This Is My Brain—This Is My Brain On Books--by April Halprin Wayland

I have something embarrassing to tell you. Something that makes me feel as small as a flea, especially in the kidlit blogosphere.

I am a v-e-r-y s-l-o-w reader.

Or maybe I’m simply a distr—did you see that!?!—acted reader.

Either way, though I do read, I don't eat novels for breakfast like every single solitary author, teacher and librarian I know.

On the other hand, I love listening to books while I drive. Those I eat for breakfast, lunch and dessert.

Reading is a sometimes frustrating search for that satisfying click in my brain. Why don’t I read as fast as my very smart husband? He’s a CPA but he reads as if he were a librarian.

Maybe it has to do with the way I was taught to read (an experimental method of the 1960s) or maybe my brain is just wired differently than yours. Probably.

In any case for me, getting into a book is like diving into black water with a braided rope I’m supposed to slip onto a hook on the bottom of a boat.

I can’t see, I don’t want to be there, I don’t like the yucky taste in my mouth. I just want to do it and get back to dry land, ASAP. My fingers feel the boat bottom. They slide over the slimy wood, searching for the blasted hook. Where the heck is it?

And then…wait. Here it is! I loop my rope over the hook and make a good strong knot.

I float. Look around. And hey—the water’ s clear here! And…was that a cobalt blue fish? Schools of silvery things swim past my cheek. Elegant plants sway with the current.

Now I’m in no rush. In fact, I don’t want to leave this place. Ever. Now I’m the one that’s hooked.

That’s what cracking a new book feels like to me. A grumbly sort of “should” on my to-do list…resentment at having to take the time…and then, finally, click: that glorious never-wanting-to-put-this-book-down rush.

Here’s a poem about reading, a WIP—work-in-progress—for my novel-in-poems about a girl struggling with issues of food, fat, faith and friends. The book is called THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, FATTEEN.

I AM READING NOVELS AGAIN FOR DR. T’S CLASS

I wade into a weedy,

dog-doo

squishy place.

Something slimy

tangles around my ankles,

drags me down.

I breaststroke

through

muddy pages,

close my mouth

against who-knows-what

in this water.

I put my head down,

pull hard against this current,

this black water,

until…

my body

lifts.

I flow

to the wide part,

to the clear water.

No undertow.

Floating.

Ohhhhhh…

Each page

pours something silky-milky

into the bliss of my brain…

Let me linger.

Let me remain.

Let me never go back to dry land.

(So why—why—WHY!?!?—

aren’t I reading 24/7

instead of eating 24/7?)

from the unpublished novel in poems, THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, FATTEEN © April Halprin Wayland

So, tell me--does anyone else feel like this? Please tell me I’m not the only one! **********************************************************************************

It's Poetry Friday--write a poem today! Try the following Writing Workout. It's one of my favorite ways to crank up my poetry engine.

WRITING WORKOUT

FIVE RANDOM WORDS--A POETRY GAME

One summer, Myra Cohn Livingston gave her Master Class several variations on this exercise. She liked our poems so much, she collected them into a collection called, I AM WRITING A POEM ABOUT...

It was like a game. Like magnetic words on the refrigerator door. A word bowl filled with slips of paper, one word per slip. A word written on the bottom of each shoe, tossed into the center of the classroom.

Play this game alone, in class, with a group of friends, with another poet via email.

Here's all you do: choose five nouns.

Four could be related in some way and the fifth? Completely unrelated. For example: match, flame, fireplace, logs, walrus.

Or pick five unrelated words like: piano, blueberry, pigeon, cliff, map

.

To find them, look around the house, use a dictionary, leaf through a book or newspaper, take a walk outside, or ask family members for a word. (I just called to my teen son in his room, "Give me a noun!" He called back, "Map!")

Don’t think too hard, too long. Pull them out of your hat and write them down. Now.

Feel the words in your body. Close your eyes and find associations. Play with the words! Write a poem. Rhyme only if it serves the poem.

Cut words. Cut more.

Poetry is meant to be read aloud. So read it aloud. To your cat.

Change what needs to be changed. Shift for the gold.

Read it aloud again. Is it finished? Do you like it? Then stand, stretch, smile.

Do the poetry dance!

Now, share your poem with someone you love.

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