before i go onstage, i remember what my mom told me, to imagine that the people in audience are sweet potatoes. it is so ludicrous i can't help but smile at the thought. i walk up to the mike and introduced myself: "I'm a writer," i say. "i write almost every day, but i don't read my stuff to anyone, ever. so please bear with me."

i rush through the first few lines of the the first piece and am somewhat startled at the sound of my amplified voice. by the middle of the the second piece, my breath and heart begin to slow down. by the third piece, my voice is running off without me, and i am lost in my words -- i am not christine, the writer, reading her poetry; i am the girl on the street corner waiting for her bus to arrive, and the people, the crowd, the sweet potatoes, aren't even there anymore.

i guess i say thank you, and i think they clap, and i am in my chair again wondering if it really happened.

later, i am walking to get my coat from the car with joel, who also performed for the first time that night. "did you hear my voice crack?" he asks.

"no," i say. "did you hear my voice shake?"

"no. your hands weren't even shaking."

"yeah, but my leg was. i thought i was going to collapse."

ed, an actor and writer, tells me i am "a natural" and should really do it more often. i smile and thank him, but i'm just not sure. i would much rather be sitting in the audience than performing on a stage. (or better, still, sitting in the corner writing.) of course, i never thought anyone could ever get me on a stage at all, so who knows?