rivers_bend

I had SUCH a fantastic time last night. When T, my classmate and member of my writing group, suggested going, it sounded good, but almost more something I felt like I should want to do than something I did want to do. Nonetheless, I looked it up online as requested, and when I saw the note saying that it was likely to sell out and I should buy tickets online, I did. And thank goodness because when we arrived there was a massive queue, and not long afterwards, a woman was moving down the line shouting that it was all sold out and if you didn't have tickets you wouldn't get in.

T had kindly agreed to drive and she came and picked me up. The route her aunt had suggested was one I'd driven before with mom (though in daylight to be fair) and so it was pretty much easy to get there. We found parking in the same block as the venue, though one street south, which was easy to get into, legal and free. It had stopped raining a few hours earlier and the night had a lovely Friday buzz to it. The queue was populated with people mostly in their mid 20s to early 40s I would say (though more of the former than the latter), and people seemed to be excited to be there. I was slightly miffed when we got to the door (both definitions of the word) and the willcall tickets which we had paid a $7 service fee for consisted of my name on a list with two ticky boxes after it. Not quite sure where my $7 bucks went. But never mind.

It was an issue launch for Opium Magazine as well as the event itself, and was sponsored by No.209 Gin. Which meant free gin, which meant lots of drunk folks. As neither T nor I are alcohol drinkers, we paid for juice drinks and settled into our 2nd row seats.

The structure of the match was thus: 4 authors, 3 judges, 2 reading rounds, 1 tie breaker.

The authors for round one were Evany Thomas and Wesley Stace. Round two pitted Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket), and Gary Kamiya (who is a founding editor of Salon.com).

Evany was up first and she didn't read, but rather told her story. It was absolutely hilarious, despite being about the deaths of her grandparents and a trip to Dachau when she was a teen. She'd clearly been at the gin and her audience participation skills were excellent. The room was on fire. She's a TWoP writer, and also writes animal quizzes for American Girl Magazine. If you don't know what that is, google it. I have to respect someone who is willing to pimp themselves out for the cause of keeping herself in print. And someone has to write for girls and their dolls.

Next up was Wesley Stace (aka John Wesley Harding). He stood up and carried a ventriloquist's dummy onto the stage. The room was filled with gasps of horror. He asked if we would please look at the dummy but listen to him. Which got the laugh. His English accent was heavenly, made me miss England like crazy, and made me deliriously happy, all at once. His novel is narrated by George, the dummy, and the excerpt he read was brilliant and funny and enjoyable. The downside was a drunk woman stood up while he was reading and started screaming that he was breaking the rules, he wasn't supposed to read, he was supposed to tell. She wouldn't shut up. Eventually she subsided and he went on.

the judges were assessing on 1)literary merit 2)performance and 3)intangibles. The merit judge had good things to say about both of them, and good points. Like that Evany's story didn't have any sort of identifiable structure but was none the worse for that. The most popular judges comment came from the woman judging performance. Her only comment to Wesley was, 'The first man I ever had sex with was English.' Her tone left no doubt that his accent had scrambled her brains and fried her ovaries and he was aaaalllll good.

Wesley won round one.

We got a 15 minute intermission then, to consume more gin or look around the room and stretch our legs. The venue was the Swedish American Center, which is above Cafe du Nord on Market Street. The posted room capacity was 358 people and then there was a balcony as well. It was SRO, and the room was buzzing. The room has high ceilings and beams and I suppose is modeled on some sort of chalet-type theme. It looked like the sort of place you might hold a wedding reception.

The second round started with Gary Kamiya. He read a piece about North Beach in SF. I've read a lot of stories about a lot of cities in my time, and I don't know if it's growing up here or if it's something about the City, but none of them ever compare to the stories about San Francisco. His was no exception. Funny, wry, textured and detailed. And really long. They were supposed to go for no more than 10 minutes. I think he probably read for 20.

Daniel Handler was up last. He wasn't free-forming or working with props, but his excerpt from Adverbs started with a line about beheading a mockingbird while golfing. And then went on to be about how his one undying love was Keith, a boy he met once, naked in his pool house, a boyfriend of his sister. It made my slashy heart squeeeee. And squee.

After an extra bout of deliberation, Daniel won round two.

The tie-break entailed Daniel and Wesley shooting hoops with mini basketballs. The first to five won. That was Daniel. Who played the prom queen with aplomb when given his sash, ermine trimmed hat, scepter and medal.

It was one of those nights where your hands sting and ache afterwards with applause. By the end I resorted to stamping my feet because I couldn't bear to clap any more. T and I were a-bubble with joy all the way home. I can't wait to get out into the literary world of San Francisco again.