Last Friday’s reading at The New Venture Theatre was something special. It was a very strong bill for starters – in Brighton and the surrounding area (I’m including Hove, Lewes, Seaford) we are blessed with an extraordinary amount of poetic talent, as the launched volume, Poetry South East 2010, testifies. And giving a reading (or performance, depending on venue and audience) is one of those things I enjoy beyond pretty much any other part of being a writer. Including even writing itself. But Friday was spectacularly good, enjoyable beyond pretty much any other reading I’ve given, with the exception of a couple of big-audience events I’ve done (I really like 200-750 people, when they’re warm).
I love that sense of connecting with people, sharing something meaningful with them. I love that the more I do it, the easier it is, so that now I only have to breathe deeply, let go of any tiny flutter of fear that might surface as I am being introduced, relax completely and connect with the words. The work is already done – the words are written, I only have to speak them, one human being to another, just as I am. And something happens on stage. A magic. That thing performers go back and back for.