With Thanks to @FairfieldUBooks for Hosting @halseanderson the Night Before SHOUT Debuts - Feeling Lucky

Last night, it was an honor and privilege to spend time in the company of writer Laurie Halse Anderson as she began her tour of SHOUT at Fairfield University Bookstore. I wrote about the impact of the book last year (see the poem below), but last night the writer offer more context for the work she does, her thinking, her resiliency, her power, her voice, and her mission. Listening to Laurie Halse Anderson as she was interviewed by Meg Wolitzer, I couldn't help but think, "Wow, we are in the presence of magic...a magic that arises from pain, language, perseverance and the power of words." 

It was a full house at the Fairfield University Book Store, too, which it needed to be. As gracious as always, however, the Laurie Halse Anderson gave time and care to everyone who attended, had a question, wanted or hug or asked for a picture. This is the beauty and strength this writer. She truly is a champion of teachers and young people (many of whom were in the audience last night), and exudes love, hope, and safety in her message, always with a touch of wit and a bit of rage.

(photo credit, John Berry, Syracuse, NY)

There's a story about the photo taken above and it has to do with the photo to the left, taken by John Berry, father of Rhiannon, a VIP human in my world (and the world of my boys). While I was doing my research in Syracuse, Mr. Berry was assigned to do a photo shoot of Laurie Halse Anderson in upstate New York and took this photo that featured in the Syracuse Herald Jounal. It has been imprinted in my brain for ever: so much light, so much of the outside shedding truth for the inside, and so much openness and hope. It was taken WAY before I met the writer, but whenever I read her work or think of her, I think of this shot (and my friend/colleague/life-sojourner, Rhiannon, whose father captured the moment). The photo, to me, is Laurie Halse Anderson, and I channel it in my head whenever I want a muse for my own work. . The light that was filtered onto her, was filtered into her books. This is the shine that readers feel, too, when they read any of her books. She is the same shine. She allows light into an often dark world.

I told her this last night. There's an optimism in youth cultures, and in them they carry the light for another generation, one more tolerant, yet intolerant, for the claims of previous generations. They want action and for the United States to become the democracy it has always claimed to be (but that has always been experienced by the few). 

I suppose there's a place in every writer's history where they simply sit back and reflect, "I had a story to tell, and I told it. Then this happened, and this. And of course it was followed by this." 

I was in my second year of teaching high school when SPEAK debuted. It had a tremendous impact on my students, and it made me a better teacher. Fast forward 20 years, and we have this post. 

Actually, the post is all Laurie Halse Anderson. There are time to Speak and times to Shout. Her writing screams and we need to listen! 

And so I return to my original post about Shout - a poem I wrote in response to my first reading.

I wish Laurie Halse Anderson the best as she travels across the country bringing such window-light into the world. We are better because of her spirit, heart, vision, kindness and absolute generosity. 

T hen there are days, privileged in nirvana,

h armonious cosmic karma, where

e verything I wanna understand gets

r eflected in poolside chlorine, an arched

e yebrow from Walter Meyers, that Dean of

a dolescent possibilities, & where a writer crafts

r eality (or at least it seems), and I

e volve from storytelling, poetic dreams, as

t he beautiful writer screams at the

i nsanity of the sane, the saneness of our chaos,

m e, her, him, they, us ---

e arthquakes in deep water

s end ripples to the surface, resting bitch face, a

t ouch-me-and-die face

o vertured in a symphony of existence.

S houts are rarely heard in silence, but

P oems capture the clutter of noisy voices,

E very second, all our choices,

A nnouncing who we are supposed to be -

K nowledge, truth, love - the trinity to set us free.

a nd a book is written. a confession,

n orse codes for our imperfection, where

d anish fjords become explanation,

t eaching water to flow in Anderson ways.

i magination is a gift for the soul, it prays,

m anages pain, blooms branches w/ sun-rays, &

e verything evolves at exactly the right time -

s ongs composed/praised to counter its crime

t hat sing survival through rhythm and rhyme, that

o ffer humanity to counter its slime.

S hame turned inside out - 

H ow the story found a page,

O mnipotent strength from a writer's rage

U ntangling Gordian knots -- all un-

T wisted and crafted by a poetic sage.