sweetnaqt , 31

entry 2392 october 19.2009

Reading ones own creative writing is something I need to get used to. After all, I hope to eventually be dabbing into the novel world, and I can't very well expect to not make appearances or read my work to crowds.

And this evening, I had the greatest chance of practicing I have probably ever had. When an opportunity to discuss stereotypes and discrimination came about. It also happened to be my current event week. So I thought great, I mean I can share some of my experiences. I can break out my Damaged piece and read it, maybe not all of it but at least some of it.

Right?

I sat there all day work, with one side of the screen filled with the typical administrative daily duties and the other, held my dearly Damaged piece. I went over and over it. I edited until I was happy with were it was gong. Until it was just the right length to read to a class. I reread and reread. Granted I have had this piece, worked on this piece for so long that I should have it, and probably have most of it memorized.

And when I left work in the early afternoon. I was ready. I drove not thinking about it, mainly because if I did I knew I would start to get the shakes. Once on campus I took my time, hit up the student union and grabbed my usual caffeine jolt to get me through the three hour class. A Dr. Pepper, to make up for the lack of nutritional value and to calm my sudden nerves, I grabbed a banana. And before I knew it, there was no more time to delay. Class would be starting. My speech would have to start.

I sat through three other's presentations. Patiently I must say. I watched the clock, knowing with every second my time would be up.

And before I knew it, she was calling my name and I stood amongst my peers of fellow classmates. Thirty pairs of eyes on me.....It was now or never.

I made it through the current event section, an article on a deaf couch who coaches a deaf football squad in Maryland. And before I knew it, it was over and she was asking me to speak about my own experience.

And so I did. I had every intention of repeating my piece, my baby. But as I began. I couldn't. It was as if something was holding me back. I had gotten into a groove. A groove I didn't want to mess up. I looked down at the piece and at the clock and while I was repeating everything regarding my disability, my piece just sort of faded into the background. Suddenly it wasn't that important that I read every word. So in the end, I just sort of got the message out. There was no need to repeat the story.

Because at that moment.

Everyone of the students had fallen silent.
The words I had already said already making an impact on them.

And there wasn't a need to say more.