Before I sold HOTEL, before I even had an agent, I took a few chapters and read them aloud in front of a roomful of over-caffeinated strangers. There is just something about reading chapters aloud. I didn’t buy the concept at first—but now I’m a zealous convert to the gospel of spoken prose. (Can I get an Amen?)

My early bias was based in my advertising career. I loathed focus groups—basically putting 8-10 strangers in a room, showing them a campaign and asking them “whatdoyathink?” The inherent problem is—people hate advertising. So you’re basically putting your ideas against a wall, with a blindfold and a cigarette, and hoping something useful comes of it. If your ideas are not killed or injured, it’s not because anyone liked them—it’s because they had really bad aim.

Poetry slams or chapter readings are different. Not only do you get to hear the music of the language, as Orson Scott Card calls it, but everyone is basically sitting there with an open mind—daring you to entertain them.

So if I can read five pages through a crappy microphone and get an emotional reaction—laughter, tears, or start a riot in someone’s heart, I know it’s working. If they look bored or confused, I’m not doing my job.

Last night I went to Open Mic Night and read the first chapter of a new book, tentatively titled: Short Bus. Nobody looked bored; quite the contrary. Then again, maybe it was the caffeine.