Overcoming My Fear of Public Speaking (kind of)

Public speaking has never come easily to me. Despite nearly a decade of practice—participating in International Literary Festivals throughout the USA, Eastern Europe and the Middle East—I'm still a mess every time I have an engagement. My first line of defense, remains, to try to squirm out of the invitation, say, if I'm asked to lead a workshop or appear in a classroom, somewhere. But, this is a sort of literary suicide if one has a book to promote (a difficult enough business, without turning down the few opportunities that are offered one).

So, if there's no getting out of it, I try to man up and face the music! I just came across notes I'd written myself, a private pep talk, before my first major engagement in Slovakia. It was my first time, there, an all expense paid trip where they put my wife up on a house boat. There were lots of interesting poets to meet from around the world and activities planned to entertain us. All I had to do was try not to hyper-ventilate every time I thought of my upcoming reading.

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The night of the event, I had a few drinks (but not too many, so that I would not slur, or worse, fall on stage). When my name was announced, I inhaled deeply and stepped into the limelight. My heart was racing and it required all my control to keep my hands or legs from shaking. There were two translators who shared the stage with me, and camera crew walked on and off as I read.

In the darkened, packed room, blinded by the intense spotlight, something strange happened. It's not that I grew less nervous but, because I could not see anybody, I imagined I was in outer space and reciting my poetry to myself. That visualization helped, as did the fact that I knew my poems inside out, having rehearsed them a 1,001 times. Shy show-off that I am, incredibly, I even volunteered to stay on stage longer—as there was a no-show, that evening, and a vacant spot that needed to be filled. Examining the video recording of the event, now, I marvel to what extent I was able to cover up my anxiety:

As I said, however, I've hardly gotten better at doing this; only, perhaps, better at masking my panic. Radio interviews, on the otherhand (which I'm also asked to do, from time to time) I'm better at—maybe, because I've always enjoyed one-on-one conversation. But the idea of sharing my intimate thoughts and feelings to a room full of strangers, I've never quite reconciled myself with enough to actually enjoy it. I even wrote a poem about the dread I, regularly, experience:

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Liberation Song

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He walks with a convict’s gait
a dream-ravaged, slip of a man
formally summoned to confess
before a suspicious audience

He makes music with his chains
the one with wild, hunted eyes
disoriented and unaccustomed
to such confusion of light and sound

His throat burns so, he’s uncertain
how he might find a voice to utter
his strange sin to the huddled faces
attending his trial and to every move

Then, a hush descends as he’s introduced
by members of officialdom at a podium
and the crowd erupts into polite applause
for the invited poet at the reading.

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It is ironic that the most private of persons, writers, should have such public professions. Also, worth mentioning, not all venues I was asked to perform in featured darkened rooms, with me staring into the blinding light/cosmos. At the San Francisco International Poetry Festival I was invited to represent Egypt, and took to the stage after the Mayor opened the event. One of my engagement was indoors and well lite, but my other as in broad daylight, on a stage in the park (with nowhere to hide from the assembled audience or casual passersby).

I'd hardly slept the night before, tormenting myself with dark imaginings. The day of the outdoor event, as I was being introduced, I wrestled with mad fantasies of escaping the scene, altogether. Yet, watch the video, below, and it looks like I was having fun. And, I was, to an extent, having found a laid back musician, at the last moment, who agreed to accompanied me onstage. The music, somehow, soothed my jangled nerves:

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Years passed, and I did other venues (in the UAE, for example, where I was granted my own private car with a chauffeur and five meals a day) and every time, mysteriously, I pulled it off:

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Each invite, I would have to trick, cajole, bribe and/or threaten myself, anew, into doing the event and, afterwards, marvel that my chest did not explode or my head fly off, for all the adrenaline rush! Now, I recall, I also took part in a musical play in Washington D.C. (the audacity!) to promote peace and interfaith healing at a hip bookstore/restaurant/culture center called Busboys & Poets. Here, I am reciting a poem, for Egypt, while doing my very best to appear, you know, peaceful:

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So far, so good. Yet, I must remind myself, all over, to have courage, relax, breathe deeply, read slowly, even try to enjoy it. The audience are here, I repeat in my inner pep talk, because they like poetry, they don't want to see me fail or slip up, they want me to succeed. Fast forward 10 years later, after the Slovakia event (with large, medium and small outings, in between) and I find myself invited, last year, to the Austin Book Festival to represent World Literature Today magazine, for a special issue that I guest-edited --a doubly whammy!

What's more, I didn’t have one, but three public engagements: a panel discussion with another author and moderator (in a prestigious public building) that's been written up in the local newspaper, as well as a bookstore reading, and a live interview. The Book Festival that year is a fairly high-profile event, since actor Tom Hanks is there promoting his debut book, as well as Dan Rather, former news anchor for the CBS Evening News. Last and certainly least, the Bush sisters, Jenna and Barbara, are also in Austin to promote their book.

How did it go? Swimmingly well, thank you! All my events were well-received and, aside from the wild terror preceding each one, I looked like I had it under control. See for yourself:

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