When you’re honest enough to admit to being nervous before a reading, you’re often told by well-meaning people to “Just picture the audience naked.”

OK, so has this really worked for anyone?  I mean, come on.  The last thing I need standing on stage in front of a bunch of strangers is to start imagining their, well… shortcomings.  Maybe this method works for politicians – they set out to screw us all anyway, and the naked part works with that, right?  But writers have imaginations that swirl and flit all over the place, and we hardly need to be told to imagine things, especially not when we’re trying to appear focused and sane.

So, here’s my advice to those of you out there who fear public speaking or don’t think you’re any good at it (and that’s almost everyone, right?).  I still get nervous, even doing all these things, but at least I don’t vomit anymore when I have to get up in front of a crowd and read or speak.

1)      Practice, practice, practice.  And then practice some more.  Out loud, in front of people, over and over again, until you could just about recite the piece from memory.

2)      Before you start your reading, look up at the audience and smile.  You have no idea how many people don’t do this, and then wonder why they couldn’t connect with the audience.

3)      Breathe, slowly and deeply, for just a pause before you start.  I have a tendency to take short quick breaths when I’m nervous – I think most people do – and if I don’t slow it down I’m in danger of hyperventilating.

4)      Say something, anything, to break the ice.  To humanize yourself.  But don’t admit to being nervous.  If you do, the audience will sympathize, yes, but they’ll also then be aware of your fear the whole reading, and you don’t really want sympathy, do you?  You want an audience who gets lost in your work.

5)      Slow down.  No matter how slowly you think you’re reading, you’re probably going too fast.  And try to look up occasionally during the reading instead of keeping your head down and eyes glued to the paper.  This will help you connect with the audience and will also help to slow you down.

6)      Do not, I repeat, do not, go on too long.  KISS – keep it short, stupid.  Personally I think anything longer than 10 – 15 minutes is too long, but that might just be because that’s the maximum amount of time I can sit still.  At any rate, always leave them wanting more.

7)      If there’s a funny part in your book or story, read that.  People love humor.  But make sure it really is funny.  Nothing’s more painful than a joke that goes flat.

8)      And don’t read anything that takes a whole lot of set-up.  Just find some place in your work that stands alone.  I don’t want a synopsis of your novel; I just want to be enchanted by a (short) reading.

9)      If all else fails, use medication.  Half an hour to 45 minutes before you’re scheduled to go on.  Nothing too strong: xanax works best, leaves you less spacey than clonapin or valium (not that I would know).

The more you do it, the easier it gets, I swear.  Oh yeah, and one more thing:  if you do insist on picturing the audience naked during your reading, at least try not to giggle.  Unexplained giggling during a reading is just weird.

One of my favorite forms of short fiction is flash fiction, also known as short short fiction, sudden fiction, and quick fiction. Personally, I like the term flash. It just sounds like more fun to me.

Depending on the journal or anthology, flash fiction can be stories under 1000 words, 500 words or less, or in some cases, as short as 100 words. Probably everyone has read the famous short short story by Ernest Hemingway, which tells a tale in only 6 words:  “For Sale: Baby shoes.  Never worn.”  One of my favorites is from Margaret Atwood:  “Longed for him.  Got him. Shit.”

I love writing flash.  It’s more like sculpting than writing to me.  Words are chiseled and carved off until the story in its most compact and true shape is revealed.  Many writers feel it’s closer to poetry than fiction, and I tend to agree, though I’ve never been much of a poet.

If you’re interested in trying your hand at flash, read as much as you can to understand the form, the rhythm and the flow of it.  Kim Chinquee is a master of flash fiction – Google her.  Her stories are amazing, and personally I think she’s the best out there right now working in flash.  There are many journals that publish flash fiction, lots of them online.  Smokelong Quarterly, Pank, Quick Fiction, Vestal Review, monkeybicycle, onepagestories, and Prime Number Magazine are all journals where you’ll find great flash fiction.  Then there are anthologies like Fast Forward (I was in volume 3) and Sudden Fiction.  And Steve Almond, a hero of mine, has a nifty little book of flash fiction and flash essays on writing you really should check out, too.

Not too long ago WriterHouse offered a class on flash fiction, and there is talk of offering it again soon.  Check the website periodically or sign up for the newsletter for updates.

If you want to write flash, read it, and then read it some more, and then write, and keep writing.  And have fun with it.  I do.  It’s my reward when I’ve been working hard at a longer piece.  But you don’t have to be a writer to love flash.  Readers, you should check it out, too.  A well-written piece of flash fiction is a thing of concentrated beauty, and will stay with you long after you put it down.

I worked on a sex scene for my novel all morning.  In case you’ve never written about sex, let me tell you that it’s not as easy as you might think.  I mean, everybody’s done the deed, so it should be just a matter of recreating experience, right?  That is definitely not the case.

There’s a balance that’s sometimes hard to find in writing about sex.  You don’t want to come off as a play-by-play on ESPN, but you don’t want to sound like something on the Playboy channel, either.  And National Geographic’s tone is really not an option, at least not in my book.

What do you call the various body parts involved?  Unless you’re writing a romance, the whole heaving bosom and throbbing member thing just won’t cut it.  But the technical route doesn’t work for me.  While I’m not opposed to saying penis and vagina, somehow those words don’t flow well on the page.

For those of you who think maybe I’m prudish (total strangers?), let me assure you I’m not.  I’m probably way more open about things than many of my friends are comfortable with, and I’m certainly not opposed to using some offensive language every now and then.  OK, frequently.  Anyway, it’s not Puritanism that makes sex hard to write about.  It’s the fact that most people make it out to be such a serious act, when in reality there are knocking elbows and knees and misplaced parts.  Sex is sometimes plain out ridiculous.

So I decided that my sex scene would be where I have fun in the book. Where I let things be ridiculous.  Or at least moderately so.  Once I decided that, I had a great time writing it.  The point of putting a sex scene in my book is not to describe a private act with minute accuracy, but to use it to show the relationship between two people.  Good relationships are full of fun, and so is good sex.

Oh, and no offense meant to the heaving bosom and throbbing member crowd.  Just not what I’m going for.