I'M GRATEFUL FOR THREE MILES OF HOPE

Howdy, Campers ~ and Happy Poetry Friday! (My poem, the link to Poetry Friday, and info on my next FREE class are all below)

I'm back from the NCTE convention in the Mile High City--Denver!

This year, the theme of the convention, DREAM BOLDLY, inspired uplifting and galvanizing sessions for the 8,000 educators, reading specialists, administrators, librarians, authors, poets, readers and more.

I just finished my second exhausting/exhilarating year of a three year term on NCTE's Poetry Awards Committee.  I've learned so much being on the committee. Last year--my first--was hard--a shock to my system, as I am not a fast reader. At first, books came a box at a time, and every day felt like Christmas.

Eventually? It felt like the sorcerer's apprentice--GAH! My bookshelves overflowed with magnificent and not-so-great books, and I stopped reading the morning paper because there were books to read and review on a daily basis. I could swear we were mailed 30,000 books each, give or take. 

This year was much easier. I was prepared. I asked for help from fellow committee members when I was brawling with google docs (where we posted our reviews), and they generously helped me.

Here's my wonderful committee feeling relieved, after finalizing our award choices (from right to left): Glenda Funk, Jongsun "Sunny" Wee, Junko Sakoi, Willeena Booker, Kasey Short, & me

The members are listed in more detail here.

And here are our winners:

(To read the list which includes the titles, authors, and illustrators, click on this link)

This the beautiful 40-foot high Big Blue Bear peeking into Denver's Convention Center

I felt a marked rise in hope for our democracy--both at home and at the convention. 

But today, I'm frightened by the news about Three Mile Island restarting operations. 

Even at the end of an exhilarating 3-mile hike with Sadie. Because I remember that terrifying spring day in 1979.   And I remember what I learned from the brilliant crusader, Dr. Helen Caldicott. When I heard her speak at UC Santa Barbara in the late 1970s or early 1980s; she changed my life.

Fear wound around me like thick rope. 

But...

For years, I've listed five things I'm grateful for each night and send it to a dear friend. Last night's gratitude list included:

*I'm grateful for today's outrageously, courageously wonderful 3-mile hike with Sadie.

*I'm grateful for my imagination. 

Still, Three Mile Island was too big. It took up too much space in my brain and my body. 

WHEN WILL THEY EVER LEARN?” I kept thinking. 

Then I thought back to my gratitudes.

My imagination piped up: "Honey, maybe you need to write about how you're coping (or not coping) right now. In fact," it continued, "listen to Pete Seeger and Joe Hickerson's song." Whereupon my imagination started singing Where Have All The Flowers Gone?...a little off-key, but still, it was moving...as is its refrain "When will they ever learn?"

"So," my imagination said, shoving me towards my laptop, "go copy that song's pattern. Make it a song of hope. You can do this!" 

(My imagination often scares the dickens out of me, but it can also be a compassionate cheerleader.)

And so, I limped to my laptop and wrote a rough draft of a poem...or perhaps it's a song. It only has two verses--it needs more. But it does contain seeds of hope:

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE? 
by April Halprin Wayland
sung to the tune of the original song

We are planting flowers, child.
They’ll be rising
We are planting flowers, child
We’ll watch them grow
We are planting flowers, child
To share these seeds, let’s pass them on
Each day there’s more to learn
Each day there’s more to learn

We are shining beams of light
In the shadows
We are shining beams of light
Let’s make them glow
We are shining beams of light
Guide our neighbors through the night
Each day there’s more to learn
Each day there’s more to learn

poem © 2025 April Halprin Wayland.

Oh--I almost forgot--here's a bit of hope:

Come join my next 3-hour class on March 4, 2026 through UCLA Extension's Writers' Program class, INTRO TO WRITING THE CHILDREN'S PICTURE BOOK ~ A Workshop for Absolute Beginners 

Enrollment ends January 11^th...and classes fill FAST. Why? Because UCLA Extension offers 3-hour classes for FREE!

(After 26 years of teaching, do I still get nervous as my class begins? You betcha. But the moment I know my students and I are in that flow--that's the Great Gift.)

many thanks to Barney Saltzberg for this illustration

Note: this is a basic workshop for absolute beginners.

Learning to write a picture book in three hours is like

speed-dating.

On roller skates.

Down Mt. Everest.

Can you really learn everything you need to know in three hours?

No.

Still, the chase is quite exciting.

* * *

Thank you for reading this post. 

Now, it's your turn. 

What makes you grateful? 

What gives you hope? 

Thank you, Irene, for hosting Poetry Friday at Live Your Poem!

written with hope and gratitude for each of you
by April Halprin Wayland

with help from Sadie

Sadie this summer, taking a break
on a hot hike in Southern California

POETRY IN THE TIME OF COVID19

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Howdy, Campers, and Happy Poetry Friday! (My poem and the PF link is below)

The topic we TeachingAuthors are exploring in this round is Creativity in the Time of the Coronavirus, a take-off on the title, Love in the Time of Cholera. It's funny--I've been thinking about the title of that book a lot lately, though I've never read it. I wonder if you've thought of that title, too.

And as much as I appreciate and am in awe of the shower of resources, inspirations and suggested activities raining down around us,

can I be totally honest here and say that simply reading the title of each link tires me out?

Eli, after looking at too many Instagram posts

In suggesting this topic, our Blog's Founder and Queen Mother, Carmela, sent us this link to Cynthia Leitich Smith's Twitter thread on March 22nd. (I've condensed it--it was 10 separate tweets on the same day):

Dear Children's-YA Author/Illustrator,

• It’s okay if you can’t get any writing and/or artwork done today.
• It’s okay if you need your writing and/or artwork more than ever.
• It’s okay if you’re upset that your new book isn’t getting the attention it deserves.
• It’s okay if you’re struggling to do online events.
• It’s okay if you don’t have a single idea for a video lesson or activity.
• It’s okay if you’re opting out of online events.
• It’s okay if you owe people messages.
• It’s okay if you don’t have the money to purchase or donate.
• It’s okay if you can’t focus on anything beyond your family/household.
• You take care. Wash your hands. Do what you need to do. Really, it’s okay.

I love all those okays. This list is so forgiving. So comforting.

Have you looked at your calendar lately after canceling event after event, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief?

I had to stop attending my beloved critique group when I was ill and have yet to reconnect. I couldn't drive across Los Angeles for an hour when I was sick. Once I let that go, I realized something: that drive is not healthy for me even when I'm well. 

And thus I eliminated several things I'd done regularly for years.

Am I an agoraphobic in an audacious person's clothing?

On March 24th (So long ago, right?  Where have all my days gone?), I was feeling "teacherly" and emailed a friend, who seemed as lost as I feel now:

Dear Janey,

I think you're asking for survival tips. 

Yesterday my survival tip was to label what I feel. I feel lethargic. Just finding that one right word for how I was feeling helped me. And I stopped yelling at myself for not being as productive as I imagine everyone else is. I just let little April be lethargic. 

Today I made a point of meditating before having breakfast. (What? Delay my breakfast????). Because it's easy to not meditate as my day speeds off on its own. This helped.
And I hiked with my dog and my two grand dogs (I call myself their Dogma) on a beautiful, muddy trail. Drenching myself in green always moves my meter closer to happy.

Note that this upbeat, helpful email was written when my son and his fiancee were hunkered down with us. I loved having them and their dogs fill our house. (Bonus: he bakes bread every day. That smell is house perfume.)  But they drove off to New Mexico two weeks ago, where he'll starts his residency in emergency medicine soon. (I know--yay, Son, and also, oh, dear...).

So now I'm alone most of the day, which is VERY different. I am not gardening. I am not making ratatouille. I am not decluttering. I am not even cutting my bangs.

But how am I surviving creatively?

I write a poem every day and send it to my friend, author Bruce Balan, who sends me a poem each day, too.

Want an example?

On April 7th, I wrote in my journal:

LA County is asking everyone to refrain from even shopping for food this week. We're bracing for a big wave of COVID-19...unless we all lay low. This is kind of like when you're in the ocean and you've miscalculated and that huge wave, which you'd thought you could swim over, is about to crash on top of you and you dive deep, hoping to avoid being in the washing-machine of the wave.

from Pixabay

And here's my April 7, 2020 poem (I immediately want to tell you that it's just a draft and I know it needs cutting and lots of other things are wrong with it, but I refrain from telling you this):

DADDY TOOK YOUR HAND

by April Halprin Wayland

Remember when Daddy took your hand

after you were thrashed

in a watery washing-machine of a wave

and you both walked slowly, so slowly

into the summery ocean
as that big wave came closer

and you could barely breathe

but he was gentle

he was calm

he held your hand

until you rose above the roar

as it pounded sand

and when the next one—the very next one

came growling at both of you

he showed you how to dive deep,

deeper then you thought you could go

below the wave's grasp

so it rumbled it rumbled

past

and all waves

the rest of that day

were just plain old nothing-to-be-afraid-of waves

you could fly

you could breathe

you were somewhere glorious and far away

all day

poem and drawing of the child in the rain © 2020 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

================================

So...for today, I stand back and watch the world spin. And I forgive myself. It's okay.

Thank you, Molly, at Nix The Comfort Zone for hosting Poetry Friday!

Posted with gratitude by April Halprin Wayland with help from Eli and our teeny tiny newborn pond turtle:

Trimerics: back to the familiar and into the unknown

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Howdy, Campers!  Happy Poetry Friday (PF link & my poem are below)

First of all, we at TeachingAuthors hope you're getting some solid sleep, walking a dog, connecting with those you hold dear, and finding a little island of peace in this brave new world. We appreciate each of you very much.💓

This is our final post on how we're taking leaps in our career or our writing during this leap year, beginning with Bobbi's terrific Taking Leaps in Historical Fiction. (Lately, going to the grocery store feels like a leap of faith, doesn't it?)

But before we get started, a brief detour. The Jewish holiday of Passover in 2020 begins at sundown on Wednesday, April 8, and ends Thursday evening, April 16. The first Passover seder is on the evening of April 8. Here's how to celebrate Passover online, posted on the blog ReformJudaism.org, and here's an article on how those in Staten Island are (or are not) celebrating Passover in this strange time (Orthodox Jews cannot celebrate online).

So the other day I got a lovely email from Alysse Rich, the Principal of the Children’s Jewish Studies Program in Toronto Canada's Danforth Jewish Circle. If you have 10 minutes, enjoy watching Alysse (and little Arthur) reading and singing my Passover picture book, MORE THAN ENOUGH, (cheerfully illustrated by Katie Kath) to her school. (Alysse plays a mean guitar player and has a lovely voice.)

Okay ~ now let's get back to our regularly scheduled program: the leaps each of us has taken or hopes to take.

Today I encourage you to take a leap: try a poetic form that's new to you. And since I've fallen in love (again) with trimerics, why don't you try writing one? 

In June 2011, I posted about falling in love with trimeric poems for the first time. Here's a good definition from http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/trimeric/: Trimeric \tri-(meh)-rik\ n: a four stanza poem in which the first stanza has four lines and the last three stanzas have three lines each, with the first line of each repeating the respective line of the first stanza.  The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -. 

My love for trimerics faded, but now I love being back in the arms of this form. In fact, trimerics have become my escape from pandemic pandemonium (and emails!  Is everyone drowning in helpful or alarming or helpfully alarming emails?!?).

Why do I love trimerics? Because all I need is a first line. That line takes my hand and leads me to places I've never known. Each new poem pushes me to leap into the unknown.

drawing (c)2020 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

Here, for your reading pleasure, are three trimerics.

In TENDER, the first line walked onto my page, unattached to any idea. It grew into a poem about my son when he was a young teen.

TENDER
by April Halprin Wayland

He's a slip of a boy, really.

Tender as a slim green shoot

just angling out of earth.

But there are other ways in him.

Tender as a slim green shoot,

he also bristles into cactus,

a dragnet of needles—watch out!

Just angling out of earth,

he can still be caught (wear gloves!)

He can still be taught to breathe gently.

But there are other ways in him

beyond tender, beyond thistly.

Walk into his rooms. Switch on each light.

==============================

I have NO idea where this one came from:

CHANGE OF PLANS
by April Halprin Wayland

"One more thing," she said quietly,

not wanting to interrupt him.

He looked up from the last chapter.

He had been reading a murder mystery.

Not wanting to interrupt him

was her mantra, her world view, her Golden Rule...

until Aunt Blanche had that talk with her.

He looked up from the last chapter

and saw that she was aiming a blow torch

at his lap.

He had been reading a murder mystery.

He was dying to know how it ended.

He didn't know that she had been reading it, too.

==================================

And this one I wrote today. Once again it started with the title.

FRIGHTENED? ME?

by April Halprin Wayland

When I was little,

my mom used to say,

"Every bad dream is a story you tell yourself."

She would rock me to sleep.

My mom used to say,

"Dark things that shake you awake
will be gone in the morning."

"Every bad dream is a story you tell yourself,"

she'd murmur, rocking.

I loved her warm flower smell.

She would rock me to sleep.
She can't anymore.

I've learned: now I tell myself a different story.
=================================

all poems (c)2020 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

If you DO find yourself fiddling with trimerics when taking a break from sewing face masks (which, even if they're just bandanas, are apparently great if you want to keep yourself from touching your face 90 times a day), please share them with me ~ I'd love to read what you came up with!

Thank you, Tabatha, for hosting Poetry Friday
at The Opposite of Indifference

posted in good health from a respectful distance by April Halprin Wayland

Letting Go of Fear (in Our 10th Year!)

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Howdy, Campers! Happy Poetry Friday! (poem and the link to PF is below)

Before we begin, there's good news for those of you who want to win a terrific book: We’ve extended the deadline to enter our latest book giveaway of a signed copy of The Magic Words: Writing Great Books for Children and Young Adults by editor and author Cheryl B. Klein. You’ll find giveaway instructions in Carmela’sMarch 29 post. The new deadline is now Tuesday, May 7, in part to honor the 100th anniversary of Children’s Book Week. Click here to find out how to enter.

And now...happy 10th blogiversary, fellow Teaching Authors! In particular, happy blogiversary to our founder and fearless leader, Carmela Martino, who has steered the TA ship across the years. I cannot begin to thank you for hauling me on deck just before we set sail. My world is so much richer for it!

pretty amazing

In honor of this memorable milestone, all current and several former Teaching Authors are sharing our favorite posts.  I've decided to go all the way back to 2009. Here's my post on our first topic, "How I Became a Teaching Author."  At the end of that post I conclude that teaching is generosity.

I've become more and more comfortable being honest with our readers. Today I know that being honest is a form of generosity.  (And to be honest, I was scared straight out of my jimmy-jammies writing that post.)

In this safe space, we've often shared fears about writing or teaching (find some of those posts here); I felt like an imposter as a writer and as a teacher for so long, fear was a second skin.

But this year something's changed. 

I must be like the Cowardly Lion at the end of the movie, The Wizard of Oz. As he is awarded a medal for courage, he becomes brave. After I was given an outstanding instructor award by the UCLA Extension Writers' Program, I believed that I actually was a good instructor, rather than pretending to be one.

Here is a not-yet-good-enough draft of a poem about how I so often felt:

TEACH
by April Halprin Wayland

I cannot do this today.

I sit on the stool in this empty classroom.

How dare I believe I can teach.

Am I a teacher?

Do other teachers feel this way--

slightly flu-ish, wanting to puke, even?

They should bring in someone else,

someone with a sword, maybe.

I wonder if my second grade teacher felt this way.

I wonder if all my teachers felt this way.

I almost fall off my stool 

imagining that.

But as I began teaching the first quarter of this year, here's what I wrote:
.

AGAIN
by April Halprin Wayland
.
Again she drives in early

unloads books

hooks up her laptop to the screen

puts one sheet of lavender paper

on each desk

puts the perfectly blooming hyacinth

just so on the edge of her desk

tapes her favorite quote on the front door

and two more inside her classroom.
.

Again she takes off running shoes

puts on high heels

brushes her hair

fills her water bottle

settles in.

She breathes for a moment,

closing her eyes.

Then she looks at the clock,

opens the door

and...
begins.

poems (c) 2019 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved. (Even on that crummy draft.)

One sign on my classroom door

As we celebrate 10 years of this blog, I celebrated 20 years as an instructor in the UCLA Extension Writers' Program.

I am no longer afraid to walk through that door. (And, though the fear has diminished, I still sweat writing this blog!  Perhaps that fear will disappear by our 20th blogiversary.)

my wonderful first class of 2019 holding some of their favorite picture books
both photos taken by our guest speaker, author Alexis O'Neill

Thank you for teaching me so much, readers. 

Happy Ramadan, Passover and/or Easter to all!

 And thank you, Amy at The Poem Farm for hosting!

Posted by April Halprin Wayland with help from Eli, the licky, lanky dog with the operatic bark.

Eli consulting Bear

The #1 Best Thing About Teaching

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Howdy Campers and Happy Poetry Friday! (links to PF, to my poem, and to my autographed Passover book are below)

Shhh!  Come sneak into the TeachingAuthors' Teacher's Lounge and eavesdrop as we consider what we like most about being teachers.

Carmela started us out with Two Things I Love About Teaching Writing, Esther continues our theme with the many ways she connects with her students and the resources she connects her students to, and today I'm up to bat.
..............................

First, may I say that this is a somber (and an important) time to think about teachers. And students. And about how much we as a people value them. I had originally planned to post a funny poem about revision and how scary it can be, but the images were inappropriate at this time in our country.

..............................
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Okay. Here's what I like about teaching:.

I like to perform.

But I particularly like when I am most authentic, when I forget myself, when my light reaches theirs.

drawing © 2018 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

JUST FOR ME
by April Halprin Wayland

At the end of class she says,

"Write something you want,

something about yourself you want to change,

or something you worry about."


Heads down, pens flying, we write.

I use my purple ink pen.

Then we all look up at her,

expectantly.


"Now," she says,

standing by the windows in shiny black heels,

"rip it into a thousand pieces and throw it away."

Someone gasps.


"Don't share

what you wrote

with anyone."

Our eyes widen.


"That's right: this idea is yours.

To think about. To live.

Not to post on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat.

Not to tell a soul."


We ceremonially

rip 

our revelations

to bits.


We file

out of class

in silence;

in shock.


I can't tell you what I wrote. I won't.

But I can say that it's

written in purple ink


inside me.
poem © 2018 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved

Here's what I wrote to fellow TeachingAuthor Esther Hershenhorn one night:

Just home from teaching. I was really dreading tonight's class... Revision is a hard topic to get through--how much work it takes to revise and rewrite. But it turned out to be a gloriously wonderful class... So I guess I'm a teacher after all.
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It may have been the best class I've taught in years.  Funny how that happens.

And that's what I like about teaching: the intangible, gloriously wonderful, unpredictableness of it all.

Thank you for hosting PF today, Liz at http://elizabethsteinglass.com/blog/

And one more thing...Passover is March 30-April 7th this year, so...

...if you're looking for AUTOGRAPHED copies of my picture book, More Than Enough ~ A Passover Story (Reviewed in the New York Times!) call the fabulous folks at my local independent bookstore, {pages} a bookstore, 310-318-0900 to pre-pay (+tax & shipping) and specify who it’s for. Gift wrapping available on request.

Or buy at it your local independent book store!

(If there are no indies near you, that’s another story. Then by all means buy it here.)

posted with hope for teachers and students everywhere by April Halprin Wayland with help from Dropsy, a particularly contemplative goldfish in our pond.

There's a Monster in My Closet

(Carmela here--I'm posting this for Mary Ann because she's having computer issues. So if you're reading online, ignore the above byline. )

There's a Nightmare in my Closet is a terrific picture book by Mercer Meyer. I first read it in library school and connected with the little boy and the monster who lived in his closet immediately (even though I was 22 at the time.) As a kid, I had to make sure my closet door was shutshutshut, before I could even think of getting into bed, let alone sleep.

Reading Bobbi’s post, “Shadows on the Wall” hit a lot of my own sensitive spots. Unsurprising since we both write historical fiction (a notoriously “tough sell” in the currents market) and don’t have agents. Actually, I’ve never had an agent, something that has always made me feel there is something wrong with me, no matter how many books I’ve sold without one.

But those aren’t the monsters in my closet (at least this week.) There is literally a MONSTER in my closet.

A monster of a book. And I’m afraid of it.

This book has been germinating (festering?) for over 10 years, if you subtract the years I was dealing with so much family drama that writing this blog every couple of weeks was all I could manage. Well, the drama has subsided, and that novel is still there. All 300 plus disjointed pages of it.

Why would a book scare me? Especially since those are my words and my characters?

For one thing, over time (and with a lot of research) this novel has grown (and grown) from a straightforward, single character POV, third person in prose, to a three character, first person POV…in verse. I wasn’t trying to be cool or innovative in choosing to write this way. As I wrote, I realized that there was no way this particular story could be told through a single character’s eyes. I found that the story was too heavy written in prose. It worked much better in short free verse scenes. I’ve never written in verse. I’ve never written in multiple POV. One thing I was doing during “the drama years” when I wasn’t writing, was reading every multiple POV verse novel I could find. (So the time wasn’t entirely wasted.)

Why else does this particular book intimidate me? It was weighted with a lot of emotional baggage. My story “seeds” almost always come from my own family and family history. Yankee Girl was about my own childhood, Jimmy’s Stars from my mother’s family. This WIP is from my father’s family. He knew I was writing it (as does every living member of the Rodman family). I had so hoped to finish it before he passed away this last September, on his 95th birthday. He helped with so much of the research, as did my Rodman cousins.

I am afraid this book will be 300 pages of nothing-in-particular (yes, I DO know what the book is about and could give you the 25 second elevator pitch). Years ago, an agent who read the synopsis and first ten pages said, “You write very well, but I can’t imagine WHO would want to read THIS,” handing me the manuscript, dangling it between two fingers, as if it were contaminated.

In the time I’ve been working (or not) on this novel, I have written and sold four picture books, so it’s not like I have writer’s block. I have This Particular Book Block. I am afraid. I’m afraid I won’t do justice to the story, a story that I fervently believe in. Maybe too fervently? Too emotionally involved?

I don’t have much hope in publishing this book. I have been told I am a “literary” writer to the point that I should have a t-shirt that reads, “Literary Writer, will work for food.” (Literary writer is editorspeak for “Good reviews, no sales.”) Deep down, I hate the thought of self-publishing a story that I’ve wanted to tell my whole life, just so my friends and relatives can read what I’ve been doing for ten years. (Not casting shade on self-publishing, but that takes skills I don’t possess, to say nothing of my own money.)

So there you have it. My scary book-in-the-closet. The book that is keeping me from writing anything else. I can’t go any further as a writer until I fling open the closet door, and drag the monster into daylight. Do what needs to be done to it. Send it out into the world to fend for itself.

And maybe…just maybe, like the monster in Mercer Meyer’s There's a Nightmare in my Closet, it will turn out to be a meek creature, as scared of me as I am of it.

by Mary Ann Rodman

P.S. If you haven't entered our giveaway for a chance to win the 2018 Children's Writer's & Illustrator's Market (CWIM), there's still time! See this post for details.

6 Word Memoir ~ Fearlessly Looking Forward To The New Year!

Howdy, Campers ~

Happy New Year from all of us at TeachingAuthors! We are kicking this year off with a tip-of-the-hat to Smith Magazine's Six-Word Memoirs http://www.sixwordmemoirs.com/  More on this in a bit.

Thank you, Linda, for hosting Poetry Friday today. The link to PF is below, as is my small poem.

"The first and great commandment is: Don't let them scare you." ~ Elmer Davis

When I was young, my blood froze if I saw a spider across the room. I experienced sheer terror at the thought of a spider. When I was in college, I lived in a student co-op, with six guys and six girls. We were like a large family whose parents were gone for a very long weekend. We cooked and had dinner together each night—my kind of heaven. One of my first chores was to clean the downstairs bathroom. This was the University of California, Davis, originally an ag school, surrounded by fields and vineyards. So the Davis Student Co-op was filled with ...spiders. Of course it was. And the downstairs bathroom was apparently their party room.

How could I admit my phobia to my fellows? I could not. Instead, I made a sign that said "Charlotte," pasted it just under the big spider in the corner above the sink, and used a rolled up newspaper to send the rest to spider heaven. 

Charlotte?
credit: https://morguefile.com/creative/ardelfin

Every week I'd talk to Charlotte. I grew fond of her. With Charlotte's help, my phobia disappeared.

Fast forward to my life these days. I am afraid of a boatload of things--but not spiders. For example, I am afraid of earthquakes. So I volunteer with CERT, Community Emergency Response Team. We learn to rescue people. CERT turns neighbors into team members so that in an emergency we band together. This doesn't mean I've lost my fear of earthquakes, it means if there is one, I have a job to do, and a community of people who will help me do it.

More fears: I am a TeachingAuthor who is afraid of teaching...and of writing. Of teaching badly. Of writing something mediocre. 

I am learning to walk through these fears with the help of others who have gone before me, including our tiny village of TeachingAuthors ~ and all of you, our readers. Thank you.

This year? I am afraid for democracy. 

Sometimes 

I am terrified.

Fear, I'm told, is the opposite of faith. I have faith in my own resilience, in the basic goodness of the universe, in a village of courageous and smart friends and fellows along the way.

So, I've decided to copy many of you who, like Irene Latham, choose One Little Word (OWL) to guide them each year. My word for 2017 is Fearless. Every day I tell myself I am fearless and everyday I believe it a smidgen more. I love the whole community of words that I could have chosen, including unflinching, unafraid, defiant, gutsy, and audacious.

In fact, SixWordMemoirs.com is having a contest right now about hope in the new year which ends January 13th: Basically, "Tell us how you keep hope alive in six words." You can read the rules here.

#HopeIn6Words
by April Halprin Wayland

Breathe.

Hold hands.

Move fearlessly

forward.

photo credit: https://morguefile.com/creative/thelesleyshow

What is your Six Word Hope in this New Year?

Check out a host of Poetry Friday hopes at Linda's TeacherDance

posted by April Halprin Wayland with a heart full of hope (with help from Eli, Monkey and Snot.)

Coping with Your Inner Critic

If you've been reading our recent blog posts, you've had glimpses of how we TeachingAuthors are spending our summer, from researching to reading to teaching.

This week, I'm attending the Catholic Writers Guild Convention in Schaumburg, Illinois, where
on Wednesday I gave a presentation on "Coping with Your Inner Critic." Much of my talk was based on the book Wrestling with Your Angels: A Spiritual Journey to Great Writing (Adams Media) by Janet O. Hagberg. Unfortunately, the book is out-of-print, but you can still find used copies online.

Hagberg says,

“We all have strong inner critics standing on one shoulder, reminding us of our failures, telling us to stop before we embarrass ourselves . . . .”

The critic’s fundamental goal is to destroy our confidence. But Hagberg also reassures us that:

“If on one shoulder we have the critic, on the other we have an angel . . .  providing answers to the critic.” 

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

Hagberg encourages us to get to know and befriend our critic. The critic tends to be sharp-tongued, but if we set boundaries and give the critic specific assignments, we can get it to keep quiet long enough for us to get some work done. As Hagberg says:

“The critic loves to be needed, and the grooming, editing, and polishing aspects of writing lend themselves to the critic’s skills. . . . Critics are also great at sorting out how to use feedback. . . . "

I promised the conference attendees that I'd share some additional resources on dealing with the critic in today's blog post. Here are several from our TeachingAuthors blog:

• a post I wrote several years ago on using deadlines to silence the inner critic
• April's great Wednesday Writing Workout on overcoming our writing fears in this post, which includes a terrific poem
• Mary Ann's post on when to listen to the inner critic
• Jeanne Marie's post on how she uses an outline to quiet her critic 
• JoAnn's post on how she outsmarts her critic by getting up early

The following articles may also be of interest:

• Ryan Urie's piece on Write to Done on "How Fear Helps You Be a Better Writer"
• Suzannah Windsor Freeman's article on Write It Sideways, "15 Common Writing Fears You Need To Face"
• Sage Cohen's post at Writer's Digest on "10 Ways to Harness Fear and Fuel Your Writing"

I'll still be at the conference when this post goes live. But when I get back, I'd love to know how you, our TeachingAuthors readers, cope with your inner critic. Please share in the comments below.

Happy writing,

Carmela