The Writing Table

It didn’t start out well. I was participating in the Makers Space at the Hancock County arts festival, a tent where artists demonstrated their crafts. I was already pushing a rock uphill, competing for attention with potters and wood turners and face painters. My writing offering was unfinished sentences on index cards. “My teacher says…” “I never liked…” “It always makes me smile when…” “I call my grandmother…” Attendees at the Arts Alive! festival could complete the sentences and be writers too. But the writing table was placed oddly, deep inside the Makers Space tent. How would anyone understand my offering, much less respond to it?

I went to the front of the tent, ready to waylay passersby and tell them what the tent was, which was not immediately evident. My thought was to introduce the crafts being demo’d in the tent and invite folks in. I checked with the woman at the first table. “You’re doing stained glass, right?” If I was gonna be promoting our crafts, I needed to be correct on what we were doing. “Yes,” she said, gathering her things. “And I’m finished. You want my table?”

The angles sang.

I repositioned my writing table and, after that, Katie bar the door.

This makes the third year I’ve offered writing at Arts Alive! Each one has been extraordinary. People stop and peruse the cards while I explain. “So many people carry trauma about writing. Red ink on papers. Using writing as punishment. High school essays.” One woman nodded and said, “That’s exactly what I thought: high school essays.” I laughed, and said, “I want to show writing can be easy, simple, and fun.”

People not only participated. Several actually thanked me for what I was doing. It particularly meant a lot to me that one of those expressing gratitude looked to be about 14 years old. She valued writing, it seemed. She filled out a card, boldly. Then offered her thanks. I consider that a total win for my writing table.