It all began with a podium and a microphone (drawing to the right courtesy of my daughter)–an empty space charged with nothing less than excitement, nerves, and tiny prayers. The same kind of energy from which each new story begins if you’re a writer.
This time, though, the stories were already written and anthologized and ready to be shared.
As a writer myself, there’s something to be said about preparing the place for others to read their work aloud. I didn’t have much to do other than ensure the room was set up, the cookies were on their way, the sound system worked. I won’t say I felt relieved of any anxiety, though. I was nervous all the way through to the end of the event.
But, some of that nervousness slipped away as the room filled up with an audience. And again when I saw one writer’s face light up the moment his daughter and her family arrived.
But the sure sign that each moment of work and worry was worth it came when, afterwards, the crowd stayed. Someone asked each writer to autograph his copy of the anthology. A woman stopped me, complimented the spirit of the group, and reminded me that this work was important.
Facilitating a writing class, working with others–especially this group at Harwood Place–is a constant exercise in discovery for me and the members of the group. We uncover the talent within each of us and pave the way to bring a memory or experience back to life. Later at an event like this, we reveal to ourselves and those around us the power in listening, in writing, and in sharing.
That (and the smiling faces below) are what keep me going back.
