People's responses to one's own work is always really interesting. It's really hard to not read one's own reviews. I've had one horrible, horrible review, and I'll remember it to this day. It called one of my plays a "trite reproduction of the Breakfast Club" and was written by a reporter for the Real Estate section. I still have no idea why someone from the Real Estate section was sent to see my play.
Anyway, on the other hand, after the most significant presentation of one of my works so far, I hurried into the bathroom the moment the performance ended to avoid hearing people chatting about what they'd seen. The bathroom was a poor choice, as I found myself in a stall as more and more people flooded in and stood talking about the play while waiting for their chance to pee. I was hiding in a stall, when I heard someone being carried into the bathroom weeping, and settled into a chair.
Person 1: Here, you can sit here..
Person 2: Ohhhh...*sniffles*
Person 1: Are you going to be alright?
Person 2: Yes. It was... It was so beautiful.
Person 1: I know. It was great.
Person 2: *sniffles, blows nose* She got it right. She just got it right.
Person 1: I know, and she's so young! How old is she?
Person 2: I don't know...
Person 3: *entering* Oh - you're crying. You're crying! I was crying too.
Person 1: Me too.
Person 3: That's why I had to duck in here... My make-up!
Basically at that point, I couldn't take it any more, so I came out of the stall - to silence - washed my hands, smiled politely. Then they all recognized me and wanted to shake my hand... but there were no paper towels... I got some toilet paper, dried off, shook hands... hugged the crying lady... suddenly everyone in the bathroom wanted to talk to me, but eventually I excused myself and went to the lobby. It was nice to hear the praise, but actually odd and disturbing to know I'd moved a group of strangers so deeply. I don't like thinking about that kind of power. I just like telling stories. Having an audience is ancillary to something I just sort of need to do. I always say writing, for me, is like vomiting when one is very, very drunk: awful, but necessary to get the poisen out. My need to tell is much stronger than my need to be heard... I don't know if this is the case for Onstad, but I know a lot of artists who work this way. The audience is an odd creature if you don't write for adulation.