HOPE in a world OUT OF ORDER

🌹Howdy, Campers ~ and welcome to Poetry Friday! Today's poem and the link to PF is at the end of this post.

In this, our year-end round of posts, we will each share a favorite something we've read and would reccommend. It could be a book, a poem, a quotation, another blogger's post, anything that moved us, inspired us, thrilled us or taught us something.

So here's my truth: 

I am Jewish. 

I am terrified. 

In these frightening times, I want to give you...hope.

In yesterday's journal I wrote:

What I can’t figure out is how to hold the world in the palm of my hands. I used to be able to do that: listening to NPR each morning was a way of putting the world in order for the day. I don’t listen to it much these days. Can’t. It’s all bad stuff. I listen to My Unsung Hero and reposts of The Writers’ Almanac. I love the intro music of this podcast.

At first I was going to share Alison McGhee's October 21st poem of the week by Joseph Fasano. But that very human poem is too close to truth, too close to home, too dangerous, too deeply frightening. So I won't.

Through a dear friend, I came across  a letter in The Library of Congress by Helen Keller. 

image description (my words appear on torn paper):
As I read it, my heart remembered how to expand. It remembered that even in darkness there is great beauty. It remembered that humans can do miraculous things--like teach a blind and deaf child how to describe to another the sounds and sights of the 1898 World's Fair.

I hope reading her letter helps your heart remember, too.

(Below is a copy of the first page only of her typed letter; here's a link to all nine pages of the letter and a much easier-to-read transcript)

Dear Campers ~ I was planning to post yesterday's poem, titled OUT OF ORDER. When I read it this morning, though, it didn't seem hopeful enough to share with you. 

But the poem that found me today buoyed me. I hope it will lift you up, too.

Here's how today's poem walked in my door:

I took the following sentence from a newsletter and used it as a prompt:
“Ikaria is famously known as the place where people forget to die.”

Isn't that a wonderful quote?  Doesn't it make your fingers itch to DO something with it?

Here's how I started:

1) I typed the word FORGET as a temporary title.

2) I let my laptop keys out of their cages.

3) And off they galloped! 

Kitty, trying to catch the keys, galloping off...

Here's the rough draft:

NEVER FORGET

Forget that you’re in the nose bleed section.
Forget about the hotdog,
and that guy in the row below chomping on it.
Forget that salty, hot-doggy smell
which you’ll never get out of your brain

until...
Martinez hits a GRAND SLAM HOME RUN!
His bat smacks,
four runners score,
the ball soars,

to the kid in the red hat in a row far below
and a little to your right
who nearly catches it
but
drops it between the seats

and a nursing mother,
holding her infant securely against her chest with one hand,
kneels down and scoops it up,
deftly turns
and tosses it to the kid.

Forget the hotdog for god’s sake
it’s Martinez,
the kid,
the mother
that’s embedded in your memory.

Until today, that is,
forty-six years
to the day
when that salty, hot-doggy smell
wafts up

and a bat smacks,
four runners score,
the ball soars—then drops beneath your seat
and you, handing your beer to your buddy,
kneel down (oh, those creaky knees!)

scoop it up,
awkwardly standing and turning
to toss it to a random kid
in a red hat
whose face breaks out in an OHMYGOD! smile.

That, my friend--
that--
you will 

never
forget.

poem (c) 2023 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.
===========

After several rough drafts, I re-titled it NEVER FORGET, because beneath everything these days is that terrible drumbeat. 

And yet...look what I found in hot dog and a ball game: hope. Imagine that.

I'd love to read what you create with this same prompt: “Ikaria is famously known as the place where people forget to die.”

Thanks for reading all the way to The End.

And thank you, Buffy, for hosting Poetry Friday this week!

posted by April Halprin Wayland, 

who misses 14-year-old Eli,
her licky, lanky, incredibly sweet dog 
(Kitty is mourning the empty space her big brother left, too)

Eli as a puppy, 2011

Eli swore he didn't do it...

Thank you, Cindy Derby, for this watercolor of Eli,
which captures his personality perfectly

Utter Expression Without Consequence: a Wednesday Writing Workout by Barney Saltzberg

.
Howdy, Campers!
(Before I begin...make sure to enter our latest Book Giveaway of Sherry Shahan's Skin & Bones (which ends February 6th)!

Two of the six TeachingAuthors in our corporate headquarters.
photo courtesy morguefile.com

In 2012 we invited author/illustrator (and good friend) Barney Saltzberg into our tree house for a cuppa tea, a chat, and a book give-away, and just last Friday we told you about the newly launched, worldwide Beautiful Oops! Day based on his book.

Today, to complete the trifecta, Barney is graciously sharing a Wednesday Writing Workout with us.  Take it away, Barney!

This is Barney (with friends).  He's the cutest one.

Barney: I thought I'd share something I teach at UCLA Extension which seems to help unleash power and in many cases, people’s dark side.  It's terrific.

I call it, Utter Expression Without Consequence. Here's the prompt:

Write to someone and really let them know how you feel.  It’s a chance to get anything and everything off your chest.  It could be that you secretly are in love with someone.  You could despise someone.  Maybe a boss is constantly picking on you and you haven’t opened you mouth to complain.  Now's your chance!

It can be in the form of a letter, or even a list.

Choose your blackest crayon.
from morguefile.com

This exercise gives you the opportunity to tap into feelings which you've sat on.  Topics which you've avoided.  Now's your chance to pour everything out...to a boyfriend, a wife, a friend.  Or someone you ‘thought’ was a friend.  A boss.  Anyone you address.  Just let it go and flow.  This is a very freeing moment.

What I find is that this prompt helps shape a character. Ultimately, I hope this exercise lets the writer get into the head of a character who has a lot weighing on them.  It's a step towards shaping a character.  Our job is to know who we are writing about, even if some of the background research we write never makes it into our story.  It just makes it so our characters appear to be writing the story for us when situations arise, because we know them so well.

Have fun with this--dive in!

I wish I had something brilliant to tell you as far as how this writing prompt helped make a story. I can say that time and time again, I saw how it empowered people.  Students who were struggling to find their voice finally had a sense of what that looked and felt like.

C
C'mon...tell them how you feel!
From morguefile.com

A woman told off her husband in a letter.  A teacher got everything she ever wanted to yell at an administrator on paper.  If you are looking for a way to tap into feelings, this is a great way to dive in.

Thank you, Barney!  And readers ~ tell us how you really feel!

posted loudly and proudly by April Halprin Wayland

THANKUs! Poetry Friday! And National Day On Writing!

x
Howdy, Campers!
~
I'm having the final word, I'm wagging the tail on TeachingAuthors' topic of the National Day on Writing, which was Wednesday, October 20th.
~
My very smart mother-in-law always said, "It's not your birthDAY...it's your birthMONTH."  I believe I speak for all six of us at TeachingAuthors: it's not National DAY on Writing but National LIFETIME on Writing!  (I'd like to quibble about why they chose to use the word "on" rather than "of"...i.e, National Day OF Writing.  I'd like to, but I won't.  Not today, at least.)
~
Ah...writing.  Mary Ann wrote a brilliant piece on actual pen-and-paper letter-writing. I agree with her--there are some things that demand paper and stamps, like thank you letters.
~
If you don't know what to say in a thank you letter, why not write a thanku?  I love, love, LOVE Esther Hershenhorn's invention of the thanku.
~
It's tougher to write a thanku than you'd think.  It's a haiku with a built-in topic, right?  Just three measly lines.  HOW HARD COULD IT BE?  I thought I'd pull one out of the nearby dog dish in five minutes.

HA!

THANKU FOR ALL YOU DO FOR ME.  LOVE, YOUR DOG #18

by April Halprin Wayland~
When you whistle, I

come. You smell divine—not as

good as dirt, but close.
or..
THANKU FOR ALL YOU DO FOR ME.  LOVE, YOUR DOG #23
by April Halprin Wayland~
I love licking your
hand.  It tastes great!  Not as good
as cat poop, but close.
~
Groan!

WRITING WORKOUT--THANKUs

Esther already explained how to write 'em and then encouraged you to write your own and post them at the National Day on Writing.
~
It never hurts to repeat a lesson--it's all about practice.  It took me four years of taking classes from Myra Cohn Livingston--four years of practice--before I understood and could hear poetic meter.

So...let's write more thankus--haikus that thank someone.  Then share yours with the person you are thanking.  Or with a child.  Or maybe, with a stray blogger...or six. (If I can show you THOSE thankus...you can certainly show us yours!  And now that I think of it, neither of those are real thank you notes except for the titles.  Okay.  So, show us yours!)

Remember to write with joy!  And happy...

Poetry Friday is sponsored today by my close, personal, 

never-met-her-in-flesh-and-blood-but-I-adore-her-friend,
Jama Rattigan at her fabulous food/words/poetry/photography blog, Jama's Alphabet Soup.

poems and drawing (c) 2011 April Halprin Wayland, all rights reserved

Here's to the Pen and Postage Stamp

    Notice:  I wrote this last week, knowing I would be out of town over the weekend. How was I to know that Ben Stein would do a commentary on this very topic on CBS Sunday Morning this week?  It's the first time that Mr. Stein and I have been on the same page (pun intended) on a topic, although we didn't say exactly the same thing.  I just wanted to mention this in case you also are a fan of Sunday Morning.

    Now, on with the blog.

    I heard recently that the average American receives one piece of actual written mail every six weeks. Obviously, someone else is getting my one letter. My mailbox is filled with bills, junk mail and catalogs.

     This is opposed to my email box which is filled with messages from friends, relatives and former students( most of whom found me through Facebook), bills, spam and scams. Don't get me wrong. I am have reconnected with more old friends and students than I can count, to say nothing of dozens of cousins. This is all good, because I am a real phonophobe. I will do anything to avoid speaking on the phone. (I consider a cell phone an emergency tool, not a means of basic communication.) Before email, I would literally write notes to friends who lived in the same town, to avoid the phone. Now I can shoot off an email to my next door neighbor (or editors) without being thought weird.

   While I can keep up with a ton of people via email, I miss real, handwritten letters, even from people with horrible handwriting.  One of my earliest memories of my mother was of her sitting at the kitchen table, once a week, to "write letters to the family." Mom had seven siblings, a mother plus in-laws that expected a weekly letter (and vice versa). At our house, there was Wash Day, Ironing Day, Baking Day...and Letter Writing Day.

    Mom disliked writing, the way she disliked cooking, ironing and sewing. She think she wasn't very good at these things, but they were chores, and chores had to be done. She would write a first draft letter in pencil on cheap tablet paper. She would recopy them on her "good" linen stationary using a fountain pen. (I can still see the blue and yellow box that contained the jar of Scripto ink, that I was never ever allowed to touch.) She wrote so many letters on "writing day" that they didn't fit into our wall mounted mailbox for the mailman to collect. Writing day ended with a trip to the corner mailbox. (Remember them?)

    Opening the mailbox each day was like a surprise treasure chest. Long before I could read script, I recognized my grandfather's beautiful steelplate handwriting, the crabbed scrawl of my arthritic grandmothers. Best of all were the letters of my favorite aunt. She was the only one who typed, so I could actually read what my cousins were doing, as opposed to my mother giving me digest versions.

   Letter writing has a long history in my mother's family. Fortunately, my grandmother was something of a literary packrat and kept everything anyone ever wrote her. The family's letters from World War II formed the basis of Jimmy's Stars. We have her letter of acceptance to Vasser, the letters she wrote as a newlywed to her own grandmother.

    Slighly less highminded are the letters I saved from my college roommates and boyfriends that we wrote over summer vacations. Still, they are so evocative of a time and place in a way that emails are not (even though I do have a file of emails, 10 to 15 years old). The stationary (Holly Hobbie, Ziggy, the Peanuts paper my boyfriend and I favored, neon colored paper with neon colored ink that were almost impossible to read), the nicknames, the concerns, the just day-to-day-ness of what we wrote--"I saw One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and thought of you"--no further elaboration!--speaks to me across time and brings that person back to me.

   Through all the years that rejection letters filled my mailbox in depressing number, I kept writing my books and stories. However, if I wanted to feel real satisfaction, I would write a letter...to a cousin, an
aunt, even my parents. (This was in the days before long distance calling plans.) For one thing, the return letter did not include the words "your work does not meet our needs at this time." A letter always met the recipient's need somehow.

   While I didn't draft letters the way my mother did, I do remember considering, pondering each word before I committed it to my Snoopy paper. Maybe that's the difference. It's easier and faster to write on a computer...without a lot of pondering. Perhaps we are the worse for it.

     There are still things that I feel I have to send by snail mail...condolences and thank yous, letters to children who write me, my very extra special friends and relatives.  And if I ever could find her snail mail address, I want to write to the teacher who made me want to be a teacher.

    So just for today, go Luddite; sit down and handwrite something to a friend, relative or teacher, put it in an envelope, stamp it and mail it. Yes, I know it takes more time. But you know what? Somewhere, someone is getting my "one-handwritten-letter-every-six-weeks." Possibly because I haven't written any lately.

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

If It's St. Paddy's Day, It Must Be the Illinois Reading Council

     For the second year, the TA's have been invited to present at the Illinois Reading Council.  There were three of us this time; April, Esther and myself, excited about getting the return gig. ("They liked us. THey really liked us!")

     Then we got our schedules and realized we were vying with some pretty big names to get an audience.  Just off the top of my head; M.T. Anderson (Ironically, the Award Winning Writer from my previous blog!), last year's Newbery winner Rebecca Stead, Jane Yolen, T.A. Barron, Marc Brown, Sara Pennypacker, Robert Burleigh, Mordecai Gerstein and Vaunda Nelson. Yikes! What a line up!  I had a flashback to my very first book conference (at a location I will not disclose) where I discovered I was on at the same time as Garrison Keillor!

     Given all the literary superstars, the TA's were delighted to have a full house (in a small room!) for our talk on modeling creative writing with your students in a school day that is jam packed with everything but creative writing. Or as one of my daughter's teachers told me,"Creative writing is not on the state tests."

    For those of you who were not there, I will be brief in saying that our writing exercise was to write  a thank you letter to someone who had influenced your life in some way. (When I heard the phrase "thank you note" I immediately thought of the ones I wrote as a child ---Dear Meemaw, Thanks for the pajamas. They fit. XXXOOO Mary Ann.)  And that little gem was an actual example in my third grade grammar book!

   Our group did not disappoint. There were letters to parents, former teachers, President Carter, and even one to the Teaching Authors for our program!  We asked only for volunteer readers, and it was a rare reader who did not let their emotions overcome them at some point. Now that is good writing, if you can make yourself cry. However, I would not stress having students share with the class. Fourth grade teachers sharing is a lot different from fourth graders sharing (giggling) with the class.

   I had to leave before all the Superstars spoke, although I was delighted to be seated next to my former
mentor, M. T. Anderson, during the book signing session. Perhaps one of the other TA's will fill you in on the Big Dinner Speeches.

      Here we are, the TA's hard at work!  We were having a planning session...and supper at Augie's.
Esther, Mary Ann and Marie (our mentor/advisor) with April in back.

Same old gang, plus one of our intrepid volunteers in our workshop.

Notice that even though it was St. Patrick's Day, none of us are wearing green!

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman