Another Reason I’ll Never Stop Writing

I have just returned from an exhausting and exhilarating weekend. Glorious days, both. I participated in the South Dakota Festival of the Book, in Sioux Falls. First, let me say that the days were drenched in warm, late summer sun. This year’s drought has brought the trees in South Dakota to early red and yellow splendor. The fields and fence line foliage bordering Interstate I-29 wore their wardrobe of muted autumnal hues. Best of all, being surrounded by hundreds of poets, story tellers and readers was like an extended recess. I’m ready now to return to my desk and settle down to write.

At the festival, I was reminded that we write to instruct and motivate. I met a teacher who wrote about a bird seeking the courage to leave her nest, showing young students how to find their own wings. We write to heal and inspire. I met a mother who wrote of her daughter’s struggle with a mysterious malady who expresses herself in beautiful abstract art. We write to share and entertain. I met a retired man who tells stories in books he might have shared at a campfire under prairie skies, had he been born in another time or place. We write to celebrate our freedom and honor those still longing for liberty. I met a man who faced death to lead his family out of the grip of cruel oppression.

So different in circumstance we were, but bound by our devotion to something that doesn’t even exist until we create it - a simple little word. We love the word so much, that we create another and another, and give them the most perfect form we can. Then with a faith that defies commercial logic, we come together and share our precious stories, hoping for compensation and recognition, but content more often with smiles and nods and thank-yous.

Though I am still processing the weekend, this much I can say with certitude: if ever I despair of what humans are capable of in the name of fear and ignorance and cruelty, I shall remind myself what we are capable of in the name of creativity and courage and love. Maybe instead of speeches at the U.N., the representatives should read the poems and stories of their people. Wouldn’t that be a session to remember? If the powers of the world ever decide to do such a sensible thing, I officially invite them to come to the Midwest, in the late summer. We’ll be easy to find; just follow the full harvest moon.