Hot Sauced Nichola

Last night,  couple of fellow writers and I went to Hot-Sauced Words.  One doesn’t write poetry (but likes to have it read to her), and the other is a brilliant poet.  I think we all got something from the evening.

We stayed to hear A.F. Moritz read.  He was excellent, I thought.  Very much deserving of all the awards he’s received.  We had to leave before Alexandra Oliver read, which is something I do regret.  Did consider ditching work this morning just so I could stay for the entire evening.

However, my current lifestyle leaves me in a position where I get to hear a lot of… unprocessed writing.  Words are carefully chosen, but the writers don’t have the experience nor the age to produce something perfect.  I prefer this type of writing to something which has had several editors slash it to bits.  I prefer the rawness, the imperfection.

Perhaps a better term would be “indie” writing.

Before the professional writers read last night, a handful of people came up to the open mic.  Of the seven readers, I only tuned one of them out.

I didn’t tune out Nichola Ward.  She, I think, is my new favourite poet.  Okay, maybe second favourite, ’cause it’s difficult to be better than James Stephens.

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