Hey Writing World.
I love you. You’re brilliant. You make amazing things happen on a page.
But you have NO IDEA what to do behind a microphone.
And so many of your venues are grim! They make us forget that there’s ever been magic in words.
Basically, there’s an oozing sore on your writing, and it’s where and how you read it.
PS. The seventh grade called; it wants its awkwardness back.
But seriously.
How many poetry, nonfiction, or fiction readings have you attended for which the audience showed up for a reason OTHER than:
A. inherent interest (attendees were other writers)
B. politeness/goodwill
C. obligation
D. coercion for extra credit
Personally, I’ve filed all two of my Extraordinary Reading Experiences away in my Magic Memory Place, so I can take them out when all hope seems lost.
At most readings, I long to take the reader aside and give her a pep talk. And a hug.
Own that mic! You’re worth it!
Or gently suggest that maybe, somewhere inside, she really does like other humans.
Also that her voice is capable of inflection.
I’m not talking about new readers. I’m talking about everyone from graduate writing students to seasoned, oft-published reading-tour professionals.
And sadly, even when speakers ARE confident, when they’re engaging Heroes of the Stage, they’re obliged to insert their Reading Mastery into a room that looks like paste. Or an EconoLodge.
Actually, I take that back. I defy anyone to deny the vague connection between the typical literary reading and a hospital room.
Dear Writers, Why Must This Be?
It’s not because writers hate people. (Well, some of us do. But let’s stick to generalizations.)
And it’s not because we don’t care about our audiences, or the value of public appearances.
We can’t get into every reason today, but we can start with this:
Significant constraints exist even for those who want to do something inviting with a reading. Finances, politics, time… not to mention Tradition.
Plus, there are FAR too few resources for writers who want to learn how to be with an audience, how to engage their texts via their voices, how to present themselves in a way that honors the work they’ve done on the page.
It’s a rare writing program that addresses the fundamentals of stage craft (how to hold a mic, how to relax), let alone the larger skill set involved in creating a mutually enjoyable experience between reader and listener.
If that weren’t enough to overcome, there are emotional/psychological hurdles:
- The idea of working a crowd can feel inauthentic to writers; as if it’s salesmanship or catering to the lowest common denominator. (It’s not.)
- Often, attentiveness to one’s body and its presence feels foreign; worse, such attention might evoke a sense of manipulation or persona, or of distraction from the text itself. (It doesn’t have to.)
- It can be easier to feign nonchalance or outright distrust of “performance” than to do the work of learning to be good at it. (Ouch.)
Nevertheless! There’s a growing interest in exploring reader/audience connection as a means of honoring – rather than undermining – the author and her words. Despite my lighthearted approach, I’m addressing this precisely because I want you to take your work more seriously.
I’m a somewhat recent convert to the Established World of Literature.
For years before joining this venerable brood, I made my living as the singer/songwriter for the band Ellery.
I’ve published far more songs than poems. I think I’ve performed hundreds of shows for every reading I’ve given. My bio (below) is an alien life form.
So what am I doing here?
Well, I got an advanced degree in English and developed an abiding love of critical theory and academia.
That story is unimaginably sordid. Let’s save it for later.
For now:
My failure to have been properly reared in The Ways of the Literary means that I still see its world as an outsider. Although I love the Literary/Academic Universe – (I’m invested in it, totally charmed by it) – it’s not my native home. Its customs, habits, and culture(s) often feel foreign, and/or hilarious.
So my goal here at Ploughshares, as interloper, as black sheep, as one among many lovers of Literature, is to hold a mirror up to its world, help it see itself, take risks, explore its potential relevance.
This will take many forms, but I’m starting with a friendly castigation of The Reading because, coming from a performance career, it captures my imagination, my exasperation: this holy, musty rite that no one’s altered for a while.
Like, since God rested.
But what truly impels me to explore it is my firm belief that the public experience of a text – as a thing in itself – is worth artistry, time and attention.
What COULD happen when a group gets together and experiences the same text at the same time, from the same voice?
And what would happen if we asked this question more often?
As a performer, and as a veteran coordinator of venues and events, I have some ideas.
So in my next post, I’ll start with fundamentals:
- How to hold a mic.
- The benefits of “soundcheck.”
- Feeling more at ease in front of people.
- How to alter a venue to better support your event.
Okay, blah blah blah “performing.” Isn’t that for music and theater? I’m a writer! A reading is not The X Factor!”
Quite right: a reading is NOT live music, nor is it theater. It’s its own animal.
But right now it has mange.
So, after fundamentals, we’ll take a look at the concept of performance itself. Because we can’t hope to improve The Public Reading without addressing the many issues listed above.
Included in all this will be various ways to engage a crowd (no gimmicks); the benefits of a “setlist;” how to practice…
Basically, how to punch the world in the face with the greatness that is your written work.
Or, if you prefer: how to give a reading that supports your craft.
Start Talking.
Meanwhile, I need your Comment Love!
What have you loved about readings you’ve attended? What have you hated?
Do you have any hilarious/embarrassing Reading stories? (Note: You may want to change names to protect the innocent)
ALSO:
What do you want to know? What would help you as a reader?
What would help your organization, university, series?
Summing Up.
My unorthodox arrival in The Literary Realm makes me eager to explore the perceived gulf between it and the (supposedly) Non-Literary world that is my home.
I’m starting us off with Public Readings…
More literary/poetry conventions – as seen from outside – are coming soon. Feel free to send suggestions!
Until then, here’s to words on the page, to words on the breath, and to you and your welcome comments below.
Also, a lot of writers’ and poets’ work—poets especially—does not translate well to the stage/voice; it’s meant to be read, or visually experienced. Some people might benefit from learning the difference.
Glad you’re addressing this because it’s something that can be improved and made more enjoyable. My question: Is it possible/advisable to hold a reading outdoors (i.e. during a festival, when other things are happening around you)?
Great question –
But I think a festival/event could be a great place in which to make poetry reading feel inviting, alluring…
I’ve only been to a handful of outdoor readings, and at all but one, it was very difficult to hear the poet, which seemed to defeat the purpose.
What do the rest of ya’ll think?
The things that are happening around can add to the art of any performance, but if the poet can’t be heard (and/or if the audience is distracted), I confess I’d begin to question the quality of the experience, at least as far as the poet (& his/her work) is concerned.
But I’m sure someone out there has been to a truly bada** outdoor poetry reading. Tell us about it!
What I find disheartening about readings, outside the academy, is that often the audience is populated with adults who want to read their own work in front of a more famous poet. Once, in an Econolodge sort of setting, I saw four terrific poets read and at the open mike, a lady pulled out a samurai sword and a scroll from her ample purse as a prop for her own reading. Memorable. But, still.
While I agree that being a good presenter of your work is important, I’m not entirely comfortable with writers being measured by the same standards of performers; However, I do think we can all do a much better job of presenting writing and writers to the general public.
5×15– a London-based series has succeeded in New York; Travers City, MI hosts the National Writers Series; Portsmouth, NH packs the Music Hall with Writers on a New England Stage; and Literary Death Match is curious and fun. Reading series aren’t stagnating. But the new, innovative ones could use some more publicity.
The Mass Poetry Festival does a great job of capturing the enthusiasm and vitality of the genre during its three-day festival. And, the Peabody Essex Museum of Salem, MA is partnering with The Tannery Series, which brings a mix of writers to their stage, so the art on the wall meets the word on the page. Granted–I’m biased; but the context and staging we give to writers can also smooth the way for audiences to appreciate contemporary literature.
Great thoughts Dawne – And fabulous lists for writers & others interested in quality readings/environments.
You said: “While I agree that being a good presenter of your work is important, I’m not entirely comfortable with writers being measured by the same standards of performers; However, I do think we can all do a much better job of presenting writing and writers to the general public.” — This is so wonderful; exactly what I want to get to. As I mentioned, a reading is “its own animal” – and I’m excited to see what more/other/else it can be.
It sounds like you’ve been to a lot of great readings, what do you think separates the great from the bad (or -ahem- memorable)? (: What are some things you’ve seen/noted that you wished were more prevalent/common at other readings? Would love to hear your insights!
Tasha, this is a helpful/engaging piece. However, please do proof for gendered speech: i.e. “There’s a growing interest in exploring reader/audience connection as a means of honoring – rather than undermining – the author and her words.”
Also, your use of em dashes is slightly distracting (mentioned in the most fairly critical manner possible). Yours are currently en dash width, and are also preceded/followed by spaces. A proper em dash is this size: —. It is also not buttressed by space. I.e. “There’s a growing interest in exploring reader/audience connection as a means of honoring—rather than undermining—the author and her words.”
Furthermore, please mind serial (Oxford) commas: “The public experience of a text – as a thing in itself – is worth artistry, time and attention.” This sentence, revised to address the aforementioned points, will read: ”The public experience of a text—as a thing in itself—is worth artistry, time, and attention.”
Again, this is a great article, but I feel bloggers must mind minutiae (it’s less distracting to readers).
Hi Pep,
I may officially love you for being as in love with grammar and minutiae as I am. Thanks for the great comment!
The Blog Editors at PShares are the official lords of the minutiae around these parts. Not that I’m blaming them for any errors you’ve caught… But – well, maybe.
(Just kidding, editors!)
Oh, except for the dash thing. Okay. I will do multiple penances for this for your sake. I know it’s sinful, but I’ve always loved my dashes spaced from the words around them; that little breathing room that emphasizes the pause.
I know it’s bullsh*t, but I can’t help myself. I have no better explanation for you. However, if the editors wish me to keep my dashes within the Realm of the Good and True, I will do so.
Not to change the subject, but…
The Oxford Comma! Yes! This instance was changed by an editor. Unfortunately for you and I, the Oxford Comma has fallen into authorized disuse in the US. (Perhaps) like you, this makes me want to pull off my fingers one at a time. I am a firm supporter of keeping the Oxford Comma, as proven by my (perhaps misguided, but enduring) love of this: http://anongallery.org/5495/with-the-oxford-comma-without-the-oxford-comma.
Thanks again Pep!
As the editor here, I’ll chime in: that Oxford comma wasn’t changed by me—I checked the original. In fact, I personally agree that there should be a comma after ‘time’ in the above example. However, recognizing the arbitrariness of style guide comma rules—and recognizing that even the most militant Oxford comma enthusiasts acknowledge it’s not always necessary—I usually don’t add or subtract an Oxford comma in a writer’s work except to impose consistency or resolve ambiguity.
I’m the same way with dashes—personally, I prefer mine as most style guides do, em-width and with no spaces (mostly because I have trouble keeping to word limits, and using no spaces lets you count two words as one). But some style guides—most notably AP—just as earnestly admonish you to include spaces around the dashes, and some insist upon ens where most would use an em. So as long as a writer is consistent, I will let them have it the way they like.
I realize that this makes me, uh, kind of a bad editor by some standards. But I find that if a piece of writing is truly engaging, even the most punctilious of editors will brush past punctuation issues that would otherwise have them howling. So I generally choose not to spend my editing time enforcing the rules of some arbitrary house style, and instead to do what I can to make the text sing.
You may say, of course, that a good editor should attend to both content and style, and I don’t disagree. But there are plenty of people out there who read AP stories, and APA articles, and Chicago books, all in a single day—and if they can manage that, I question the value of enforcing punctuation rules that clearly don’t make text any more or less comprehensible.
So I’ll change punctuation when it will change the meaning of a sentence, and in doing so I’ll follow whatever house style guide is in ascension. But if the phrase “it depends on your style guide” applies—if I’m going to disappoint someone either way—I’ll leave it as the author intended.
Dear god! No wonder I haven’t been able to sleep. There’s not enough life left in me to make up for this sin.
I can’t. Believe. I left out. The oxford comma.
This is horrifying. The penances are adding up.
Dear Universe. And Pep. And Andrew. Please forgive this abuse of the English language.
PS Andrew this is great; your editing style = brilliant. Thanks for what you do!
Oh and gendered speech, yes…
Like most of us, I was taught early on to use “his/him” when referring to the “generic” individual. And then I was encouraged to use “her” (as many magazines/blogs do these days), which strikes me (as a woman) as some kind of strange (and ill-advised) attempt to make up for the old school instruction.
I’ve seen suggestions for ungendered/de-gendered words, but these are still rather inaccessible for the general readership, and (more problematically to me) they draw attention to themselves.
I’ve seen writing in which the author uses s/he and him/her for every instance in which such a thing is appropriate, but when I’ve used these, I then find myself additionally attempting to switch up him/her with her/him and s/he with he/she …so as not to insinuate any linguistic/grammatical preference.
My latest MO, in which I randomly switch things up, is what I prefer seeing in other prose as well, because resonates most with my desire to be inclusive without making construction more important than content. As my post mentioned, I’m deeply interested in critical theory, including the impact of language on culture/values, so I’m deeply aware that gendered language choices have far-reaching implications. So I hope to make myself & everyone happy without going crazy. Fingers crossed.
Such a great idea! I came to the Lit World as a singer/songwriter, too. It’s always odd to me when brilliant writers refuse to obey their own punctuation or voice. I want to ask them if that’s what they hear when they are writing, or even when reading books written by others.
Looking forward to reading what you address here.
Thanks, Patrick! Where are your tunes?
http://www.patrickdunnmusic.com
Thanks for asking!
Self edit: “e.g.” more appropriately than “i.e.” Onward!
Too true. And it’s not only neophyte writers, either–it’s people who’ve been at it for decades. I don’t think you can get the tips out quickly enough. When I see sound poetry, I see how honed the poets are to performance, and maybe the rest of us could take a lesson even if we don’t memorize our work.
Hi Jane, thanks for the generous note! Is there a sound poet you’d recommend we all check out?
Tasha,
I love this, and you are so right. Storytellers are the creators, the keepers, and the speakers of wisdom, and they pass their wisdom on whether on paper or aloud. I love all storytellers. Their art is beyond my ability to comprehend, I’m certain. On one occasion, I hired someone as an actress whose credentials included “professional storyteller.” I adored her. Every word, every mannerism — even in her everyday demeanor — was deliberate and delivered with just the right pause and poise. I think more authors who do readings of their work would benefit greatly from some basic storytelling techniques (along with the logistical elements you will be pursuing in future blogs). Dare I say, there could come a day when an authors / storytellers begin to see their reading (storytelling) as a two-way dialog with their listeners without diluting the essence of their work or getting off-topic. My two cents. Much love!
Hi Lana! I love that you’ve brought “storytelling” to the table here, as a noun/activity/realm we can consider as part of the collective experience that is A Reading… the way the word “storyteller” embodies something Other than “author.” I like that their similarities and felt differences could lead to a conversation re: what’s led to their distinction, and what each “noun” (or our perceptions of them, at least) can learn from the other. Thank you!
reading aloud is not something that comes naturally, unless you are naturally theatrical. but there are basic things readers can do to get their texts across:
1. mark up the text – yes, write in the damn book. For long sentences use a forward slash to break them up – this tells you where to give a brief pause:
Although she was not interested in her audience/and had little faith in their perception/or their intelligence,/ Clare determined to read with/ precision and elan.
2. go through and underline action verbs for emphasis. if you have too many
‘to be’ verbs, change the fuckers, they’re boring and nondescript.
3. emphasize opposition, contraries, contrasts, even pairs, to give rhythm to your reading.
4. take your time.
5. practice a lot, read to a friend, ask friend to raise hand if she/he loses the thread.
6. look up when you read – you don’t have to make eye contact, just scan the audience, so they know you know they’re there.
7. don’t read too long – if the people who invited you say 10 minutes, stick to it, no matter how much you think they like you and your words. i’ve seen moderators stand up when a reader has gone on for far to long, and the reader has continued to read.
8. if you fluff a line, and everyone does at one point or another: if it’s tiny, sail over it. if it’s big, just pause and say, I’m going to take that again. no one will be appalled.
9. breathe, from your gut.
10. look like you’re enjoying this, in your own quiet introvert neurotic way.
11. a drink beforehand is a good idea, many drinks beforehand, not.
Hi Will, I love your approach/tone here, and the simplicity of your tips!
#8 is oft-ignored advice; I love when a performer (of any brand) can make a mistake and, if it’s an obvious one, simply acknowledge it. Doing so eases any tension in the room, and often in itself becomes an opportunity for even greater presenter/audience connection.
Thank you for taking the time to post these!
Hey everyone – which of Will’s tips is your favorite?
I loved this post. It was spot-on, and I can’t wait to read the rest of the series. I also think writers need to learn how to introduce each other well at readings. I’ve seen so many botched introductions, and it really spoils the mood. Beyond getting your facts straight, I think it would be great to know what warms up a crowd for a good writer to read his/her work.
A.J.! Yes! Introductions! Thank you for mentioning this; what a great aspect to take on in an upcoming post. Have you seen any great intros/warmups, and/or have you experienced an intro that just felt like “Wow, that *did it*!” ? If so, what do you think might have contributed to the greatness?
Anyone else?
Great piece! Looking forward to the next installment.
Some great advice a writing professor once shared was that in the q&a period, never call on the first person to raise his/her hand.
Usually that person is the one without a question, but rather a long tirade that may or may not have anything to do with your work.
This is usually the awkward moment at readings. Tips on handling these encounters are welcome.
Hi Sangu – That is fabulous and hilarious advice; what I love about it is that this kind of advice can only come from someone who’s heard a LOT of tirades. I wish I could hear some of your writing professor’s stories!
You’re so right about the Q&A time being awkward. The reader’s often thinking, “Does a lack of questions mean I was a boring reader? Is the audience just shy? Should I stand here longer? What do I do with my body while I wait? Where should I look?”
And meanwhile people in the audience are wondering, “Is this question relevant enough to ask? Should I ask a question just to make the reader feel better? or to break the silence at least? How long will s/he stand there waiting?”
Oh the dramatic silence! And if you all are like me, you don’t want people asking questions just for the sake of filling awkward time, or of making a reader feel better. (As a performer, if I knew someone was asking me a question just to make me feel interesting, and not because s/he was actually interested in my answer, I would want to claw my way under the floor. Or claw his/her eyes out.)
So: Readers!
Have you seen anyone handle this extremely well? Witnessed any creative means of decreasing awkwardness?
I’ve heard writers and hosts suggest areas of questioning to the audience, such as, “anyone have any questions about my writing practice, why I’m writing about these things, how I got started?” This seemed to help prompt Q’s, and probably made some folks in the audience feel like their questions would be “allowed”/accepted.
And different phrasing can certainly help. “Okay. What can I tell you about me, about my writing, or about what you’ve just heard?”
What a great post. Funny and smart and exactly right.
I personally wish I could hire someone to play me at readings. Even with an undergrad degree in acting, I find playing myself awkward and dull. Excellent tips.
This is hilarious Amber — I’m sure a lot of people feel this way!
And maybe we should all try it sometime.
PS – who would you hire to play you?
I am a writer of stories, albeit new. Tasha Golden makes a valid point. Stories, no matter what genre, are writers’ babies. They are cooed over, nursed to life. Elegantly honed phrases or crass vocabularies bring characters and stories to life. As an avid audio book reader as well as a print reader, I cannot understand why the writer doesn’t respect what he/she is doing by giving his/her words the added power of their own voice when he/she reads his/her work. The magic disappears replaced by monotonous and boring tones. Stories are meant to entertain. Get off your arrogance and entertain us.
I love the love you have for the work that’s been done on the page, and the desire to see that love manifested in its reading — Thank you!
I truly dread poetry readings for this very reason.
I have sat in the audience quite literally feeling pain for the reader.
The only “good” poetry reading I can say I have been to had no poems read by the author. The organizer had each writer choose a poem to be read by one of three readers. The readers were all local actors who had been given the pieces a week before the reading. It was lovely to hear pleasant voices use inflection and range and pauses to bring pieces to life.
Hi Charlotte! You and Tony (and Amber!) bring such an interesting element to this whole thing — The idea of an actor reading one’s work. I’m intrigued by how this plays into the idea of honoring the work; like if, as the author, one feels s/he can’t honor the work in a performance setting, perhaps having someone else read it is more honoring. An interesting thought!
And/but it also gives me hope for what we writers can learn from actors… Not in the sense that we can learn how “not to be ourselves,” which is a valid concern that some writers have when it comes to this type of thing, but how to project, how to be embodied/present, how to use the voice, etc.
Thank you!
This is such a fun, well-observed post– and Tasha Golden, it’s like you’re there, reading it aloud, in my head– and very charmingly, too. (I also adore that em dash, btw.) I’m a fiction writer, but when I listen to other people read fiction, I can get…sleepy. So, at my own readings, I’ve sometimes had fun assigning speaking parts to other people. One story I like to read is long but has a song in it (that I sing) as well as a sexy man with an accent. Once, I happened to be paired in a joint reading with a famous writer whose partner is Scottish, and since I’m terrible at accents, I asked the partner to read the accented lines. He did, and it was a lot of fun. For an upcoming reading, I plan to do a group reading–assigning parts to the audience– of a really short piece that’s written from a collective perspective. Why not? A reading (noun) is a public, collective experience; it’s not meant to match the private, solitary experience of reading (verb).
Hello Rebecca,
Oh the love! So happy to be reading aloud in your head!
And there’s so much to delight us in your post here… Such great ideas! They require imagination and a willingness to play – not in the sense of treating your work lightly, but in the sense of playing with expectation, with the temptation to take one’s self too seriously, the temptation to “academicize” our creative writing and our readings of it…
I love the question “Why not?” YES!! Why not? Why not see what happens when the life of the creative work is let loose in a room.
Thank you for posting!
Thank you, Tasha. Too many readings are held in badly lit lecture halls with a crackly microphone (and uncomfortable seats for the audience) or near the roaring cappucino maker if in a cafe. But it doesn’t have to be that way.
Two somewhat different readings that I’ve participated in: 1) a poet friend, Marcela Sulak, and I did a reading at Jerusalem’s beautiful T’mol Shilshom cafe on the theme of “Mistresses, Migration, and Food.” We tag-teamed, and I read brief selections from my novel, while she read poems, each reading for 3 to 5 minutes before switching off. (I think finding the prose pieces was particularly challenging, but fun.) It kept us, and our audience on our toes.
A brief excerpt of my memoir was read by an actor in Shelly Oria and Annie Levy’s excellent New York series of readings in which a professional actor and a writer are pared up, the actor performing a selection of the writer’s work. It was eye-opening to see what an actor can do with material that I’ve read myself; a valuable experience for any writer. The series is held at the Three of Cups the first Thursday of every month, and called “Sweet! Actors Reading Writers.”
Hi Tony,
thank you for these observations!
Aside from the fact that you’ve made us all jealous of your reading in a beautiful Jerusalem cafe…
“badly lit lecture halls” – yes! oh god! I think what happens in these venues is that the environment dictates the experience. Since it LOOKS like a space in which one sits passively back and is spoken AT by someone who is INFORMATIVE, that is how the audience treats it. The reader is viewed as a lecturer; the experience is perceived as informative rather than engaging/creative/imaginative. This is one of the things that makes me craziest about university reading series.
At least cafes/bars have a stage and lighting, which (like it or not) in our culture is what sets the expectation for some kind of artistic/creative/engaging experience. But then, as you noted, there’s the grinder and/or the bar making noise…
This is where/how the *altering of venues* became a passion for me; I’m excited to share more about it.
And excited to hear more from you! What made the cafe in Jerusalem such a beautiful/memorable/engaging space?
Also, I love the connection between your post & Charlotte’s (actors reading others’ writing) – What did you learn from the person who read your work?
Unfortunately there’s no way for me to post a photo of Tmol Shilshom. It’s on the 2nd floor of an old house in the center of Jerusalem, with old wooden tables, bookshelves lined with books in many languages, lots of light, glass, wine bottles. What I want to emphasize, though, is the way the tag-team approach created a dialogue between the poetry and prose. I found myself switching the order of the prose excerpts in response to the poems that had just been read. I’ve read with poets before, but we’ve each read for 15 to 20 minutes, separately, and with little room or incentive for mutual engagement.
The main thing I learned from the actor (Timothy McDonough) was to linger on the punchline or dramatic moment. (I tend to rush on to the next thing, as if it would be unseemly to emphasize a dramatic moment–in this case, a fire in a schoolroom–in my work.) He also used his hands, face, and body language to give emphasis. (As opposed to standing behind a podium, knees trembling.)
The worst reading I went to I foolishly (cruelly?) dragged my then-fifteen-year-old son to. The reader announced beforehand that he’s been told he’s not a very good reader. He was right. About 20 minutes into the reading, my son handed me a note, saying: “I wish I’d killed myself an hour ago.”
My readings suck, and I think I know why. Despite my continued pursuit of literary excellence, I’ve never lifted a finger to learn performance. Never acted, never sang, never danced on stage. When I conducted my first reading, I assumed that the words alone would carry the weight of the story, but I immediately recognized what a debacle it turned out to be. Over time, I’ve come to appreciate the importance of timing and delivery. More importantly, I’ve learned the importance of selecting an appropriate story (or fragment) for the particular audience–not an easy task. I think my readings still suck, but they suck less.