Last night, a good filling crowd gathered at the well situated Artword Artbar, in downtown Hamilton, Ontario, to hear writers and musicians perform. The Artword Artbar is a delightful, quaint bar hosting a grand stage where people can show off. A number of artists revealed off their special abilities. Six people offered poems, three guitar wielding men played a few songs and four of us read from our novels.
Even though I'm not a great fan of poetry, I was immensely impressed with the quality of work crafted by these poets. One older gentleman read a hilarious poem about things which disclose your sexuality. At first, the man appeared to be a cross, sullen, stone-faced person. However, when he spoke, he transformed into a brilliant orator allowing us to enjoy his written words.
An enthusiastic, middle aged man played original songs on his guitar. He played well and his songs were enjoyable. Another act was two brothers playing guitar and bass guitar. They were terrible. One brother announced that they had a recording contacts and how famous they were. Well, it turned out that he couldn't sing at all and was always off pitch. I cringed and closed my ears.
As soon as this arrogant, distinguished gentleman arrived, he demanded attention. He required a table upon which to show off all of his books. When the organizer advised that it wasn't possible, he marched off in anger and took over one of the coffee tables. Thinking I was bored, he handed me a two long page catalogue of his work. None of his books interested me nor anyone else at the Artword Artbar. He had his own publishing company and he self-publishes all of his books. When one young man showed an interest, this man was very rude to him which turned everyone off.
I read from Locker Rooms and was told I did well. I wasn't as nervous as I thought since I had seen several people read from shaking papers or books as their hands quivered. I felt quite comfortable on the stage even though I couldn't really see the audience because of the lights. It was fun and a good experience.
On my way home, I was stopped by a police ride check. I freaked out. No, I hadn't been drinking but no one likes to be stopped by the police. I worried they would find a reason to charge me with something. I always feel guilty that I have done something wrong. The cop laughed with me about my fear after I had assured him that I don't drink.
Four more days until Monday when I leave for New York City. Can't wait.