On Fridays, I allow a few minutes for students to ask me any kind of question they wish. Sometimes they ask about real world things they don’t understand, like the current Korean negotiations, Trump’s actions, etc. Sometimes they’re random questions about the world (many of which could be answered with a fifteen-second Google search), and sometimes they’re about me.
Today, a fairly astute student asked if I’d ever be able to speak as an author, given that I’m shy and an introvert.
It’s a good question, but easily answered: I could do it easily, because I’m a teacher.
Of course, even if I do get published, that doesn’t guarantee I’ll ever have the opportunity to speak publicly; debut authors don’t get book tours, and few people would go to attend an event with someone they’ve never heard of, anyway.
But if I ever did get to that tier of writerly success, I could handle it. I spend, after all, six hours a day “on stage” in the classroom, and I’m one of the more entertaining teachers on campus. My students regularly comment that they enjoy my sense of humor, my ability to make sometimes dull lessons entertaining, and my willingness to look foolish to make a point for them.
But it wouldn’t be entirely smooth. Because here’s the thing: With an audience of fans, I’d be fine. With an audience of authors or editors or agents, I’d be a mess, talking too fast, trying not to act nervous, and generally trying not to fall apart. While I’m good at talking to students, I’m crap at talking to peers. I get nervous when I feel judged, and fellow teachers judge far, far more harshly than students do.
The key is that when I’m teaching, I’m performing. When I’m talking in front of teachers, I’m not performing–they know the tricks. I’m trying to get to a point where I can turn that into performance, as well, but it’s difficult.