A Writers Voice

I recently gave my first public reading of a piece of fiction. It wasn't as scary as I thought it might be but it wasn't as I had expected either.

Taking the advice of a writer friend, I practiced beforehand. I only had fifteen minutes to read so had to cut my story down several pages. I found it difficult to cut away pieces of the story I had worked so hard to craft and in a way that preserved its meaning and flow. But, reading aloud helped me to find the excess verbiage, words that just took up space but added nothing important. I got rid of scenes that, while interesting, weren't (yet) tied into the heart of the story. I got rid of characters that didn't pertain to the singular journey of the protagonist in this story. I cut away the fat and came closer to the bones and blood of the moment. Reading aloud forced my mind to notice the awkardness in what had become familiar.

I found the reading itself rather perplexing. Was that my voice ringing out through the microphone? Why was everyone so silent? A few people out of about 30) came up afterwards to say they liked the piece.

I am glad to have had the experience mostly because it forced me to read my writing aloud. (And I'd certainly do it again if only to have a deadline!) But as to the actual reading to strangers, and almost as if in a vacuum, I am not sure of the point of it.