Rule One for Reading Your Own Poetry: Don't be sick

I really wish I had Aaron to read this in his amazing Heston voice. As I do not (nor do I have audio with this thing) you'll just have to imagine it. Have fun.

I mention Aaron because today we had our poetry workshop and Aaron was on one. He brought 2 lbs of chocolate covered cinnamon bears and kept going off. I think if he didn't have an audience he'd die. Anyway, he's belting out statements in that classy Heston voice as we workshop some of the most painful offerings of the semester. And then its my turn. Workshopping goes like this: The poet reads their poem and then has to remain silent as everyone hashes out the meaning and the problems. And of course, there's always at least one person who brings up something that isn't there, isn't relevant, and that is what the class latches onto.

So I read, beginning with a revision of "Thanksgiving Day." Just one little problem: I am oh so slowly losing my voice due to that lovely cold of mine. So this poem of mine suddenly becomes a eulogy, the most lamentable and merry comedy of my take on family get togethers. Ack. When I finish reading, I quickly tacked on, before Lance could sush me, "I have a cold, so that came out all wrong." After they attacked that poem (mostly the Legend part--I knew that didn't belong there--new poem), we moved on to "Sum(marry)", which, in my opinion, requires a certain tone of voice, certain pauses. And I botched it. I botched my own stupid poem because I can't breath. It came off sounding like some melodrama, which, somebody please tell me I''m right to think this, it isn't.

I've typed myself out. I am now going to Sonic. Cheers. eg