Doors Into The Dark

 I'm doing a reading in Queens Film Theatre on Saturday as part of the Doors Into The Dark symposium for the Seamus Heaney Centre. My own section is titled In A Glass Darkly: Irish Horror, Page and Screen. The title is not mine, and doesn't really work for "the page" aspect of it. But ho hum. I'm sharing my segment with a film making academic, Mervyn Marshall, and the division of labour very much favours the younger man (who is very much not me). I'm doing a reading of a part of my new novel, How Ghosts Affect Relationships, and then a, slightly abridged, version of my top pop hit, The Wink and The Gun. So I'll be reading for the best part of 40 minutes, while Mervyn just has to press play twice. Actually, we'll be in a cinema. There'll be someone else doing it for him. Clever boy. Then there's a Q&A, chaired by another academic, Lucy Baxter, and finally questions from the audience, should there be any. Questions or audience. 

There will be an audience. This thing is sold out. Worryingly I don't know anyone who is going. So, not playing for the home-crowd, then. I hope there aren't discriminatory sing-a-longs about me. 

It's an hour and a half long, and I'll be reading, out loud, for approximately half that time. As you can imagine, I've been practising my reading. It'll have to be dynamic, interested, precise and atmospheric. I've had a chest infection that has torn my throat to shreds and lowered my voice by a couple octaves. Apart from all the mucus, that could really work for the reading.  

There's a question mark over Lucy as well, as she's tested positive for Covid. We'll see how it goes. Maybe Mervyn and I can improv a bit of back and forth for twenty minutes, or we'll take questions early, liven those stiffs up a bit. He's made a film about a banshee. I once wrote a film about a banshee. We should be able to milk that for every, weepy, psychopompy drop. 

I invest a lot of worry into these things. I wondered what to read, whether I should abridge it. Will my droning English voice be too boring. Am I too old to be this unknown? Am I too old to be doing this? Am I so old that people think it's cute? "Oh look, Granddad's trying to read his stories. Bless. Have you got your talking teeth in, Granddad?" Am I too town for the gown? My impostor syndrome kicks in. My trusty sense of worthlessness. 

But, I'll try and kick this loser ideation to the curb. I'm a pretty good reader. And The Wink and the Gun is a very good story. It'll be fine. Also, I'm a charming and urbane conversationalist and, besides, these Q &As are always horrifically awkward things. We'll be fine, marking against that curve. 

Looking forward to it. As long as I don't cough up a lung.