The weirdest thing about being a published author is the fact that suddenly people expect you to be…more like JK Rowling and less like the gibbering weirdo that you know you are. It isn’t even ‘secretly know you are’, you just are that person who got an audiobook contract through while having a wee in the Bodlein (in a toilet, I am weird but I am not an animal!) and then told everyone about it before flushing.
Instead of being in the audience at a con asking weird questions (when you put your hand up it was a brilliant question, but then the person before you asked the same thing and all you had left in the bank was something about haircare), you are the person sitting in the spotlight trying to string together words in an answer that makes the audience feel they have spent their time wisely. Sometimes this isn’t easy:

‘How did you get the idea for this story?’

‘Well, I was in the toilet at this really scraggy student bar – and I was in there for a while if you know what I mean! – and I started reading the graffiti on the door. A lot of it was kinda willy-themed, but some of it was actually quite philosophical!’

It is true, and the story won a prize, but you do kinda peer out into that sea (ok, it is usually about 8 people and one small child that you have to remember not to swear in front of, but I have been on larger panels) of faces and feel they deserve more. Sometimes they get more, KJ Charles has some excellent and informative stories, Rhys Ford is good on talking about the craft of writing, but – and I have had to come to terms with this myself – they aren’t going to get it from me.

I can talk about the craft of storytelling and narrative, and get me onto the history of the hard boiled detective genre and I will bend your ear until you chew off your own leg to get away. It just won’t be when I am on the spot and people are looking at me expectantly. I am actually kinda shy – shut up in the back, I am – so when I am in situations where I can’t just fade into the background, I end up overcompensating. I get loud, I get even weirder than usual, I giggle a lot. I say the wrong thing or mispronounce a word (I once mispronounced tsunami – tu-sun-a-mi! – in front of God and the Art Council, just because I was so nervous about the possibility of mispronouncing it), and choke on my own spit in the middle of a reading. I cannot talk without waving my hands about in the air like there is a chance I might fly away.

That is just me, and honestly no amount of practice will make it any better.  I have tried. On the other hand, I am kinda funny (I think) and between the malaprops and digressions I do try and give an honest answer.

So, my advice to anyone else out there who isn’t one of nature’s natural public speakers?

1: Do your best and don’t worry about. At the end of the day – unless something goes really wrong – no one is going to lose an eye.

2: If you are doing a reading print it out big and single-sided and don’t set it on fire before you have to go on stage (happened once, very awkward).

3: Also advice for readings? Wear the clothes you are going to have on the day of the reading while you are practicing – muscle memory can help calm you down. Or at least that is what a very talented performance poet told me once, I set my readings on fire and there isn’t much that can prepare you for that!

4: If someone asks a question that really stumps you – once I was asked what make of tractor someone would have? – throw another panellist under the bus. ‘Actually, I would love to hear from Person Who Hates Me Forever Now on that topic.’

5: Do not be afraid to stop talking. It can really help. I am not good at this one, but I hope to one day try it.