Lecturer Showcase Recap: A recording and an unexpected story

We forgot to take a selfie before we wrapped.

This is why we’re writers are not influencers. Because despite the fact that I suggested it at the beginning. Despite the fact that everyone said, “Yeah! Let’s do that!” By the end, we had all forgotten. Because we weren’t there to take photos.

We were there to read from our own creative works – poetry, nonfiction, and fiction – and then to answer students’ questions.

I read 10 minutes of a new story, told some creative writers about my support team, and watched my own child destroy the Mag-Safe Pop Socket on my phone.

Over all, a pretty fun time.

Here’s how it all started:

Last fall, I demanded that my colleague Will meet me for coffee and impatiently waited for our exchange of pleasantries to be over before declaring, “We need to plan a reading event on our campus for lecturers!”

You see, I was riding high after attending my first conference in California, where I was allowed to read something I had written in front of a group full of complete West Coast strangers and other crime writers. And I loved it. I wanted more.

I always love to do a reading. I’m always ready to do it. Like a stand up comic who needs to take the mic, I have my tight ten ready for all occasions. Especially because of the few instances where I have been allowed to perform in this way, I’ve had people approach me to say nice things about what I read or to throw money at me to buy the thing I just read. Why wouldn’t I want to do this every weekend, every night, forever?

Also, many people might now realize it, but I am a lecturer on my campus and lectures are not “required” like tenured professors to be published. But we do. Many of us are creative writers and are either seeking publication or recently published. And this is in addition to our teaching responsibilities, some of which we are assigned so tenured professors have time to write and publish. The other lecturers on this campus and I needed the time and space to show off.

When I got home, I grabbed my incredibly old copy of Ariel Gore’s How to Be A Famous Writer Before You’re Dead, a Y2K how-to for encouraging writers to get out of the house and get some attention. I flipped right to the section titled “Grab the Mic” and was reminded that all you need to host a reading is 1. A venue 2. Other writers and 3. Advertising.

Writing communities are not just circles of people swapping stories and offering feedback. We are also hustle squads for our writer friends. This is another way we can support each other. And since no one was setting something up where I could jump in, I set something up for them (and obviously me).

So I roped in my friend Will who also just had a book published that year and started speculating an appropriate date for our reading.

I booked a room and sent a call out fo readers.

KSU Lecturer Showcase Recap

The line up for the Lecturer’s Showcase

• Christopher Martin: poet and author of the poetry collection Firmament.

• William Carter: playwright and author of the memoir Getting Better.

• Valarie A. Smith: poet and author of Back From Alabama.

• And myself, author of Pretty Girls Get Away With Murder.

The crowd was a nice size. We’d all offered our students extra credit for attending, but some of us raised the stakes by offering double extra credit, so I felt obliged to offer the same. But also, I spotted former students, and a colleague or two in the crowd.

When it was my turn, I read a sample from my forthcoming short story, “The Disappearing Family”.

Here’s a recording of it:

"The Disappearing Family"

8:19

Also, because this was held on a college campus, adding an educational component was key. So we also advertised that we would be holding a panel to share our experiences as writers and answer questions from attendees.

The students asked questions like,

• What’s your favorite book?

• Who would you say has supported you and encouraged you to write?

• What keeps you motivated?

And all the answers to those questions are now are a blur to me. When I get into the moment, when I start talking about these things I love, it’s akin to being in the writer’s flow state. I’m just doing the thing without overthinking it, and a calmness comes over me. I know others aren’t comfortable speaking in front of crowds or like to give all their answers careful thought. And I am the opposite. I just keep talking until someone shuts me up.

I do remember that for one of the questions – probably the one about who supported me the most as a writer – and I recalled telling them that when I was incredibly young, like eleven, I was writing fan fiction and sharing it with my English teacher who gushed over all the things I wrote. And to be able to show someone something I wrote and have them tell me they like it and that I should keep doing it was “like heroine” to me. And while I got the laugh from the crowd that night, it is true even the faintest praise is enough to pull me back to the computer to hammer out another story, another chapter, another blog post. I love that I can make something that’s entertaining to others and that they would even ask me to do it again.

And while I’m still riding high from this event, the thing that might stick out the most in my memory that night was the occurrence that sent me to Target on Saturday morning to replace my Pop Socket.

When I attend events now, I bring my son Behr with me. Unlike other teenagers, he is very comfortable talking to strangers, and likes to help me sell books. He is my one-man Sales Force.

I warned him beforehand that this was not like a book festival, and that it would be a “grown ups talking” event, to borrow from Dinosaur vs. Bedtime, his favorite childhood book. I said bring his own book to keep himself entertained. He didn’t.

Also, at these events, the app to take payment for purchases is exclusively on my iPhone, which means we switch phones when he is manning the books and I’m doing writer things – like this night where not only was I reading, but also hosting and moderating the panel.

Of course, he got bored.

Because he’s a kid and we were, in fact, grownups sitting together and talking so others can hear us.

I’m listening to my fellow writers, I’m scanning the crowd for its level of interest (trying not to get too annoyed by one of my students who clearly showed up for the extra credit and was lazily farting around on their phone like they were sitting on their mom’s sectional), and then I look over at my child, who is futzing with the Mag-safe Pop Socket on my phone, extending it and collapsing it. It was making an audible pop pop sound each time. I needed him to stop. But I also didn’t want to interrupt anyone.

Minutes roll by, and we’re still chatting and answering questions. Again, I’m wearing my best listening host face, much like -- if you can recall -- James Lipton from Inside the Actor’s Studio. Again, scanning the scene and now I see that my teenager has identified that on the wall behind his head was a small metal door with Fire Extinguisher written on the side. Again, another annoying tapping noise as he tested it. It rattled when he pushed against it. From what I can tell, no one can notice. So I ignore him. Then all of a sudden, the tapping and popping stopped and I heard, wack.

I don't think anyone else heard it, but now I am seeing that my son has slapped my Mag-Safe Pop Socket to the metal door and is attempting to pull on it to remove it, and it won’t budge.

Now, he’s starting to panic. A quiet panic. A rapid, hands-waving, I-have-to-fix-this-panic. And I’m watching the whole thing from my seat trying to maintain my listening face and laugh at the appropriate jokes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pull, pull, pulling to get it free, and being someone who has lived longer than this child, I knew what was about to happen. And then it did. The magnet was still firmly affixed to the door, but the Pop of the Pop Socket was now in his hand and the force of trying to rip it from the wall had knocked him back a little.

A whole new level of panic was setting in because not only did he create a problem, but now he had broken the whole thing.

And I can’t laugh at this Three Stooges routine that’s unfolding before me, because I am trying to maintain my cool.

And I’m not even mad. In awe, I watched to see how he was going to get himself out of this mess. Using one of my business cards from the booksale table, he jimmied it under the magnet to break the connection and now he had both parts, separated and broken. He spent the rest of the time trying to fix it, but couldn’t.

After the event he told me, “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is I broke–”

“I’m well aware. I watched the whole show.”

He apologized. Actually he was really remorseful. But it was what it was.

When the group officially disbanded, people lingered while we packed it all up. I signed some books. I answered more questions. One student showed me a photo of paper plate plaque one of her teachers gave her in elementary school awarding her the honor of being a World Class Writer. She told me she hung it on the wall of her dorm.

And all that reminded me of being young and broke, going to free writer's events, asking a million questions and insisting the author to sign my writers notebook, because I couldn’t afford to purchase anything that night.

We support each other by showing up, by listening, by learning, and by allowing ourselves discover our new favorite writer outside of bookstores.

Thanks to everyone for showing up!

XOXO,

B.