This last weekend, 30 writers were with us for Francisco X. Stork’s lecture, and 17 for a 2-day workshop of works-in-progress. There is much hubbub the week of an event: ordering food, getting the space ready, finishing logistics and print outs, and payment information. There is much to do during the weekend of the Advanced Writer Workshops: hostessing, teaching, processing…that there is little time as the organizer and programming manager of these events to breathe.
I welcome these writers, from Texas, and beyond: from states near and far and when Sunday evening rolls around and the last of the writers depart I sit and listen to the quiet. In it, I still hear the hum of their words; I see the grace of their smiles. The Writing Barn, and it’s grounds, has been newly blessed by those committed to their craft. Each workshop weekend, feels like a passing. A marker in time. In both the journey of myself as a writer/teacher and the space my husband and I have created to welcome these writers, The Writing Barn.
I will be posting a recap of the Francisco X. Stork Advanced Weekend Writer Workshop when able, but for now, here is a poem that for me captures the magic of this weekend, with some images taken by the lovely and talented Sam Bond of Sam Bond Photography to go with them.
workshop at the writing barn
pages and pages of words
each one hard earned
a painful gift to produce.
we bring them here to share
we offer our stories to each other
and as our craft goes stronger
we do too.
we listen
we learn
we absorb
what others say
but the small silent voice, that is our creativity
speaks the loudest.
the one that was full of doubt
stumbling alone
has found a place where words matter
where stories and the desire to tell them are understood.
we sit and share and stare into the world of words
until it is time to depart
until it is time to pack our stories under our arms
to head home, no longer alone.
we leave our thoughts amid the walls,
our signatures on the horse stalls,
to be found, discovered by the next writers
who head to the writing barn,
to enter the safe space of questioning
where story answers swirl to the surface,
where we find the craft tools we need
amid the burgeoning tide of our own
transformation.
