Writers at the Table: The Big Event

It rained on Saturday, poured really, and I didn’t carry an umbrella. But as I parked my car, turned off the engine, and ran inside, I thought little about getting wet and more about the Anthology reading that afternoon. I’d arrived half an hour early, and I was nervous, unsure what to expect but hoping for a fun and well-attended event for the Seniors whose work was printed in the book.

I wasn’t the only one anxious and eager. When I walked into the lobby, Betty, one of the writers, was there as well. She had her story in hand and a frustrated look and said the room wasn’t set up yet. What we discovered upon talking with the manager was that the room had been prepared, but for a tiny audience of five. The manager asked me how many people I anticipated, and I looked to Betty. We both shrugged. I said at least ten. Betty said fifteen. We were both wrong. The room filled up with at least thirty.

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The majority of those in the audience were fellow residents of Harwood Place, which added to the energy (and maybe the nerves) of the readers. I love the Seniors’ stories from the perspective of a writer and someone interested in the experience of past generations. The other residents, though, seem to appreciate them on a deeper, more personal level, breaking out in a laughter that was clearly from a place of total understanding and falling into quiet during a serious moment of shared experience.

It was then I knew that all the work in the past months, weeks, and days, was worth it, and this event was exactly as is should be.

Valerie Reynolds
Valerie Reynolds reading Good Neighbors.
Richard Borchers
Richard Borchers reading And Then It Happened.
Ted Johnson
Ted Johnson reading The Flannel Shirt.
Clyde Rusk
Me reading The Political Kettle for Clyde Rusk, that distinguished fellow in the red sweater.
Betty Sydow
Betty Sydow, our flash fiction writer, reading The Storm.

What happened after the reading came to a close made the event even more special. Those audience members? They lingered well past the applause. Not just for the coffee and cookies either. They sat in circles and visited with each other, and the writers worked the room. Clyde, who has lived at Harwood Place for several years, said to me, “Look at everyone still here! This is unheard of. We’ve hit a hot button, I tell you.”

He’s right, as every bit of this experience–the writing class, these stories, the reading–speaks of the importance in gathering at the table.

In Community.

I’m so grateful to be a part of such a wonderful group.

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Just look at those smiles!

You don’t have anything / if you don’t have the stories.
~ from CEREMONY, Leslie Marmon Silko

Writers at the Table: The Anthology

It’s always a thrill (and a relief) to see a writing project come to completion. For the last year and a half, I’ve led a creative writing class once a month with a group of Senior Citizens. They bring wonderful stories to the table, two of which you can read here: Old Hat by Toshio Ninomiya and My Mother by Ted Johnson.

IMG_1081We talked of publishing a small anthology of their work, so, after several months of compiling and editing essays and stories written by hand or on typewriters, their words are now in print in a lovely little book.

During this process, I learned that 1) their stories do not grow old, no matter how many times I read them, and 2) the absence of technology makes pushing this kind of a project forward a bit more challenging.

The majority of my contact with the writers, including edits and reminders of due dates, happened through snail mail, as only one contributor dabbles in email. I love sending and receiving hand-written letters, always, but I’ve grown accustomed to working with other writers and editors online. In quick exchange. Incorporating the extra time to relay information via mail trucks and foot traffic made me appreciate how publishing worked back in the early days, and made the end result all the more sweet.

This Saturday, November 16th, at 2pm, the writers will give an official reading at Harwood Place in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. If you come, you’ll hear essays and short fiction–tales of community and relationship and even fashion–by Richard Borchers, Ted Johnson, Valerie Reynolds, Clyde Rusk, and Betty Sydow. There’ll be coffee and cookies and smiling faces. And, beautiful blue books.

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