An Account of Book Week Nerves

Confessions of an ambivert writer

I’ve been reading short, cynical, first-person “confessional” novels this weekend and their voices are in my bloodstream, a feeling that reminds me of doing shots before a night out: this will wear off and afterwards I may have regrets.

 

I’m one of those authors who dread public speaking. But I’m rarely taken seriously on this complaint by anyone who’s seen me deliver a speech. I don’t look nervous. I’m smiling, cracking jokes, making use of the stage, projecting my voice; I do spontaneous things and usually I’m not looking at my notes. I seem to be enjoying myself. What a performance!

During my talks last week, I was acutely aware of my body moving around with a mic in one hand and the audience in the palm of the other. I was self-conscious about my voice that sounded like someone else talking. But this is you, you’re doing this. I made eye contact, lots of it. I read the expressions of students and teachers. I knew they were also thinking, she’s got this. They could relax. I said som…