In less than two hours, the 10th anniversary complete reading of The Mud Game is scheduled to begin. Gary Barwin and I wrote the little novel in the early 1990s; I believe I spent about a week at his house. A year later, we reconvened to edit the book. And in 1995, the courageous Mercury Press published it.
I have so far received 9 expressions of regret from people who wish they could be there tonight, etc, etc, and 2 expressions of "going to do my best to be there." Fair enough all around. But it sure is always an odd thing when you have a reading: those who can't make it often dutifully wish you the best, and those who can rarely speak up: why should they? They'll be there!
Readings themselves don't make me nervous. Wondering if anyone will be there makes me nervous. But tonight, really, even if I'm reading to myself, it'll be sort of fun. See, there's a snow storm coming through Southern Ontario, so Gary himself may not be able to get here from Hamilton. The highways are reportedly a little on the treacherous side.
We thought about cancelling, but there's no way of letting people know at such short notice. Plus, if we don't do the reading tonight, it'll likely never happen. So the show goes on, even if I have to read the whole damn thing myself! To myself!
Break a leg, self!
Over and out.
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