I just came across a lovely blog posting about a reading of Behind the Bedroom Door that I did with some other women at KGB, a bar here in NYC, a few months ago. I read from an essay I wrote about a long-ago sexual assault I endured, which, like many unpleasant episodes of one’s youth, has ramifications even now.
Just to be clear, though, I would be thrilled to read at Borders or Barnes & Noble, should I ever be fortunate enough to be asked. The very sweet J-school student who interviewed me after the reading, I think, meant to say I was more comfortable reading that particular essay in a small venue like KGB where people weren’t simply there to pick up Osteoperosis for Dummies or kill time before their movie started. I sure didn’t mean that I was so fabulous that I wouldn’t read at a chain store. I don’t know of any writer who is that fabulous.