THERE IS always more shit I gotta do, because I am not yet rich enough to pay others to do this stuff for me. So, I had to do another reading to try and prod some of you people to buy a copy of my book, which is turning out to be a herculean task. I shouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't buy a copy of the book if you wrote it, at least not for $14, so it's no wonder you all smile politely and tell me how nice it is that I published a book, and then walk away. I am coming to accept the fact that I am not a best-selling author. I'll live.
    Readings are hellish, because they are not only public speaking, which is bad enough, but are pretentious as well. You're not forced to stand up there and fill the air with your precious words, after all - you choose to stand up in public and read something you wrote, as if anyone in their right mind would want to hear those words. So not only do you have to deal with the horrors of speaking in public, you also can't hide behind the old fascist only-following-orders excuse. Mein Leiben! What an ass you have to be to actually choose to do this. Well, I'm happy to admit it: I am such an ass.
    At least I'm smart enough to be embarrassed about it.
    I've had an odd relationship with public speaking, I think. When I was about eight years old, in the Cub Scouts, I was chosen to play a clock in a play. A clock. I was given one of those cardboard clock faces with hands on it that you see in kindergarten to help teach kids how to tell time on a clock, and all I had to do was stand there on stage with it and change the time now and then when the script called for it. Easy! I stood through the whole play with the clock face directly in front of my own face, hiding behind it. My Mother stood on the sidelines whispering to me to lower the clock so people could see my face, but I ignored her, because if I'd wanted people to see my face, I wouldn't have been holding the damn thing directly in front of it.
    A year later my Scoutmaster decided to put on an old-fashioned vaudeville show for Parent's Night, complete with Al Jolson Jazz Singer impersonation. I am not kidding. I was placed on stage in blackface, wearing a blue suit, with white gloves. I was, for one brief, wrongly-shining moment, a poster child for racism, lip-syncing ‘Mammy' without a clue. Considering that 80% of my scout troop was Hispanic or black, I cannot imagine how it is that I am still alive.
    A few years later I became a Boy Scout, which is sort of like graduating into the Hitler Youth except with all the homosexuals, and I had a moment of competent public performance. I was camping with my troop and my scoutmaster wanted to put on a campfire show and asked for volunteers. At camp the year before I had seen a lot of skits and heard a lot of songs, and I was obviously experiencing some sort of brain embolism because I volunteered to be in charge of entertainment. I ran one hell of a campfire, ladies and gentlemen. I organized skits, I led people in songs. I was, in short, some other kid for one evening.
    I never managed to live up to the promise of that night, and it has haunted me ever since. Since then, I've tried to recover that sort of crazy fearlessness, usually resorting to alcohol and dropped trousers, which really isn't the same thing. I muddled through high school with the standby stare-over-their heads technique, a sort of out-of-body experience which results in rushed, flat-toned speaking. College was where I mastered my drink-in-hand-trousers-round-the-ankles style of public appearances, and the less said about them the better. At my damn day job I occasionally have to speak in front of people, but they are generally the grey, lifeless sort of people you encounter at places like jobs, and don't worry me much: all nuance is lost on them, even bad nuance.

    Which brings me back to my most recent reading, at a Barnes and Noble in New York City. I don't prepare for these things much, I just show up, read a chapter, and then see if anyone I've never met before decides to buy a copy of the book. This time, I was sharing the bill with another writer, a hyperactive fellow who was much more into selling himself than selling any books - which was fine, because hell, he was a great show. I can't say he's a great writer, but he was fun to watch up there, in a way that I will never be. 
    And that's okay. I don't translate well in large gatherings, I've known that all my life. I'm much better one-on-one, and I excel in the written word. Those are my skills, and I'm pretty happy with that. Standing up in front of a bunch of people, I'm not exactly at my best. I went on first; the other reader asked me to, and since he obviously had a more complicated plan for the evening, I didn't put up a fight about it. I was nervous because there were more strangers in the room than I expected; at my last reading I'd had a lot of friends and family there, which made it easier. I read a little too fast and without much color, and stayed within the twenty minute limit the B&N manager had asked me to. The other guy didn't stick within twenty minutes, and he didn't even read from his book. He was being filmed for a documentary and I got the feeling he was selling himself a lot more than he was selling his book. As I said, though, he was entertaining, probably more so than me, so there's nothing wrong with that.
    I've often said that writers must have arrogance to succeed. You have to. You need that crazy belief that the things you write are worth other people's time. Some people go beyond that, and believe that everything about them is worth other people's time. My fellow reader was one of those people. They're frightening, in a way, but their willingness to dance for our pleasure is also kind of cool. I can't dance, and it's probably better that way.
    New column in about two weeks. In the meantime, please feel free to drop me a note .