"Selling Books Out Of A Backpack": On Persistence, Getting Scrappy, And The Power of The Notebook

Dalton Hessel

There’s a pile of multi-colored notebooks that sit on my windowsill. They aren’t leather bound journals with paper delicate enough to make the Founding Fathers blush. They are notebooks scavenged from the shelves of a local Dollar Tree. “Don’t quit your day job,” is what they tell us as writers, so this was my means of pinching pennies from the very beginning. The words that found the pages of these notebooks eventually worked their way into paperback books sold out of my backpack in between classes at UW-Eau Claire. Those same books (and some new additions) are now in cardboard boxes in the back of my Subaru named “Alfred.” While I’m far from any bestseller lists, I’m thankful for the journey these erase marks and scribbles continue to take me on. 

“Looking back on it now, I treat that first book of mine like an awkward first kiss; it wasn’t pretty, but it happened”

I published my first book when I was a senior at Hayward High School in northern Wisconsin. Looking back on it now, I treat that first book of mine like an awkward first kiss; it wasn’t pretty, but it happened. Since then, I’ve realized the importance of continually working at the craft of writing. If I am lucky, I will be able to plan for morning writing sessions while tucked in the corner of a coffee shop. The majority of the time I am opening the notes on my phone at 1 a.m. because a thought came to my head while lying awake. (Something that happens quite frequently in the Wisconsin summers while living in an apartment with no air conditioning.) I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter where you write or what you write as long as you continue to write. We can envision holding awards and the book tour autograph sessions all we want, but nothing happens until our pencil hits the page.

Creating these days can be a rather daunting and scary process. Not that it hasn’t always been, but putting yourself out there for the Internet to see is intimidating. I’ve gotten into the habit of sharing short pieces of my poems on Instagram and Facebook in hopes to stir up some interest with my writings. There’s something about sharing what’s on your heart at the time with the world that often holds me back from hitting that “post” button. I think we as writers owe it to ourselves to be true to the words we put on the page, but there’s always that lingering fear of it being rejected by the world. The thought of “but what if I don’t?” has started to overpower the fears that riddle me.

I believe that I will always hold onto those cheap notebooks and I will continue to buy them as I move forward as a writer. Their covers are starting to crack and the pages that still smell of coffee shops throughout the Midwest are frayed and worn. But despite their decay, they’ll continue to serve as a reminder to me of the writing process and the beauty that one can find in writing yourself out of the bargain bin. 

Dalton Hessel’s most recent book the ramblings of a twentysomething can be found here.

Also, be sure to check out The Northern Nerd and follow their page on Facebook to see what’s happening in the northwoods of Wisconsin. 

Finding Fellowship, Solitude, and Inspiration in Door County

Dan Lyksett

I’m sitting on a Leopold bench at the edge of a clearing at the Write on, Door County writers  retreat.  It’s mid-afternoon, early August, and it’s the fourth day of my weeklong writer’s residency. I’m wrestling with the main character of a short story I’m writing. I know what he’s doing, but I don’t understand why. There is a truth he is missing. I am missing. Perhaps I don’t know him well enough. I’m hoping a walk along one of the trails on the 39-acre retreat or the butterflies flitting among the prairie flowers or the scolding of the blue jays will lead me to knowledge.

I have my notebook with me, but my computer is in the house I’m sharing for the week with two other writers, Katie Vagnino, who lives in the Twin Cities, and Sarah Stuteville, of Seattle. They are back in the house, writing. Both are educated and accomplished writers. Katie’s prose and poetry have been widely published and her first book, Imitation Crab, will be released by Finishing Line Press. Sarah is a former journalist who reported stories from the Middle East, East Africa, South Asia and the former Soviet Union, and her memoir pieces have been widely published. Both have taught writing on the university level.

And me? I took one college English class, fall semester 1970, freshman English Composition, taught in old Schofield Hall by a guy named Will Jennings. I only remember that nearly every Friday we wrote while he fiddled with a guitar. You might recognize the name. Will Jennings left teaching shortly thereafter and went on to become an award-winning songwriter, a Hall of Famer whose writing credits include the lyrics to “Tears in Heaven” and “My Heart Will Go On.”

I took the class pass-fail. I passed.

Full disclosure: I still don’t consider myself a “writer.” I’m a retired veteran newspaperman who is trying to become a writer and is appreciative of some small successes I’ve had along the way. A few years ago I attended my first writing workshop, one organized by the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild. After the first day I went home, sat on our patio sipping a beer and told my wife I wasn’t sure I was going back. I was intimidated by the smarts of those writers, their understanding of the bones, muscle and  tendons it takes to craft a piece of fiction. I only knew about deadlines and the inverted pyramid; elementary truths like “Show, don’t tell” were new to me. The next morning I braved the country roads back to Cirenica, and I have benefited from the knowledge and generosity of the writers I met there ever since.

It happens again at Write On, Door County. The night of our arrival, Katie, Sarah and I sit at the picnic table on the deck behind the house getting to know each other and talking a bit about our plans for the week. I mention I’d brought some books to read including a friend’s manuscript I’d agreed to look over. I believe it was Katie who gave me a rather odd look and said, “It’s nice of you to use some of your time here for that.” It was the first inkling of something I was to learn. I’m here to write.

The next morning I open up a short story I started about a year ago. I once thought it was finished. But earlier this year my friend, novelist Nick Butler, was generous enough to give it a read. He basically told me, “It ends too soon.”

During my week at Write On, Door County, I never open another story, and I never read another word of the books I’d brought along. Katie, Sarah and I might see each other briefly during the work day, grabbing another cup of coffee or tea or a snack, but we are mostly in our own spaces. Working. Writing. I usually write with a classical music station playing in the background, but I swear off news and social media for the week, and I don’t want to disturb the quiet focus permeating the house. My radio stays silent.

We socialize in the evening, sometimes venturing out into the charms of Door County for a careful supper in the Age of Covid. One night Katie arranges for us to introduce Sarah to a traditional Wisconsin fish boil. But mostly we sit around that table on the back patio, sharing life stories and wine and beer, talking about goals, what we had done or hoped to do. And in the morning we go back to work.

As I sit on that Leopold bench, I am only yards away from The Coop. Norbert Blei is a Door County writing legend who worked as a reporter in Chicago for a time but became a renowned writer of non-fiction, fiction and poetry. He advocated for Door County and is revered there. He did much of his writing in the converted shack that is Blei’s Coop. It’s been moved here to provide an inspirational workspace for the visiting writers. I could write in the shack. During my introductory tour, Jarod Santek,  the Write On, Door County artistic director, showed me where the key was hidden. But Blei accomplished much of what I aspire toward. I must earn my in.

“Maybe it’s the butterflies or the shorebirds I don’t recognize calling overhead but sitting at that bench I suddenly discover the truth my main character has been ignoring. I’ve been ignoring”

Maybe it’s the butterflies or the shorebirds I don’t recognize calling overhead but sitting at that bench I suddenly discover the truth my main character has been ignoring. I’ve been ignoring. I jot down some quick notes before the thought disappears and hurry back to my desk. From my window I can see across the street where workers are putting the finishing touches on Write On, Door County’s new Writing Center, a beautiful structure housing offices and space for writers to gather. I open my story and search for when my character might first suspect his truth, or perhaps where I hint at his lack of awareness.

It’s late afternoon on the last day of my Write On, Door County residency. I finish the first draft of the story. I save it, close it, and I have not opened it since. I’m letting the story breath, putting some space between it and myself so when I approach it again we can introduce ourselves as strangers. Discover if the truth still holds true.

I owe Katie and Sarah. Without knowing it, they taught me what a writing residency should be. I owe Write On, Door County. They generously share an inspiring space that moved me. And I owe the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild. They made it possible. I will try to repay these debts.

How The Guild Inspired the Midwest Artist Academy

B.J Hollars 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my years with the Guild, it’s that change always begins with you. No, not me, but you, reader. Our Guild members have always pushed us into new and exciting directions, directions that have expanded our membership, dreamed new programs, and inspired unique retreats.

“For the past five summers, I’d often find myself sitting on a porch at Cirenaica or The Priory when, inevitably, some writing retreat participant would amble over and say, “You know, it sure would be nice if young people had this sort of opportunity.””

For the past five summers, I’d often find myself sitting on a porch at Cirenaica or The Priory when, inevitably, some writing retreat participant would amble over and say, “You know, it sure would be nice if young people had this sort of opportunity.”

They were right.

Add to this the dozens of emails I’d receive annually in which parents would plead for the same thing.  “My child loves art,” they’d write.  “But we don’t know how best to support them.”

James Joyce Centre

Fast forward to last summer, when a few friends and I had the opportunity to teach high school-aged writers in Ireland.  After a week spent roaming beaches, cemeteries, and soaking in culture wherever we could, the students put down their pens just long enough to prepare for their final reading at The James Joyce Centre.  Nerves emerged as the students revised right up until showtime, at which point they stood bravely before the mic to share the fruits of their labor.  By evening’s end, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.  As my fellow instructors and I observed the tight-knit community that had formed, we joked, “Gosh, we should really start at arts-centered high school…”

Ireland Instructors Maggie Pahos, Ban Hao, B.J. Hollars, Chris Clartigue in Inishbofin, Ireland.

And then we sort of did!

Introducing The Midwest Artist Academy--a transformative precollege experience for gifted, talented, and diverse high school-aged artists from the Midwest and beyond! (Or as I like to call it: "Hogwarts with a different sort of magic.")

With offerings in five disciplines--creative writing, theatre, dance, visual arts, and music and composition--our weeklong experience on the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire campus will conclude with a culminating collaborative showcase at Pablo Center at the Confluence. Our goal: to grow as artists, and to grow as people. Click here to learn more about our amazing instructors coming to us from throughout the world!

“The Guild proved that when passionate people come together in common cause, anything is possible. ”

Of course, none of this would have ever come to be were it not for the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild.  The Guild proved that when passionate people come together in common cause, anything is possible.  The key is bringing those people together.  And now, Guild members can help!

How Can You Support The Next Generation Of Artists?

First and foremost, by staying in touch with the Midwest Artist Academy!  Please subscribe to our newsletter by typing your email address into the “Subscribe” bar right here on the homepage.  You can also like us on Facebook and Instagram.  By connecting with us—and extending your own connections to interested parties (high school-aged artists, as well as their parents)—we’re able to direct all money toward scholarships rather than marketing.  Word of mouth is the most powerful tool we’ve got, which means you are the greatest gift we’ve got!  Tag your friends, send personal emails, messages, texts, etc.—collectively, we can spread the word far and wide!

Second, if you’re in a position to give, please do!  Donations of any size are greatly appreciated.  Consider making in a one-time donation here or make a pledge to help us long term!  If you or your business are interested in funding a scholarship or partial scholarship, please reach out at info@midwestartistacademy.org.  For 375.00, you can sponsor a half-scholarship for a student.  For 650.00, you can sponsor a full scholarship.  You can even name the scholarship in honor of, or in memory of, someone you admire.  There are plenty of perks to those who give (in addition to changing the life of a young artist!), and you need only drop us a note to learn more!

In closing, much like the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild, please know that the Midwest Artist Academy isn't mine--it's ours. Let’s work together to support the creative economy, support local arts and artists, and support young artists dedicated to crafting a better world. By helping the MAA, you are helping young artists find their future in the arts.

Thanks to the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire Foundation, University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, the UWEC English Department, and Pablo Center at the Confluence. And most of all, thanks to you. 

Announcing: BIPOC Workshop Group Hosted By Yia Lor

The Guild is grateful for the opportunity to support a new BIPOC-centered workshop group hosted by CVWG board member Yia Lor. Our hope is that this writing group will, as Yia puts it, “allow BIPOC writers to gather, share, and grow in a space that centers itself around lifting diverse voices.” Please see below for Yia’s complete message! And thank you to all future members for taking part!

A New Group For BIPOC Writers

Yia Lor

Writing can be a lonely endeavor, but we are truly in tremendous company here in the Valley. The support I have received from other fellow writers is immeasurable, and the many workshops and events offered through the Guild have greatly enriched my writing. 

As I continue on this journey though, I often wonder where all the other writers are who share stories about girls who speak English at school but swear in Hmong at home, girls whose classmates make fun of their hair because of the texture, and girls whose friends pull at their eyes and ask why their faces are so flat. I certainly don't want to believe I am the only Hmong writer with these experiences.

“My hope is this workshop group will allow BIPOC writers to gather, share, and grow in a space that centers itself around lifting diverse voices.”

My hope is this workshop group will allow BIPOC writers to gather, share, and grow in a space that centers itself around lifting diverse voices. I look forward to conversations about character development and mind-blowing plot twists, and I’m especially excited to trade stories about grandfathers who grew peaches to remember a home left behind and mothers who packed rice with pork and mustard greens for school lunches.

Mark your calendars for our first meeting, which will be held Thursday, August 20th from 7-8:30pm. We will meet virtually on Google Meet (https://meet.google.com/ifz-ghyx-nfy). You will need a Google account to join. This first meeting will focus on getting to know each other and how we want to structure our time together.

For more information, drop the CVWG a note by way of Facebook message or email: chippewavalleywritersguild@gmail.com.

Happy Pride Month! Celebrate with this great list of LGBTQIA+ writers to read & support!

Katy Hackworthy

Art, particularly writing, is one of the most impactful mediums we possess for truth telling. June is Pride month, a time to celebrate and honor  the LGBTQIA+ community’s history, resilience, and joy. The first Pride, known now as the Stonewall Uprising, was a riot & a protest led by Black trans women such as Marsha P. Johnson and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. We must center those radical roots while also acknowledging victories up to this point and fighting for queer liberation, this month and every month.  As readers and writers, an excellent form of celebration is supporting and uplifting LGBTQIA+ writers and supporting their collected works. 

Katy Hackworthy (left) with poet Mary Margaret

credit: Justin Patchin

As a Queer artist in my twenties, writing, and particularly poetry, gave me a vehicle to explore my identity in a more expansive and intimate way. During my senior year at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, I learned about a writing conference interested in bodies of work that interrogated the theme of Revelations. I saw the opportunity to submit my work as a simultaneous opportunity to explore how my Queerness revealed itself to me over the years as well as how coming out (and coming out again, and again, and again) effected my life. I visited a friend in Montreal over winter break, and dedicated a good chunk of the trip to creating a micro chapbook of sorts, which led to greater discoveries about my sexuality, my experience as a closeted teenager, and how my queerness impacted my relationships.

“From growing up in a conservative household to being part of a largely Queer friend group, I was a professional at expressing myself differently depending on the company I was in, but as corny as it sounds, the solace of a blank page was the safety blanket I needed to truly make sense of how I connected to my community, my family, and my own sexuality. ”

From growing up in a conservative household to being part of a largely Queer friend group, I was a professional at expressing myself differently depending on the company I was in, but as corny as it sounds, the solace of a blank page was the safety blanket I needed to truly make sense of how I connected to my community, my family, and my own sexuality. I am grateful for the ways writing has helped me learn about myself, and I am even more grateful for all the LGBTQIA+ writers whose words and experiences made me feel seen along the way.

Even though I believe we need to go deeper than the sentiment “representation matters”, I must acknowledge it truly does wonders for folx in my community, especially young people. I still remember reading the scene in Fried Green Tomatoes by Fannie Flagg where Idgie retrieves honeycomb for the object of her affections, Ruth, and how deep and true their love felt on the page. As a precocious 11 year old who was far from understanding who she was, seeing two women who loved each other, even in a yellowed old book that could only explore queerness on a more surface, made me feel like that kind of love was possible for me. I feel so much delight knowing how many more books are readily available for young members of the LGBTQIA+ community who may not have to search or hide the way I did for much of my youth. 

This June, I hope ya’ll celebrate your LGBTQIA+ friends, families, and community members by learning more about our shared history, by lifting up their unique experiences, and by reading some of the incredible writers in this list compiled by me and my fellow Queer poet, Dorothy Chan (see above!). Don’t forget to support these folx every other month of the year, too--happy reading and Happy Pride! 

“Like A Snow Globe Capturing Time”: Jessi Peterson on Poetry, Place, and her new collection, Century Farm

Jessi Peterson—poet, children’s librarian, and lover of landscapes—recently published Century Farm (Finishing Line Press)—a collection of poems which explores, among other things, the evolving rural world in the face of ever encroaching suburbia.  The collection’s title is taken from a poem of the same name (available here), which placed third in Wisconsin People & Ideas 2011 poetry contest.

 According to poet Max Garland, Jessi is a poet “who knows the names of things and where they belong…”.  Poet Jeannie Roberts adds that Jessi’s work “embraces us with her tender renderings of animals, plant life, and of lost lives…”. We recently (virtually) sat down with Jessi to chat about her new work, the publication process, and the trickiest part about writing poems.

B.J. Hollars: What was the impetus for Century Farm?  How did it take shape?

Jessi Peterson: So much of my writing is tied into the natural world, holding it high and hoping others notice and practice looking for themselves. When you know what a roadside flower is and when to expect it to bloom, you will notice when it is absent. Or suddenly there – when I attended one of the Guild workshops at Cirenaica and walked out along the drive I saw Deptford pinks blooming, which I hadn’t seen since I was 8, but still recognized.  It only made sense to string the things I have noticed on the earth that I have loved, whether it be here or in southern Illinois.  For me, the book both celebrates and mourns the world we are losing as spaces get built up, changing the norms and soundscape and eroding the ties between the natural world, the agricultural world and the growing demands of suburbia. The trickier part may have been the ordering of poems, deciding what chimes with what, putting poems written recently next to older poems and vice versa, back and forth until it flows.  In my mind, at least!

BH: You're a master of rendering landscape on the page.  Are some landscapes harder than others?  Any tips for fellow writers?

JP: The old chestnut about writing what you know holds true for me – I think immersion in a space is key.  I’m privileged to have lived consistently in one space for 40 years, to have learned the landscape as a child and to keep learning it anew every day.  As a kid what interests you is smaller and less guarded – you can go anywhere that is interesting, whether that be through the swamp, down a cliff, up a tree or through a culvert.  All of that gives you a very immersive perspective if you can hang on to it as a adult, although it’s been some time since I’ve tried wiggling through a culvert! Focusing on place encourages me to take the long view, to think about the land as it was, as it is and as it will be, and I am just a tiny part of that, so there is no room to be overly self-involved in what I write.  I mostly want to make a little enclave of words to evoke a particular place or a moment, like a snow globe capturing time.  What to feel about it slips in there sideways, maybe.

BH: How does place inform your poems?

JP: If this is a focus you are interested in, keep in mind it doesn’t have to be a giant space or a landscape with a big bang, just one you are in enough to know the rhythms of the space, to notice what is surprising and of interest.  And read – get your hands on field guides to everything.  Birds, bugs, wildflowers, rocks, mushrooms – all of it.  Knowing the names of our neighbors, be they animal, vegetable or mineral gives you a really rich vocabulary to write from, but is also a kind of shareable magic and respect, calling our fellows by their names. 

BH:  Can you share a bit about how the book found its home with Finishing Line Press?

JP: I submitted the book to Finishing Line’s chapbook contest for women, which  I think is open now!  I didn’t win the prize, but was selected for publication.  Finishing Line only does chapbooks, so they are a great place for shorter, more focused collections.  Several other local authors have had their works published through Finishing Line and had positive feedback about the press.  I was particularly pleased to have cover input – the cover is a historic plat map showing where many of the poems are drawn from.

BH: Can you tell us a bit about a particularly tricky poem?  How did it find its final draft?

JP: All of the poems have been gone over a number of times and I’m sure each felt tricksy when I  was messing with them,  but the one I struggled with most is one that actually isn’t in the book but perhaps should be.  I have gone round and round the mulberry bush with this poem and am not yet certain it is finished, but it’s time for it to be somewhere besides in my brain. The title is a thing my Dad used to say.

Want a sample of Jessi’s work?  Scroll below for “Blue Bobbie’s”!

Blue Bobbie’s

Always the same answer

when I asked where they were going:

“To Blue Bobbie’s.”

Of course they went to the feed mill,

the bank, the laundromat. Still,

I pictured it, an ice-cream parlor

carnival, impossibly bright, loud

with forceful carnie patter from the

implement and seed dealers,

their voices like old roof slates,

charming, but with hard, chipped edges.

Our quiet, worn neighbors

held weathered faces silent

over fizzy, violent colored

ice-cream drinks.

A flashing neon, peanut-shell strewn palace,

presided over by a giant of a bald man

whose soda-jerk smile hung

in the calm cobalt sky of his face

like a lazy crescent moon.

A juke-joint only just across the creek

in the blue-green haze of possibility,

slightly west of my perfect, placid life.

Tonight the dog across the creek keeps me awake,

the convulsive laughter of his bark floating

on the cold, still night water.

I wonder if he’s at Blue Bobbie’s.

We Stand With You

We at the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild stand with the Black Lives Matter movement’s campaign against violence and systemic racism towards Black people, and support them in advocating for freedom, liberation, and justice.

The murder of George Floyd, and the protests that have followed, has reaffirmed what has always been true: that systemic racism is woven into our daily lives. White people are the beneficiaries of this system, and at the expense of people of color.

The Chippewa Valley Writers Guild believes words are vitally important. Words launch movements, educate, build empathy, and shape the world. But beyond words, our actions matter, too. 

As outlined on our website, the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild is open to all. We do not discriminate on the basis of race, ancestry, color, age, familial status, disability, religion, gender, sexual orientation, marital status, lawful sources of income, national origin, or any other discriminatory practice. Our door is open. 

And yet our door is not open nearly enough.  We acknowledge that our organization’s own privileges, combined with institutional policies and practices, has created the conditions that make it easy to overlook systemic racism within our group.  To rectify this, we must take a much closer look at ourselves, and our organization.  We must acknowledge our shortcomings, too.

Since our founding in 2016, our organization has failed to adequately recruit Black, Brown, Indigenous, and all people of color both in our membership and as our guest speakers and presenters.  We will redouble our outreach efforts, as well as continue to make fundamental changes to our offerings, in order to more fully become an inclusive organization.  We are committed to elevating and centering underrepresented voices in all facets of our organization and will seek out every opportunity to do so. 

Since our founding in 2016, our organization has failed to adequately recruit Black, Brown, Indigenous, and all people of color both in our membership and as our guest speakers and presenters.  We will redouble our outreach efforts, as well as continue to make fundamental changes to our offerings, in order to more fully become an inclusive organization.  We are committed to elevating and centering underrepresented voices in all facets of our organization and will seek out every opportunity to do so. 

Additionally, we will draw greater attention to inequities in the publishing industry, both locally and nationally.  In the United States, the voices and perspectives of white writers are still overwhelmingly elevated over writers of color. Not because these stories are somehow more valuable or valid, but because of deep-seated structural inequities that exist in publishing, educational institutions, and the media. As a service to our Guild members and anyone else who needs it, we’ve assembled a partial list of resources on how to collectively rectify this. Click here to view the list.  

Finally, we pledge to work with our partner organizations—the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission, Pablo Center at the Confluence, and the UWEC Foundation, among others—to ensure that equity, diversity, and inclusivity remains at the core of our shared mission to help create a more equitable world.

 Together we can—and must—do better.  And we will, by way of our words and actions. 

What Can We Do To Diversify Publishing?

What books are published, and which writers are supported, has traditionally been defined by the privilege of the white majority. In the United States, the voices and perspectives of white writers are still overwhelmingly elevated over writers of color. Not because these stories are somehow more valuable or valid, but because of deep-seated structural inequities that exist in publishing, educational institutions, and the media.  

We can change this. People who value the beauty, the diversity, and the power of words can help in many ways.  Please see below for a list of resources for what you can do today to work toward more equitable publishing practices.

• Increase demand for books by writers of color. Publishing is predominantly a white system, one that runs on profit. Publishers will publish books that sell. Increasing demand for books by writers of color will increase publishing opportunities for writers of color. Read widely and read thoughtfully. Read outside your comfort zone. Not sure where to start? Dotters Books in Eau Claire has curated a list of books for their Anti-Racist Book Club. 

• Support Black-owned bookstores. Black-owned bookstores are amazing supporters of Black writers. They give platforms and voices to those who write outside of the white viewpoint. But independent bookstores, which were already struggling in the era of online retailers, have been hard hit by the pandemic. Support Black-owned bookstores by ordering online and having books shipped to you. 

• Support nonprofits that support Black writers. Writers need time to write, and organizations such as Kimbilio Fiction, Hurston/Wright Foundation and Rhode Island Writers Colony offer workshops and readings that exclusively support Black writers. 

• Build empathy early. Building empathy starts when children are young. Children must have access to books that feature people of color, ideally those written and illustrated by people of color. In 2018, only 10% of children’s books included a Black character (for context, 50% were about white children, and 27% were about animals). Again, your purchasing power can help. EmbraceRace has many recommendations, as does PBS Kids. A Mighty Girl has curated a list specifically of picture books featuring Black girls. We Need Diverse Books produces and promotes diverse books, writers, illustrators and publishing professionals. They have also compiled a list of resources on race, equity, anti-racism, and inclusion. Empathy matters; representation matters. 

• Offer Book Suggestions. Not all of us have the means to purchase books or make donations. If you are an active card holder for the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library in Eau Claire, consider sending them a suggestion for purchase. Please read their Anti-Racist Pledge.

• Request a Conversation Kit. Our local libraries also offer a wealth of resources on being anti-racist, including family conversation kits that can be requested through the catalog. 

 This partial list is only the beginning.  Collectively, we must continue to build resources to work toward a more equitable publishing industry for all.

Hope Is One Foot In Front of the Other

Julian Emerson

Daily walks through my neighborhood have been especially lonely for the past six weeks. 

I often begin my days with early morning strolls navigating the crosshatch grid of streets that surround my home in Eau Claire’s East Side Hill neighborhood. As I traverse sidewalks in the pre-dawn shadows before the sun peeks above the eastern horizon, I appreciate the still-sleeping world, the quiet around me, interrupted only by the sound of my footsteps on pavement. 

However, in recent weeks that solitude I used to appreciate before my day explodes in a haze of phone calls, text messages, deadlines and other tasks too many to pack into the time allotted has become disquieting, thanks to the coronavirus pandemic. 

These days, I am surrounded by the sound of silence. 

Our new, uncertain lives in this time of COVID-19 are teaching us many lessons the hard way. Chief among them is the value of human interaction. Gatherings of all sorts -- from family birthday celebrations, to graduations, to meeting another couple for dinner at a restaurant, to grabbing a cup of coffee with a friend -- have disappeared. Even chance meetings are rare as we seclude ourselves in our homes, fearful of catching or spreading the dreaded virus. 

My walks used to include periodic greetings, mostly with neighborhood friends I know, sometimes with strangers. I took them too much for granted before, accepted that they were just a part of my day. Now I miss those simple “hellos,” affirmations of friendliness, that I matter in some sense, or at least am acknowledged.

In fact, I miss all of my previous socialization, meaningful conversations, laughs and hugs and smiles. I even miss the tougher talks, those times when people challenged me, or pointed out some facet of my life that needed improvement. 

For an extrovert like me, someone fueled by human interaction, this quiet time feels like a prison sentence.

The sky was blue-gray when I began a recent walk, passing familiar bungalows, yards, and trees as I inhaled the air fresh with the scent of spring. I had struggled emotionally the past few days, my heart heavy, but I felt my spirits begin to lift as the sky brightened. The chorus of birds in trees overhead signaled the promise of a new day, a sign that our silent winter was at an end, that a new, brighter time is ahead. 

A moment later an eagle soared above, floating effortlessly, majestically, before alighting atop a nearby pine tree. I stopped, appreciating the moment, a time to cast aside troubles and simply enjoy being alive.

I continued along my way, and a short time later unexpectedly encountered a friend hanging a Happy Birthday sign in the yard of a friend of hers. The sign was for her friend’s son. COVID-19 meant the youngster couldn’t host a traditional birthday party. But he would have at least one birthday wish. He appreciated it, based on his big smile as he looked out the window.

A short time later my walk took me to one of my favorite neighborhood spots, a hillside perch that offers an expansive view of downtown Eau Claire and beyond, a place I sometimes visit just to think. 

The building I entered countless times during my many years working for the Leader-Telegram newspaper lay below, along with churches, restaurants, coffee houses and other sites that have become so much a part of my past. A short ways off the Chippewa River flowed, mist rising above it, and then UW-Eau Claire. Other buildings dotted the landscape as my eyes looked further south, west, and north, many built decades ago and some more recently. 

My gaze revealed the streets are still quieter than normal, the number of vehicles on them less than what it used to be. Sidewalks are still nearly void of pedestrians too. Restaurants and other shops are still mostly shuttered as a government-issued stay-at-home order remains in effect to prevent the spread of COVID-19. 

But there is hope here. The snow has melted, replaced by a bright-green world. Nearby trees and bushes left naked during winter are sprouting buds and leaves. A pair of robins hops across the grass, chittering cheerily as if carrying on a breakfast conversation. A passing bicyclist waves. 

Much as the birds sing, we too will regain our voices and greet each other again one day. Like the flowing river, we will move forward, overcoming obstacles in our way. We will meet together again, more grateful for our friendships and for our community. 

Julian Emerson is a journalist based in Eau Claire.

Hope Is The Thing That Burns--When No Oxygen Remains

Justine Vandenberg

Hope is the thing that burns —

When no oxygen remains.

And Hope is the thing that speaks,

When all else has gone silent.

It is seen and heard,

In the darkest night—

Sometimes soft, the fiercest whisper,

But sometimes thunderous,

A trembling, all-encompassing shout.

and

Sometimes it comes like a song,

Melodic and easing to the heart,

While other times, like a

Train

Bearing down on you,

Hitting you like a bucket of cold water and reminding you to move,

Act, Do, Reach —Now.

And maybe it is one word,

Or maybe it’s something seen in the eyes,

Maybe it’s the call of the wind, stirring your soul,

Or maybe it’s the sight of your name, imprinted on the heart of someone you love.

Maybe Hope is all of these things, and

More.

But what you name it matters not.

Because, still,

Hope is the thing that speaks to us,

When all else remains

Silent.

And Hope is the thing that

Burns —

Ever the brighter —

Even when the oxygen’s all

Gone.

Justine Vandenberg is a high-schooler from Indiana who has a fierce passion for writing and poetry. In fact, she would equate writing poetry to the necessity of breathing. She aspires one day to publish her various novel ideas, but regardless of publication, simply enjoys being with words and ideas.

Choosing His Own Adventure: Ken Szymanski Named 2020-2022 Eau Claire Writer-in-Residence

All photos credited to: Justin Patchin Photography

B.J. Hollars

Ken Szymanski’s writing journey began with a spiral notebook.  The then-eighth grader flipped to its opening page, held his pencil at the ready, and waited for inspiration to strike.  It did, eventually, in the form of a Choose Your Own Adventure book.  Rather than tell readers what would happen next, Szymanski asked them to choose. 

“I wrote this story about a guy named Jeff Remington who was wrongly accused of a crime and put in prison,” Szymanski says with a chuckle.  “The whole book is him trying to escape.”

Today, Szymanski’s no longer the 8th grade writer, but the 8th grade writing teacher at DeLong Middle School.  Which gives him the opportunity to regularly return to that notebook.  At the start of each school year, Szymanski reads Escape from Cell 7346 to his class, urging students to work together to make the right decisions to set Remington free.  Yet even after well over 100 readings, Remington’s freedom remains elusive.

“The book’s still undefeated,” Szymanski laughs. 

For decades, Szymanski has continued to live his own writing adventure—a journey that’s taken him from the spiral notebooks of his youth to the pages of the Leader Telegram and Volume One.  Along the way, he’s also earned a pair of Grand Slam titles in the Eau Claire Running Water Poetry Slam, as well as having his work featured on Wisconsin Public Radio’s Wisconsin Life and Converge Radio’s Bend in the River and Oddly Enough radio dramas.  Most recently, his journey has led him to the pinnacle of local writing, earning him the title of Eau Claire’s 2020-2022 Writer-in-Residence.

Szymanski’s thrilled to serve in the position most recently held by outgoing Eau Claire Writer-in-Residence Karen Loeb.  His mission: to bring writing to the masses.

“I really want to get writers into the community in different ways,” Szymanski said.  While this work begins by hosting the L.E. Phillips Memorial Public Library’s popular Writers Read series, Szymanski also hopes to extend his reach beyond the library’s doors by providing writing-related opportunities in places like classrooms and nursing homes, too.

Additionally, Szymanski hopes to widen the region’s literary audience by including artists from different genres.  “I want to collaborate more with musicians,” Szymanski says.  “I think writing and music go together really well.  Good writing should have the rhythm of music,” he explains, “and the best music tells a story.” 

He’s also welcomed local photographers into this collaborative mix by way of a forthcoming project titled “Snapshots,” which will encourage writers to take inspiration from the photographs and put it into words.  Writers will then record their work with the photograph serving as an accompanying image. 

Finally, Szymanski also looks forward to partnering with existing programs such as the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild, the Chippewa Valley Book Fest,  and Writers Anonymous.  He hopes to support current writers, while also bringing new and diverse voices into the fold.   

Though the title of writer-in-residence comes with much acclaim, Szymanski confirms that his role doesn’t make the writing itself any easier.  Szymanski still approaches the blank page with the same humility he always has.  

“My first drafts are so rough and unpolished,” Szymanski says, “and sometimes I’m not even writing about the things I’m supposed to be writing about.  I have to sand it down, smooth out the rough edges, and try to figure out what I’m trying to say.  It’s a long process,” he continues.  “But it’s probably like that for a lot of writers.”

One key to staying motivated, Szymanski says, is remembering that every polished piece of writing started out as something quite different.  When all readers receive is the final draft, it’s easy to forget the hard work that went on behind-the-scenes.  Yet it’s the unobservable hard work that makes all the difference, he explains.  A good piece of writing has the potential to become a great piece, but the writer must put in the time.

And for Szymanski, time comes at a premium.  As a dedicated husband, father, and teacher, it’s would be easy for writing to fall to the wayside.  Yet Szymanski continues to make it a priority. 

“Whenever I have the time to write, I’ve got to use it,” Szymanski says.  “It doesn’t matter if it’s early in the morning, or late at night, or the afternoon.  I don’t have an ideal time.  And the same is true of place,” he adds.  “I don’t have a set up with lots of souvenirs and knickknacks to inspire me.  It doesn’t really matter if I’m sitting at the library, or a coffee shop, or a desk in my basement.  The writing transports me to a different place anyway.”

Though on occasion, Szymanski has been known indulge in his very own makeshift writers’ retreat in a camper parked in his driveway.  He’ll invite a few friends, they’ll cook some hotdogs, and then, they’ll get down to work.  “It’s may not be as polished as a writers’ retreat,” Ken says, “but the spirit’s the same and the outcome’s the same.”

Writing, Szymanski says, is for everyone.

“You don’t need to wait for permission.  You just need to sit down and write.” 

Hope Is The Thing In Quiz Question #7

Ken Szymanski

For the latest in a long line of quarantine “distance learning” assignments, my 8th grade students listened to an episode of This American Life. In the story, a nine-year-old girl bombards her father with the biggest questions in the universe. Where do we go when we die? Is heaven another planet? How do you know what is true? And so on.

After listening to the story, students logged into an online quiz. It started with fact-recall and then became more abstract. The final question—Quiz Question 7—echoed the one that the dad in the story had the hardest time answering: What is love?

This question was my student teacher’s suggestion. I was skeptical. If I had been asked “What is love?” in 8th grade, I would have responded, “How am I supposed to know?” Plus, the novelty of distance learning had worn thin. Jaded students were no longer giving their all with these ungraded “supplemental” assignments; I didn’t imagine they were eager to dig into such a complex question. Sometimes it felt like these assignments were simply an item to cross off a list, something in the way of them getting on with their days.

Trying to create something more personal, I’ve been recording and sending the students a series of fake radio call-in shows based on the assignments. I actually added a laugh track after my jokes, to make it sound less lonely.

When I opened the quiz responses and got to Quiz Question 7, the first student had written a quick “i don’t know.” Others, though, dove in deep. Some answers were so profound that I put them in a Google search to see if they had gotten that answer online. (A couple did.) But some of these 8th graders, perhaps because of the story or the extended isolation, had turned into sages and philosophers.

Unlike the dad in the story who struggled to answer the “What is love?” question, 8th graders wrote of putting someone before yourself, seeing beyond the façade, and a sense of belonging that “keeps you sane.”

One student wrote, “Love is not giving up. It’s more than just a word; it’s a feeling, it’s something you show. Love is something that lingers on your brain even when you don’t know it’s there.”

Another student offered one idea from each side of his brain: “Love could be something purely chemical, its purpose is keeping our species alive. Or it’s something of magic. Magic powerful enough to bind people together. You choose which one you believe in.”

I can’t imagine formulating those thoughts when I was in 8th grade. I’d have been more like this student who took a comical approach, simply writing, “Kevin Love is a player for the Cleveland Cavaliers.”

While some took it lightly, others explored potential perils. One extended answer ended with, “Love can make you feel whole but it also can break you down until you are nothing. Loving is a dangerous game and you don’t know if you can come out on top.”

Another only saw the dangers, simply stating that love is pain.

That’s undeniable. Still, some chose to see beyond pain and even, in the case of one student, beyond our physical existence. She listened to the story with her mom and admitted that they both cried. Yet this teenager took solace in the idea that “energy is neither created nor destroyed. And so that’s why when someone dies, we can still feel their energy even though they’re not there.”

That’s love, “something that lingers on your brain even when you don’t know it’s there.” And the unwavering belief in it, voiced from quarantined middle schoolers—the next generation—is something more.

It is hope.  

Ken Szymanski is the 2020-2022 Eau Claire Writer in Residence. For more on Ken’s writing, click here.

Hope Is The Mantis, Named After Prayer, Killing and Eating Her Lover Mid-Sex-Act

Nick Demske

I just read Max [Garland’s] entry and the Whitman he referenced reminded me of a quote attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Mary (Magdelene).  The quote, in the translation I’ve read, is “…..be encouraged in the presence of the diversity of forms of nature.” The first time I read it I said “…….huh?”.  Cause it’s wordy. But it’s also confusing in context. It comes as the end of a few-sentence answer to the disciple Peter when he asks about sin (“…..what is the sin of the world?”).  So this is ostensibly Jesus’ recommendation for safeguarding against discouragement and sin.

That’s weird.  That’s freaking weird.  If someone was like “How do I stop from sinning?” (granted that’s not the question here, necessarily), and I was like “Be encouraged in the presence of the diversity of forms of nature,” you’d be like “Cool, cool……Nick is doing drugs.” 

But isn’t that the answer the scientific research keeps confirming for us?  I love how ancient wisdom cultures keep getting co-signed by scientific research, millennia after the fact.  Science is like “Turns out meditation is crazy good for you,” and gnostic traditions are like “No shit, y’all.  We done been said that.”

I recently heard second hand from a woman who does literacy work (like myself) about a study she read that claimed writing about trauma had significantly stronger recovery metrics for vets with PTSD than talking with other vets in group settings.  She mentioned this because she was part of a group that helped facilitate such a program. She then off-handedly mentioned that the study also said simply being in nature had significantly better metrics than writing about trauma. So……there’s that.

This Jesus quote has become a protection mantra for me.  “…..be encouraged in the presence of the diversity of forms of nature.”  It’s nonsense, at first, but it’s basically like saying “drink water if you’re thirsty.”  It’s such a simple, direct, basic prescription for what some would argue is THE challenge of being human, that my impulse is to dismiss it as……a mistranslation or something. 

But when I turn to the diversity of nature—not by thinking about it or watching it on TV, but being in its presence—it’s so utterly insane that it actually arrests everything I think I know about everything and forces me into a child-like mind-state.  If I’m feeling hopeless, that sort of just vanishes cause……what the hell do I know? Scientists estimate that 2/3rds of marine life isn’t yet discovered. There’s over a million micro-organisms in a single fistful of compost. Everything alive shares some amount of DNA, which means we’re literally all related.  Damn.

These are my siblings.  These are my parents. My elders and my ancestors.  I am them and they are me. And we are the interconnected web of life.  Ain’t no climate change, or nuclear war, or shelter in place gonna change that.  And I can’t help but be swollen with hope at the thought of my big-ass family.

Nick Demske lives in Racine Wisconsin and works as a children's librarian there. In his community, he's very involved in local politics, racial justice work and criminal justice reform. He is also an elected official (County Supervisor, Racine County Dist 1). Nick is author of a self-titled collection of poems which was chosen for the Fence Modern Poets Series prize by Joyelle McSweeney and published by Fence Books in 2010.  His work has appeared in over 100 journals and magazines, he runs the BONK! Poetry and Music Series and he is the current chair of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission.

Hope Is Everything

Danielle Severson

Hope is the thing we wish for daily

Hope is the eyes of faith

Hope is the thing that keeps us going in times of need

Hope is trials and tribulations

Hope is the thing that leads us to new beginnings

Hope is a thing that lets us enjoy the still moments

Hope is taking time to see the good in humanity

Hope is a blessing from a higher power

Hope is the thing that keeps us going in trying times

Hope is the thing I wake up too

Hope is the thing that allows us to breathe

Hope is the thing we see everyday

Hope is the thing that drives our passion forward

Hope is the thing that makes us love more fruitfully

Hope is the thing that energizes our souls

Hope is the thing that makes me get out of bed every morning

Hope lives in you and me

Hope is the thing that wakes the unconscious mind

Hope is the anchor to all our hearts desires

Hope is the thing that keeps us alive

Hope is everything

Danielle Severson is from the Coulee Region, is a writer, works at a T.V. station, wife, and mom.  She enjoys reading, yoga, and meditation. 

Hope Is The Thing In-Between

Kendall Kartaly

Do you hear it? The fingers traversing—with the sentence still continuing—onto the next page.  The soapy dishwater daydreams, in freckles of light, with the slip of a pan. The shifting sun as I see it linger through my kitchen in a way that I have never noticed before. The slow rise sometime in the morning or the slant at noon, reflecting off my desk, light casting both shadows and spotlights—age spots—reminding quietly that presence is key.

For me, being on a different continent, I am in-between the spaces of here and there—home—in Poland and Wisconsin. The beautiful dissonance used to be when I was at my favorite kawiarnia and people greet me with “Cześć” and the sudden lilts of “Holocene” by Bon Iver played, unexpectedly, as the workers were rearranging chleb and sernik at the counter. It used to be in the extra pause when I would fill out a form with "home address.” Now it is in the confusion of messages when people write, “Are you staying here or going back?” “Are you here or still there?” Where exactly?

 Yet, I imagine wifi connecting here and there, space and community, like the building of forts that I used to make as a kid. An unexpected smile always came when the makeshift blocks of chair and blankets held. A new space unfurled like the tide, my eyes looking up at the blue blanket, while my legs, unable to fit, dangled back and forth outside, content.

And now, as I walk in the quiet streets of the city to the edge of the Kabaty forest, I close my eyes towards the sky, like my mom used to tell me, and listen to the trees, like crashing waves, transporting me from here to there. I am reminded that trees can sense one another in-between the spaces they give and leave and that is delightfully amazing. Do you see it?

Kendall Kartaly was born and raised in Altoona, Wisconsin and is currently living in Warsaw, Poland. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English and Secondary Education from Valparaiso University. As a writer and English teacher she sees the power of stories, art, and representation helping the world speak and listen, trying to search and name the “thing” in-between it all.

How I Found Hope This Week

L.H.

While reading the book, Welcoming the Unwelcome by Pema Chodron, I came across this quote.  “We can radiate our basic goodness from our whole body, sending it out to more and more beings—across countries, continents, and worlds—until it pervades all space.”

As I looked back on the past week I believe this is what I felt—this goodness—touching my life and many other’s lives.

Here are some examples of this goodness, kindness, concern:

• family calling before they headed to the grocery store to see if we needed anything.

• FaceTime with the whole family ( 14 of us)—always good for some laughter

• Photos of the grandkids art, Lego projects, videos to keep our spirits up

• Friends doing zoom to stay connected, phone calls ( I just wanted to hear your voice)

• Free YouTube offerings to pray, meditate and connect

• Emails from pastors, photos from someone doing meditation walks

• Neighbors sharing homemade bread

• Someone lending a lap top computer to a family without one,  for home schooling.

• A friend, after the death of his mother, sharing a reflection of how painful it was saying goodbye through a window, but being grateful to a health care worker who wheeled her to the window so she could hear her son and daughter’s voices. The hope it brought their family that someone took the time to see the importance of this goodbye.

All of this happened just last week—I wonder how hope will show its face in the week to come?  I just need to keep paying attention, and be grateful for all of the small but not so small things.

L.H. is a 72 years old who has loved to write all his life.  As a child he journaled about happy and not so happy times.  He taught kindergarten, first and second grades in Minnesota and Wisconsin.  He is married-- 49 years in June, to someone who spoils me!!.  They have 3 children all married,  and 6 grandchildren living in the Chippewa Valley area.  He volunteers in the community on a weekly basis--many different organizations.  The one closest to his heart is Beacon House.

Hope Is The Thing That Halts Collateral

Katie Johnson

                                                                             that     

                                                                       Full       ignition

                                                              deep                         reignite

                                                      breaths.                                  to

                                                     No                                               resurrected 

                                             longer                                                    Repeatedly

                                      escaping.                                                              incentive.

                                  Chained                                                                         be

                                to                                                                                        to

                           despair                                                                                     has

                            death                                                                                         There

                           danger.                                                                                         pushed.

                           Masses                                                                                       when

                           dusting                                                                                       only

                                  off                                                                                       push

                                      it’s                                                                              People

                                         contents                                                             costly. 

                                               when                                                        but

                                                      the                                         efficient

                                                          earth                              is

                                                               bends              Time

                                                                          buckling.

Katie Johnson is currently attending the University of Wisconsin Eau-Claire to become an English Secondary-Education teacher with a minor in both Creative Writing and Specific Learning Disabilities. She grew up attached to the written word as it proved vital to her survival after personal setbacks became prominent within her daily life. She has been published in The Flipside Magazine as well as various self-publishings. She is a supporter of universal access to learning as well as mindfulness-based education as she has used them as strengths to help cultivate her work. Whoever sees themselves in these words, this is for you

Hope Is The Thing

Yia Lor

Hope is the thing that soaks patiently in vinegar brine. You forget it’s waiting in the basement next to the cobwebs and crickets. Spiders, you get, but crickets? You still don’t know how they find their way inside. At least their music chirps you to sleep on summer nights, though you must sweep what’s left in the fall. 

It’s not until your favorite restaurant sits empty, your sister is laid off, and yellow tape drapes along the playground equipment that you decide maybe it’s time to finally paint the spare room. Steamed milk, like the master bedroom. Are paint stores still open? You’re not sure but also don’t check.

Then you remember the leftover paint from when you did the master bedroom a few years ago. You don’t know the rules to painting. Does it expire? You will not have enough for even one wall, but you are desperate for something to keep you from holding your breath so you will use the old paint regardless of the rules. 

In the basement, you find yourself next to the water heater, webs, and  crickets. So many. The shelves are mostly empty, except for the can of paints with its lid clearly not shut. That can’t be good. You are desperate though so you grab the can anyway. 

That’s when you see the jar hidden behind a box full of lids and rings. It’s dated 7/21/2019. You pickled on your anniversary, and you know right away it wasn’t Nick’s idea. You decide to hold off on painting and bring the jar upstairs. You wipe off the dust and webs. Thank goodness, there are no crickets. You take a butter knife along the edge of the lid and pop it open. Bits of dill, onion, garlic cloves, red pepper flakes, and whole black peppercorns sit on top of pinkie-sized pieces of hope that Mama helped you pick after you complained of the sticky summer heat and how it would surely kill you. It did not. You grab a bit of hope from the jar. 

When you bite into it, there is a burst of summer in your mouth. You can smell the tangled cucumber vines and your brother grilling another feast. The kids are taking turns on the tree swings Papa set up a few years ago. Your sisters are mixing bean thread noodles with cabbage, and you’re wondering why it’s always the hottest day when your family gathers to fry a couple hundred egg rolls. 

This summer, hope will grow despite what happens. You and Mama will spend early mornings picking little prickly pieces of it before the sun rises too high. You’ll stuff it into many, many jars, and you’ll wonder why you always grow so much hope. You’ll give most away before the holidays, and sometime when the end of winter rolls around or even into spring, you’ll have forgotten that last jar sitting in the dark basement with the cobwebs and crickets.

Yia Lor is a writer who collects rocks, houseplants, and recipes. 

Hope Is The Thing In Spring's Vessel

Connie Johnson

To be a seed that’s fully awake, juices flowing
to unfold cotyledons like a green umbrella,
face upward gathering the sun’s warmth
to feel the surge of chlorophyll,
reflecting spring’s purest green
to stretch and grow from within
wear a daffodil’s nodding smile
feel the cold and savor the fire
is to flourish
in today’s sheltered forest.


Connie Johnson is a graduate of Wisconsin State University-Eau Claire. She taught at Eleva-Strum Central High School before developing a business career. Connie is a member of an oral poetry group and has been published in various anthologies.

Hops Is The Thing That Makes No Promises

Lynda Schaller

Allows no certainty

And hope is the thing that

Hallows possibility

Invites us to become

Guardians of the future

Revving our creative engines

While fiercely protecting

Mercy’s tender flame

Lynda Schaller grew up on a Driftless region dairy farm, absorbing elders’ tales and free-ranging in woods and fields.  She has lived in the rural intentional community of Dancing Waters near Gays Mills, WI, since its 1982 founding.  Her passions are growing food, writing poetry and tending healthy group dynamics.