When I Read Aloud

I’m not sure what happens when I read aloud from my book. I did it this evening and it went something like this. I found I was better sitting rather than standing, partly because of my back aching and partly because why would you read something standing up? I can’t do it. I’ve never read standing up anywhere apart from in church, when I was a child, and it was forced on me, or once or twice at assembly at school, when I remember my voice became thin and listless.
        I talked a little, which comes easily enough given what I spend most of my day doing, describing what I was doing when I thought of writing the book and several things came to me: Harley Street, all the voices I have heard speak to me, and the silences; that I wrote a ghost story, I didn’t write about anything, and I remembered the beginning of The Turn of The Screw, in Harley Street.
        And there was something about the other writers reading this evening, Sean and Seraphina. I’ve met a lot of authors and they’re usually creepy, like men wandering in and out of sex shops, but Sean and Seraphina weren’t like that. Sean and Seraphina didn’t feel as if they had something to be ashamed of: they knew something about writing that they didn’t have to say. It came out as they read, like the hum of bees or something. And then I read something from my book that Sam, my friend, Dodo-Master of Ceremonies, suggested. I didn’t get lost in it but it seemed to happen. It must be something like singing a song, for which I’d probably stand up and throw myself around. So songs are in some ways different from reading, but I’m not entirely sure how.
        Perhaps you can’t hold a book and throw yourself around, and I wouldn’t throw myself around anyway (back ache).
        Nico stood still. Most of the singers I like stand still. None of them sit down.
       There’s a problem with tenses here, which is less to do with a grammar failure than what happens when I read aloud..

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