What Books Can Do

When I was in kindergarten, our teacher Miss Hoadley asked each of us to make up a story, then wrote them down as we told them to her.

The cover (decorated by me) survived; sadly, the pages of the book were lost—and I can’t remember what my story was about.

I can picture the pages, though, each story a purple block of print (remember mimeograph machines?) with the writer’s name beneath.

I couldn’t read my story when but Miss Hoadley gave me my copy of the book I could read my name: Barbara White.

I will never never, ever forget how I felt opening the book, finding my name, and knowing that the mysterious purple letters above it told my story.

Something in me suddenly understood that people made books.

And that I could make books, too.

Which, in time, I did.

One of the things I’ve loved most about working with the Indiana Writers Center over the years is the series of writing workshops we’ve done with young people. Through a series of exercises, we help them remember and write about the moments in their lives that shaped them—and collect their stories into a book.

There’s nothing like handing those books out at the end of the program and watching them find their own stories on the page.

This summer we worked with fourth and fifth graders and middle-schoolers at the Martin Luther King Community Center in Indianapolis.

Describe your favorite pair of shoes and write about a time you were wearing them, we might say. Or, write about a time you were brave. Maybe, write about losing someone or something you loved.

Sometimes we used paintings as prompts, sometimes poems.

There were days the kids were squirrely and I’d think, why am I doing this?

There were days when, somehow, everything clicked. They’d write stories that made me laugh or brought tears to my eyes and I’d think, doing this might be the most important thing I do.

The best thing of all was when they surprised themselves by writing something they wouldn’t have thought they could write.

And I’d wonder, who knows which of them might, in this moment, think I could be a writer, too?

Last Friday, we celebrated the publication of the stories the MLK kids wrote this summer.

Miss Trina, an astonishingly wonderful MLK staff member, turned it into a world class event with balloons, a long signing table, photographs highlighting the summer, and—get this—a red carpet!

Not to mention serious refreshments!

Some of the students read from their work.

I Am

by Da’Marko

I am the rhythm of the music, the hoop of basketball and the fingers that controlled the games I play. I am the glisten and sparkle of the cold water. I am the thunder I hear late at night where it lulls me to sleep. I am the smell of citrus and the taste of lemonade on a hot summer day. I am the coldness when you dip your feet in water. I am the basketball hoops Tarkington Park, the bed in my room and the MLK center. I am the purring of my cats, the soft fur on my dog and I am the laughter and kindness of my grandma

They signed each other’s books.

We were all really happy!

I like to think maybe a few of these kids realized they could be writers if they wanted to—and, years from now, having achieved that goal, they will remember the thrill of seeing their name in print for the first time.