We had sixteen register for yesterday’s workshop in Kansas City on how to write books for children, a good number for a two-hour, informal session. It went well.
Midway through the event we learned that our space had also been booked by another group so we moved several blocks away to a book store and resumed without missing a beat. Everyone rolled with the surprise and made it to the new location.
My thanks to MARYFRANCES WAGNER, Missouri’s 6th Poet Laureate, for inviting me to The Writers Place to give the workshop and to poet BETH GULLEY for being host and thinking quickly to resolve our temporary dilemma. My thanks to JEFF HARRISON for getting us there, SANDY for always being with me, and longtime, loving friend ELAINE FRY for being such a wonderful host while we have been in Kansas City.
Forgive me for flogging this, but I leave for Kansas City in a couple of days for the workshop on writing books for children. I’m told that ten people have registered to attend. That’s a good number for this kind of intimate, two-hour workshop. I would comfortably take two more, no more than four, but am content with the current size.
If you know someone in the Kansas City area who might like a $40 gift as a birthday or holiday present, here’s an opportunity. I’m giving some thought to doing the same workshop in the Springfield area one of these days but don’t know where I would hold it yet.
This morning I put the final touches on my presentation. It covers a lot of territory and provides solid information about the challenges and rewards of writing for children. I’ll give it next Saturday morning from 10:00 – 12:00 in Kansas City at The Writers Place.
It isn’t too late to register for the event. If interested, check the flyer for information. I would love to see a good turnout.
I enjoy my membership in The Writers Place, headquartered in Kansas City, where Sandy and I lived for ten years long ago. Here’s where we lived when we moved back home to Springfield.
On August 23, we’ll drive up to Kansas City and I’ll give a workshop for TWP members and anyone else who signs up for it. I don’t know how many spots are left so if you have an interest or know someone who might have, it would be a good idea to register soon. The subject will focus on the ins and outs of becoming a children’s writer.
I look forward to my third presentation at TWP and to seeing old friends and making new ones. If you are one of them, it will be great to see you there.
The 4th annual Writers Place Yearbook: An Anthology of Writing by Writers Place Members just came out. It offers a lot of excellent writing. I’m happy to have a poem in it. You can order a copy on Amazon.
I told you I’ve received my copy of the new book, Creative Prompts from the Writers Place.
Version 1.0.0
I promised to write a poem inspired by one of the prompts in the book and I found a great one on page 37 by KATE NUERNBERGER called Portrait of the Artist as a Weed. There is much to learn about Kate. Here’s just one of the links to read more about her long list of accomplishments: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/kathryn-nuernberger Kate confesses that she is known to have occasional talks with weeds she encounters on her walks and goes on to suggest how other writers might use her habit to create their own weed-inspired poems. Is that fun or what? For the past couple of days I’ve been chatting up a rather testy milkweed. Read on and I think you’ll understand her position. Thank you, Kate, and thank you, The Writers Place.
Milkweed Talks Back
Out for a little walk I see. Don’t try small-talking me, I’m busy. Don’t ask me how I’m doing. I’m a milkweed, what do you think? They blame me when cows get sick. Think about it. I was here millions of years before cows were cows. After all this time, if they’re too dumb to learn, blame the cows! Lots of flowers are bad for cats, dogs, even humans – rhododendrons, daffodils, azaleas, iris, lilies… No one yanks them up by their roots, burns them, mows them down. No one yells, “Hydrangeas! Kill them!” You know why? They’re flowers. No one loves a weed, plants us, waters us, shows us off in crystal vases on marble top tables. Once I was a slender sprout, I had dreams. Now I dream of a mower-free day. Now I keep a butterfly going, feed its young, endure their creepy feet, suffer their nibble-nibble-nibbles, sacrifice my own body to nurture theirs. Peonies don’t do that. Of course, the butterfly gets the glory. It’s Monarch this, Monarch that. But did you know that Monarchs are poisonous too? They get it from me. So don’t try to small-talk me, I’m busy nursing. All I ask is, don’t tell where we met. And wave at the next Monarch you see. It could be one of mine.
Children's Author David L. Harrison's Blog 
