Great News!

Dear Jana,

Thanks so much for sending your manuscript Cherry Blossoms Bloom in March to me. I love your use of imagery and language, and the way you organized the poems was lovely.

At this time, I regret that I cannot accept your entire manuscript for publication, as I am only publishing anthologies of work by young writers. I would however love to publish your poems "Letting Go" and "Unmask" in the first Write On! Books anthology. More than fifty writers from all across the United States and even other countries including Canada, Singapore, New Zealand are having their work featured in the book, so I am expecting distribution to not just be limited to the U.S. but in fact to be worldwide, guaranteeing fantastic exposure for our young writers. I am also thrilled that acclaimed 23-year-old writer Jessica Burkhart, author of the popular YA series Canterwood Crest with Simon & Schuster, is writing a foreword to the book.
 
Best wishes,
 
Dallas Woodburn
Write On! Books
author, speaker, freelance writer
founder of "Write On! For Literacy"

Absorbing Art

I enjoyed a concert tonight at Aladdin Theatre to raise money for digging community wells in Africa.

Several bands performed, the most memorable being Loveness Wesa, a Swahili vocals and drums band with South African tribal dancing. Three Leg Torso played skillfully with cello, violin, drums, and a singer named Courtney. They seem Russian in style with American rock beat influence and eclectic if not eccentric themes.

Aladdin Theatre is an old fashioned building. Gold and blue molding decorate the walls, as do green panels. Worn wooden and red-upholstered seats fold out and do not automatically snap back into place. Beneath these seats the soft, green paint on the cement floor is fading in spots. I felt like I was a living prop on a 1920's wedding cake.

Wide banners to my right and left proclaim the worthy purpose of our entertainment for the evening: Give African Communities Pure Water. An African woman from Loveness Wesa remembers carrying water as a child. "Eet eez 'ard to look back and think, How did I survive? Water eez part ov life. Sometimes one jug of water our family shared until we could get to the next well." Stell Co. and Portland Roasting Coffee brought the bands and people together for a noble cause.

It was a great night. I got that oxygen.

Snapshots of Portland

Portland is definitely the place to become exposed to art. From antique architecture to the green and flourishing environment to a diverse people's culture, this ancient city is a piece of art itself. Today I strolled the downtown quarter with high expectations--and I was thoroughly inspired.

Each building is uniquely sculpted with neutral-colored bricks and dark steel. An Irish pub and thousands of high-end shops fill the structures; the upper stories are apartments. I am most astonished by the bridges. Who designed and manufactured such huge steel beams over which cars rush and trains thunder? I even walked across one of these magnificant structures near the Saturday Markets Tents, stopping to stare up at the rusty bottom of a road. Far out to my left and right, before and behind me, buildings squat and stretch according to their height.

Along the beach where bridges begin, cherry trees flaunt voluptuous pink and white blossoms. The green grass behind and the misty sky remind me of a fairy tale I always dreamed of being part of: Thumbelina. I can breath the clean air here; are you surprised? In spite of the industry of Portland, the rain cleans the air and refreshes the life of nature. The environment here is healthy and beautiful for all the people.

The people! The people! I see fat, bearded men wrapped in sleeping bags under many bridges, moms and daughters smiling at each other as they walk the river's beach, and men with dogs and cellphones and lovers. I can blend in and stand out at the same time because diversity is the flavor of Portland.

I love Portland because the art is found in every corner and open space. Seeing ancient construction, watching nature burst forth into life, and becoming me in the community are powerful idea-starters. My walk downtown moved me as a writer.

Writing as a Child

As a child, I wrote creatively because I wanted to. No one made me do it; I just picked up my pen and wrote. My mother can tell about the first attempt I made at creative writing, or writing just for fun. All of nine years old, I sat down at our kitchen table with a pile of papers and a sharpened pencil . . .

"Bears," I read to her, "Some are brown, black, or white/ and most of them have a big appetite."

She burst into laughter as I pronounced this long word.

"They roll down hills and climb up trees/ and some of them just sit in the breeze."

Years later, I realize that writing is a natural expression and propensity. Like all journeys, constructing correct papers, stories, poems, books, and articles requires increasing knowledge and willingness to fix mistakes. To me, my children's debut novel being published and my persistence in spite of some mediocre and therefore unacceptable work proves that I am a writer.