Stretching myself.

Yesterday evening I attended my first Open Mic Night, got on stage and performed my first reading.

I had been debating whether or not I would actually do it — but I did and I’m glad.

It was not a large group. Perhaps less than a dozen people total. All total strangers to me, except for one librarian who was there, as this was held in the main auditorium at my local public library. (I wish it had been Patrick, alas, but it was someone else.)

The few others present who did readings all did poetry they wrote, but I did a piece of prose.

It was, in fact, an entry to this diary that I composed long ago — all the way back on September 11, 2002, recounting my impressions during the terrorist attacks one year earlier. I read it as is, with the exception of one paragraph I had partially edited earlier that afternoon.

One of the attendees was a young woman who has already had a couple books of her poems published. She read several of them to us.

Even at my age, I can still enjoy a novel experience at times. Perhaps I’ll do this again sometime.