by and large every time I did talk about my book, it got a bit easier. There is the horror movie theory of course; if you’ve seen the same horror film a hundred times it ceases to be scary. I probably did start a gentle process of surface desensitization. But there was so much more to it. For the first time everyone in the room, everyone I could possibly find myself in conversation with, was a book lover. Not necessarily my book, maybe not even my preferred genres. But we were all linked together by a love of the written word and a passion for creating it ourselves. In short, I’d found a niche I belonged in where I didn’t have to fight for space.
To para-phase Yuxin; In the heavens there is room for infinite stars to shine, with out one diminishing anothers brightness.
That was how I came to feel…within three hours of being at the festival. There were definite nervous moments but mostly it was a sense of coming home. The big realisation was that no one in that room was judging my writing as harshly as I was judging it. They all knew how hard it was. They all had the same fragile hopes.
In our daily lives I think we have lost, to some extent, that sense of communion as a group. It was wonderful and strange to discover something I wasn’t even aware I was looking for. It was even more wonderful that it was amongst writers I found it.
Great blog Jules. It is strange how somebody like you can clam up when talking about your work. Especially when you have a natural gift for writing. I hope I don’t feel the same when I eventually get to the festival. But like you say when it’s something you’ve put so much loft yourself into, it can be like asking for criticism on your personality. I can ramble all day about mindless stuff like films or nights out or even funny stories about myself, but when I met the agents at AM Heath to talk about my book I was so nervous, even though they were absolutely brilliant. I guess that, like you, I always think my writing is a lot worse than other people do.
Looking forward to future blogs
Allan
It’s not something that ever goes away, I’ve found. It just attains a sense of proportion as you become more experienced and talk more about your work. I think most writers find it hard. I’m a confident public speaker -despite being an introvert – and I’ll happily stand in front of a class of two hundred odd people and teach karate or give a lecture on something. I think talking about your writing often open up a vulnerable gap to your soft underbelly – or so it seems. I am less nervous of agents now than I was – and all the agents I’ve met have been lovely – but it’s taken a few year and concerted effort!
Many thanks for the feedback and the kind words 🙂