Weekly Wide-Awake #55

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Out of the Gate. Ragtime. John Prine.

Many years ago, a life coach encouraged me to celebrate the completion of my memoir, The Stage Is On Fire. I had been working on the manuscript for well over three years in supportive writing classes, with patient editors, buried in coffee shops surrounded by fellow writers who, by their very existence, proved that even in the brutal writing world, people still get books published. I was scared to share the work, but celebration needed to happen, and a friend graciously opened her doors for the festivities. I was born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky. The Kentucky Derby makes the first Saturday in May, and the month prior, truly special. It made sense that the manuscript launch happened that day. We called it “Out of the Gate” in honor of the race.

Read the whole story here.

Living the Comma #27

Ragtime. Transcendence. Presidential Poetry.

Beyond that road,/ Beyond this lifetime,/ That car full of hope/ Will always gleam/ With the promise of happiness/ And the freedom we’ll live to know/ We’ll travel with/ heads held high/ Just as far as our hearts can go/ And we will ride,/ Each child will ride/ On the wheels of a dream! — “Wheels of a Dream,” from Ragtime

Dear Writer Friends,

I saw the musical Ragtime on Broadway this past weekend. The Lincoln Center’s (the venue where the show is being staged) website describes the show saying,

Ragtime is a sweeping musical adaptation of E.L. Doctorow’s novel that follows three fictional families in pursuit of the American Dream at the dawn of the 20th Century: Black pianist Coalhouse Walker, Jr. and his beloved Sarah, Jewish immigrant Tateh and his little girl, and a wealthy white family led by matriarch Mother. All grasping for the same dream, if only they can hold on to it.

To say this show is timely is an understatement. At this time when imagining our beyond is both vital and impossible, when hope’s headlights have dimmed, when carving the better angels of a more perfect union has left us weary and mad and questioning, this show reminded me of my 8 year-old self, who wrote poems in secret red folders and sang songs at the top of her lungs, who filled notebooks with brave love notes and biographies and performed musicals to earth shattering applause, who rode on the wheels of dreams with her body, mind, and spirit. Much of who I am today — my desire and passion and curiosity — comes from the childhood space of strength and creativity and joy.

Ragtime is an invitation. It is an invitation to be seen and heard. It is an invitation to teach our children well. It is an invitation create the world in which we want to live. It is an invitation to connect with one another and remember. We are one. From wherever. Praying to whomever or no one at all. Speaking whatever language we speak. Being whomever we are. Loving whomever we love. Holding. Creating. Imagining. We are one.

Taking A Walk #9

If I can make myself laugh about something that I should be crying about, that’s pretty good. — John Prine

It feels good to laugh. At serious times, it is hard not to get paralyzed by seriousness. At grave times, it is hard not to dig our own graves of despair and heartache. At sad times, it is hard not to drown in our tears. I turn to the music of John Prine to help navigate hard times. I saw him perform “Paradise.” I saw Bonnie Raitt cover “Angel from Montgomery.” I heard Brandi Carlile pay tribute singing “I Remember Everything.” I played fiddle when I was little, so maybe his music reminds me of an essential self that knew joy and connection. I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, so maybe his music reminds me of my story, a high lonesome I understand. He signed his first record deal in 1971, the year I was born, so maybe his music reminds me of the arc of my life and my responsibility to make the world a more honest and poetic and compassionate and beautiful place each day.