Toss the plans

You will be a starlight when you grow up.

When I'm not a writer-for-hire, I'm a writer-for-fun. I lead writing groups for students ages 9 to 19.

Life takes odd turns. Five years ago when I stumbled into "teaching" (not teaching as much as encouraging), I wasn't crazy about children. Teenagers were daunting. Youngsters were alien, and I had no maternal instinct. Today I am as surprised as anyone to realize I have become attached to these energetic, impressionable, loving children. This is the most fulfilling, and emotionally challenging work, I've ever done.

There are three groups and we meet weekly: Happy Hour (for 9 - 11 years), Writing Club (for 12-13 years) and Writer's Group (for 14-19 years). The programs are part of Seashore Family Literacy (a nonprofit organization) and we meet at the Waldport Community Learning Center.

I am a planner by nature. Organized and structured. I make detailed plans for each week — writing prompts, discussions, books to share, poems to read. But this week I was reminded that the best writing sessions are often the ones in which plans are tossed aside.

The other day, the Happy Hour kids rushed into the Writing Studio in a whirl of giddy excitement. As a reward for good behavior, they had been given fortune cookies. They couldn't wait to share their fortunes with the group.

You will find happiness in unexpected places.

Good luck is just around the bend.

Gathered in a circle, we listened intently and dissected each message: What could it mean? What is happiness? What would luck bring?

We were animated with possibility, and wanted more. So we wrote our own fortunes! Pencils flew across pages. Papers were torn and creased into complicated folds. We traded our palm-sized scribbles with enthusiasm and rushed to share them aloud.

It was 10-year-old K. who saw starlight in my future. I can't wait to grow up.

A meal of books

There are worse things than a book binge.

Chocolate, say, with its after-guilt. Or gambling with its high price.

Books are relatively affordable, and it's a good thing because I'm gobbling books to no end.

It started last month with a journey to Powell's Bookstore in Portland. Thanks to a gift card Christmas, I filled two bags in less than an hour.

This week, at Mari's Books in Yachats, I celebrated their newly expanded shop with an armload of purchases.

And then I hit the blogs. One site led to another and . . . Quick as a box of donuts, I gathered poet discoveries —Susan Rich, Alison Stine, Adrian Blevins — and rushed to buy their books. Like a sugar high, I felt giddy with new material. Each phrase engaged, every tangle of words offered layers of meaning and meat. New worlds! New words! I examined, analyzed and gorged.

I align myself with Jeff Gordinier, who confesses to being a poetry shopaholic, declaring that in a world of mass market, big-name publishing, "buying a book of poetry constitutes a gesture of resistance."

"It's a tiny push in the opposite direction," he says, "a pipsqueak of peaceful defiance."

I have no guilt in my reading investments; I'm supporting the underdogs of publishing, writers who toil away with no substantial reward beyond the act of expression.

Still, I'm a realist. Next week, I'll give my wallet a break and hit the library. When I do return to buying, rather than collect books on a shelf I will read and regift, passing along my latest finds to family and friends. Or donate the books to the local library. Good books, like good meals, are best when shared.

How to write a good poem

"I think the most important thing any poet or writer can do to improve his or her odds of writing a good poem of any type is to learn continuously how to pay attention.

Poetry is not about how we feel, of course. It's about how we feel about how we feel. Knowing how we feel about how we feel requires an almost ungodly attentiveness or consciousness— an otherworldly watchfulness and vigilance."

— Adrian Blevins
from How to Write Love Poems

Tenderness and Rot

Tenderness and rot

share a border.

And rot is an

aggressive neighbor

whose iridescence

keeps creeping over.

No lessons

can be drawn

from this however.

One is not

two countries.

One is not meat

corrupting.

It is important

to stay sweet

and loving.

— Kay Ryan

Writing Wanted for the Switcheroo

I love artful collaboration. Broadsided — one of my favorite get-poetry-to-the-people efforts — does, too.

Founded in 2005, Broadsided is "putting literature and art on the streets" by publishing an original literary/artistic collaboration on their website each month. Visitors can download, mull, print and share.

This month Broadsided is asking writers to take part in the Switcheroo.

Here's how: Respond to the image above in poetry, fiction, or prose. Responses need not be literal. However, the art and writing must, together, work to create a greater piece. In essence: something strong, unique, interesting, and that intersects with the art in a way that is at once surprising and fitting. Submissions are due by March 5.

More details here.