I arrived at Foyles, I listened to stories, then I read my own and stepped from the lecturn to applause that I'm fairly certain was more than merely polite.
The short story as performance was something I'd barely considered until a few weeks ago. Yet the Tales of the Decongested event at Foyles yesterday evening was just that: six pieces of unknown short fiction, read aloud by the authors.
I was reasonably confident it would be an interesting experience but I wasn't prepared for quite how well it would work. Some of the stories became three dimensional for having been performed.
I was the third reader up, last to go before the interval. I felt faint before stepping up, throat dry, bowels loose (more than you need, yes?); the reading itself passed in a blur, but I didn't stumble even on my more obscure phrasing and I was vaguely aware of occasional laughter (at moments where I might expect such).
And my payment? Several unsolicited variations on "well performed", one "I was intrigued by that" (from co-reader Peter Higgins), an "I really enjoyed it, really well read" (from co-reader Jo Horsman), an "I read a lot of shorts and I'm not often surprised by them but by yours I was" (from A.N. Otherwriter), and a "nice one" (from co-reader Steve Finbow), accompanied by a pat on the back, hopefully to show he meant it. I also got a nod from Toby Lit, although that was probably because I stood aside so we could get past each other.
I went home feeling pretty flush.
Almost keen to try it again.