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In a year of change for all of us 2k9 writers, and a year when I have traveled to ten states and a Canadian province talking to students about Bull Rider, I have discovered something. We may hope that our books will touch readers, but in fact, the process of writing changes us. And when we share stories, something quiet and magical can happen. We have a moment of intimacy with another human being.

Yesterday I was talking to a group of sixth graders in Washington. It was Friday, last hour. The teacher had asked me to do a writing workshop with the class and we’d already met at my presentation. But there was that “are you going to finish so we can go home vibe” about some of them. I knew my workshop was a good one, but I steeled myself for perhaps a mediocre hour. The students followed my prewriting instructions. A few of them warmed up. We got to actual writing and everyone was quiet. Most of their pencils flew – I saw some kids rub their writing hands for relief and continue. I had them. After eight minutes we stopped to share. I had asked them to write about a time they were sad or excited. The students read their stories aloud. One won a basketball game. One went to a slumber party with friends. Then a little girl in the corner, the kind of girl I suspect doesn’t talk much, began reading in a shaky voice. “I will tell you about the day I found my mother had died.” She continued for a full two pages, wiping her eyes occasionally to hold back tears. You could hear the breathing in the room. No one moved. She ended with “And I knew I’d never see my mother again.” Silence. How do you continue after that moment of vulnerability? I said, “Thank you.” More silence. “You know stories can change us. And sharing stories changes us too. You’ve let us feel how you felt and now the sharing will change you. When you share your story it has power – to make us laugh or cry. To heal us. To bring the arms of more people into your world. You have given us a gift. Thank you.” And we went on.

At the end of this 2k9 year, I would say that the sharing has been a gift. We’ve be together in the planning and during disappointments, and confusion, and joy, and excitement. And sharing the stories we wrote is magic. They have lives of their own now. In rooms we will never see our books are evoking tears and laughter and fear. They are reaching for our readers, changing them. A year ago, I hadn’t imagined that. But don’t believe readers are the only ones whose lives have been touched. Writing my nonfiction book, the Inuit taught me to listen. Writing Bull Rider taught me to be grateful – for family, for health, and for the sacrifices that military families make in small and heroic ways every day. Being in the Class of 2k9 has taught me that each book and each person has their own journey. They will be different, but they are each equally valid and good.

And a last discovery? If we write the books and you don’t read them, we may as well have shredded them when they came off the press. If Bull Rider or Jane in Bloom or any of our 2k9 titles sit on a library shelf or are paper weights on someone’s desk, we might as well have buried  them in the backyard. This story thing takes two – a writer and a reader. We’ve done our bit. Now I ask you to do yours. Read our stories and then pass them on. Our books can speak, but only if you listen. In that sharing, there is magic. Thank you.