'C' is for 'Charming'.

I read in public for the first time in five years last Friday.

I've read my poetry before in classes or workshops, and as a requirement for my first college poetry class I had to read a poem aloud at a group reading featuring my entire class and our professor.

I also read once as part of a two-week writing workshop that I attended in Prague the summer before my junior year of college. I read two poems in front of the entire program--this time it wasn't necessarily required but it was sort of an unspoken rule that everyone would read on the 'student reading night'.

This was the first time I have read by 'choice'.

Although, I found out about the reading when I received a picture message from my roommate, a fellow poet, with the image of my name on a sign-up sheet that I didn't remember signing. She had signed up for me and I was reading so I better "figure out some poems to read" because I had 15 whole minutes to fill. I could have said no and un-signed up, so I still consider it a choice even though I guess technically I didn't choose to do it in the first place.

But that's not really the point.

The beginning of this semester was a little rough for me if I'm being totally honest. I am taking three classes which, as I've come to find out, is quite a course load for a graduate student to take. One literature class, one poetry workshop and a publishing (column writing) class. Which means I'm basically always reading or writing. Like all the time. I also started working at my college's writing center three days a week so my weeks are pretty full.

I was stressed at first because of the amount of work I had (and still have) to do but also because I didn't feel totally comfortable in all of my classes. The poetry workshop was the easiest because it's in my genre (a.k.a my comfort zone) but I had a new, guest professor and a new group of students to get used to.

In writing workshops there is a sort of bond that develops among students after you've started reading each other's work. You learn each other's style and voice--but most importantly it becomes understood that 'what happens in workshop stays in workshop'. It is a safe space, or circle, and what is said during that time is privileged. In a weird way it's like therapy because there are these people that essentially you barely know, but who may know you better than your family does. I suppose this is because writing and sharing that writing with others is a very intimate type of act.

You feel a little exposed, naked even--and feeling comfortable doing this over and over again, takes time. So switching into a new workshop is kind of like stripping in front of a bunch of people you don't know, just as you were getting used to skinny dipping in front of this other group of people. Maybe I'm getting a little carried away with this whole 'naked' metaphor, but you get what I'm saying.

So, even in the the class where I was supposed to feel most comfortable, I was still adjusting.

Then there were my two other classes--one is a particularly difficult travel theory literature class and a publishing class where I am writing in a different form/style than I've written in before.

The literature class was the scariest at first. In part because of the topic matter, it's very much a historically based curriculum, or at least it was in the beginning and I felt like I was a little out of my league as far as my understanding of historical-literary criticism. And also in part because the professor is an extremely intelligent, no nonsense woman who definitely scares the crap out of half the people in my class. Her knowledge and demeanor are a very intimidating combination.

Then I felt like I botched an oral presentation (although I was the first of many to go so I didn't have an example to follow) but since I am hyper-critical of myself I felt that I had ruined any chance of getting a good grade in this class. I was also supposed to coordinate with another student in the class, but he ignored my email and took what I think was probably the easier portion of our presentation to explain to the class, leaving me floundering trying to make sense of the other part. I don't blame this kid though, just my own insecurities that were at play when I was presenting.

I tend to compare myself to other people, particularly my roommate who is also in the program and in that class, when I know I shouldn't. And I was literally afraid to return to this class after my disaster of an oral presentation. But I went.

I promised myself I would work really hard to get a good grade on my midterm paper to make up for the oral presentation portion and then go from there.

My column writing class started in a similar fashion. I didn't do too well on my first two columns I turned in. I find it hard to write in a way that is informed without sounding academic, cold, or dull. This is a problem when it comes to column writing because columns are essentially judged in terms of 'voice' and I didn't want to put readers to sleep. But I also didn't want to act like an authority on topics that I had to right to be an authority on. So it was a difficult balancing act to get used to.

My stress reached its peak when I had a particularly bad week. It was the week of my oral presentation, the same week one of my first two columns was due, a week when the poem I turned in got torn apart in workshop and a week when I had a difficult day tutoring. It was like a domino affect of awfulness that managed to topple down onto every area of my life for one whole week. I cried on the phone to my older sister and felt like I was the worst person ever at every single thing a person could possibly be bad at.

Walking. Talking. Dressing. You name it--I was bad at it. I was especially bad at writing and had no place in my graduate program. How could I even dare to call myself a writer or poet? I would resign immediately. As if that was possible, or it was quite that simple.

I really just needed to have a little cry and get the stress that I had been bottling up out of my system so I could focus on the task at hand. My sister pointed out that in the past I haven't had to work very hard to get good grades and maybe now was different. Maybe now I needed to put in the extra work, although I felt like I had been, and maybe I needed to buckle down a little bit.

I really felt that previous to this point I had been trying to do just that. I had started the semester with a more serious and focused attitude. I had worked out all the first-year kinks of being a graduate student and a new Bostonian, so now it was time to work hard and those results would be worth it; my hard work would pay off in the end. But like any other red-blooded American, I wanted instant results. I forgot to factor in that tricky little element called 'time' which is essential in any type of growth or development.

But my sister's "dude maybe you just need to work harder" really put this all into perspective for me (I swear my sister should have t-shirts and bumper stickers with her amazing affirmations like the one I just mentioned). So I took my sisters advice and made a point of staying in and studying even more than I already had been doing. I went to birthday dinners but didn't go out for drinks afterward. I refused invites to go meet for drinks. I even stayed in for an entire four-day weekend to work on my huge 10-15 page paper that was due for my Travel Literature class.

This doesn't sound like a big deal but I am a person who really enjoys her "fun time" in order to lend some balance to the "school/work time." And I'm a pretty social person who enjoys a little silliness/lightheartedness from time to time.

But I was focused on my goal of getting doing well in school and specifically getting a good grade on this paper. I was trying to reverse the domino affect. (Spoiler alert: I got an A- on my paper. But that's not why I'm writing this blog post.) So because of my shaky start to the semester, it was with a hesitant state of mind that I faced my upcoming reading. I was nervous, even though everyone I talked to insisted I had no reason to be nervous. But hearing that I shouldn't be nervous was like telling a girl who is having a "fat day" that she looks skinny. It doesn't change things. At all.

I wasn't sure what poems I should read, I was afraid the poems I wanted to read weren't "finished," I just wasn't in the mood to be stressed out when I could just sit at home watching Netflix and avoid the whole thing altogether. And as I stated before I have the terrible habit of comparing myself to others so I was afraid I wasn't good enough yet, to read my writing aloud with the other poets. In fact, the day of the reading I was so nervous I considered just not showing up. But Eloisa my roomie said she'd "bring down the hammer"if I no-showed and I'm not sure what exactly that would entail, but she's a feisty thing with contacts in Mexico so it can't be good.

So, I drank the double whiskey-diet that my roommates made me, put on some Baby Lips lip-balm and showed up. I was introduced (out of order I might add, there were six of us reading and I was supposed to go fourth after the 10 minute break but they introduced me third instead). I read all seven poems I brought. People clapped. End scene.

I expected the grad student and friend audience to be sympathetic. What I did not expect was people I didn't know coming up to me afterward and telling me how well I did and how much they enjoyed my poetry. Or one of the curators of the reading series asking me if I had submitted my work, and if I hadn't suggesting that I submit and giving me a website with publications that might interest me.

It's funny how we trust strangers to tell us the truth more than our friends or family sometimes.

A non-writer friend had told me a few weeks before that I would be fine at the reading I would get up there and be the same "charming" me that I always am.

It reminded me of how in the past few years that word 'charming' seemed to keep popping up when people were describing my personality. It wasn't typically a word I would include in my vocabulary to describe myself. (A few words I would include are the following: sarcastic, feisty, awkward at times...)Yet there it was, from a variety of sources.

I had been told I was extremely charming by various guests at the restaurants I've worked at in the past.
A former employer that I interned for jokingly yelled at me once for distracting the group and instructed me to "just stop being so charming and focus." I protested that I wasn't trying to be 'charming.' He said, "you can't help it, it's just the way you are. You're just naturally charming."

So when a friend brought up this word 'charming' again a few years later, I started to believe maybe there was a little truth to what these various people were saying. I even looked up the word in the dictionary to dissect the definition to see if I feel like the word actually applies to me.

Then I realized it doesn't really matter what I think of me, this is the conclusion that people who know me have come to and I don't really have a say in their opinion. As is the case with all opinions, we all have our own. And they have their opinions about me independent from my input.

And this is not necessarily a bad thing. I tend to be harder on myself than other people, I'm sure most people are like this also, and I am extremely reluctant to accept praise. I have learned over the years that I really don't take compliments well. But I'm trying to learn. And this is something that applies to not only my personality but my writing also. I just have to put it (and myself) out there and let other people make their assessments.

So when people came up to me and told me how well I read, or how much they liked this poem or that poem, I tried to resist my usual course of action: denial. Instead, I blushed and attempted to graciously and gracefully accept the praise thrown in my direction.

After the reading I realized that this confidence boost couldn't have come at a better time. I was almost half-way through my program and not sure I was making any actual "progress" with my writing. I didn't have a strong sense of improvement, but I also became increasingly aware that this was in part because I was so hesitant to share my writing with my peers, or with anyone really.

I've never really had the type of personality that was self-promoting, or a 'look at how great I am' type of person. I know a lot of people like that and it kind of grinds my gears. This is extremely prominent with other writers. Everyone thinks their story, or memoir, or novel, or poem just needs to be heard and is so important that everyone should read it. And that kind of annoys me sometimes.

But it's okay to toot your own horn once in a while; moderation is the key.

My favorite compliment came from my friend Kyle who is also in the program. We were in the same workshop last semester so he's familiar with my poetry and he's even seen some first drafts from the poems I ended up reading to the audience. He made the comment that he could really tell how hard I had worked on my revisions and how much I tried to incorporate all the feedback into the new drafts.

He said that he was impressed about how far I'd come since last semester. I didn't know it until the words came out of his mouth, but I really needed someone I respected and whose poetry I also admired, to tell me I was doing something right. That my hard work was actually paying off, and that I wasn't just wasting my time with this whole poetry thing.

In the end I guess I succeeded in both 'charming' the crowd and I was also 'charmed' by the audience and their reception of my poetry as well. It helped me remember the payoff of putting yourself out there and being in vulnerable positions.

The encouragement and appreciation is definitely worth the risk.


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