They can write about anything.

"Write everyday. Regaining momentum takes three times as much energy as sustaining momentum." - Daniel H. Pink (via @AdviceToWriters)

I'm going to try and make writing my priority this semester. Really, really, really. It makes me so sad when I can't. Or that last semester I couldn't as much as I wanted to. For now, I'll just post another excerpt from my final story (which got an A, btw! I picked it up from my professor a couple of days ago). I ran into Cedric Bolton today, actually, and he said he found my blog during break, which I didn't expect, lol. I guess all it takes, though, is a Google search of "Verbal Blend" and "college." I'll be following up with him soon to learn about their plans for this semester. Anyway, another excerpt. At this rate, I should just post my whole story, right?

Within the past year, Bolton and Verbal Blend members have traveled to local schools to conduct similar workshops and provide a forum for young students to express themselves. Bolton collaborates with Marcelle Haddix, an assistant professor in the School of Education with a Ph.D. in literacy, language, and learning. Haddix moved to Syracuse three years ago and immediately decided to commit her time to community work. “One of the things I noticed right away was that there was a need for writing,” she says. “Parents and community members were really concerned with writing achievement, particularly of African American youth.” In response, Haddix created the “Writing Our Lives” project, an annual writers’ conference open to middle school and high school students.

This year, students and Verbal Blend poets rose early one sunny Saturday morning in November to go to Hughes Elementary School, a magnet school in the Syracuse city school district. The second annual “Writing Our Lives” conference attracted more than 120 students in the sixth to 12^th grades. Workshops provided guidance in topics such as journalism, comics, and fiction writing. Older students registered for “Writing the College Essay.” Bolton led “Discovering your Voice,” with four Verbal Blend poets, including Hawkins. “I always had a passion for the public education system because I grew up in it, so I know that everything isn’t always as it should be,” she says.

Bolton prepares large sheets of white paper on the stage. Time to brainstorm. “What are the things you want to give voice to in your communities?” he asks the shy students who sit around the red octagonal tables of the cafetorium. He waits. He sighs. “It’s going to be a long morning,” he says, when the students hesitate to answer. Slowly, they gain confidence and begin to raise their hands. Vandalism, gangs, racism, violence, teenage pregnancy, hip hop, bullying, hatred, drugs, single parent homes, sports, love, multiculturalism. They can write about anything, even the kind of men and women they want to be in ten years. Professor, Grammy winner, architect, business owner, forensic scientist, surgeon, lawyer, mother, father, responsible, independent, strong, happy.

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To put the excerpt in perspective, the city of Syracuse currently not only suffers from poverty, crime, and underdevelopment, but from, like many cities in the US, a poor education system! This recent study, A Call for Change: The Social and Educational Factors Contributing to the Outcomes of Black Males in Urban Schools, applies; many African-American families live in the city. Many children from those families (and children who represent other minority groups) attend Fowler High School, recently reported to have the worst graduation rate in New York State--an astounding 33 percent, according to the Post-Standard. Lately, local groups and initiatives have dedicated themselves to mentoring and tutoring students in the nearby neighborhoods--including a few from Syracuse University. Verbal Blend is one of those groups. And though they can't fix the system, small gestures such as the one described above prove meaningful and worthwhile.

Medley

Open publication - Free publishing - More diversity

Medley is dedicated to providing a forum for students to explore cultural differences and its manifestations on campus, in the city of Syracuse, and abroad.

So the new semester started and I still haven't updated about Medley, as promised. Figured I should do this now, as I've already met with Kirsten (Editor in Chief) and Luis (Art Director--he's fantastic, we got so lucky) to discuss what worked, what didn't work last semester, and the schedule for the spring issue. I joined the staff spring semester of freshman year, fact checked and copy edited for a year and a half before I went abroad fall semester of junior year, and came back last spring as a senior editor. But my managing editor position last semester has been the most challenging of all the positions, of course, and also the most challenging thing I've done during my four years at SU. I guess I underestimated the difficulty of balancing the position with four challenging classes (and a position as an editor for the SU yearbook). Being managing editor at Medley is different (than those of most publications in the "real world") in that, in addition to the typical duties required of one, such as creating the editorial schedule, managing the budget, or following up with editors and writers, due to our small staff, it also encompasses editing, writing, fact checking, copy editing, coming up with display copy, design ideas, etc etc etc. Basically, EVERYTHING, lol. I feel like a part of me is in a part of every bit of the issue, every story, because I had pretty much the final say in everything (along with Kirsten), from where the comma is placed in one story, to what topics we chose to write about, and the cover photo (which I love, love, love. The back cover too). Everything. It's a really good feeling.

At the same time, I wrote a profile about the Muslim Students' Association at SU (pg. 16). This also provided many challenges and really, I have to give a lot of credit to Kirsten and the two senior editors, Kathleen and Maria, for helping me shape this story. When we first sat down in September to discuss story ideas, I suggested a story that addressed, in some way, the "Ground Zero mosque" issue that gained much attention last summer. Or a story that discussed the college experience for Muslim-American students in the US. Kind of ambitious, and it didn't work out. But I started that angle by interviewing the president of the Muslim Students' Association, the vice-president, and the former president of MSA and current board member of the local mosque. By then, I decided I found my focus: the organization. I couldn't really emphasize within the 750 word limit how great the three guys are. I truly enjoyed spending time with them; they're extremely funny and down-to-earth, and today I consider them (especially Azhar and Ismail), good friends. They gave me tons of information and were so enthusiastic and genuinely appreciative for my interest, that I took the time to find out more about their organization. While reporting for the story, I also met the imam of the local mosque mentioned in the story, who was very friendly, honest, and willing to answer any questions I had. He gave me copies of the Quran (including one in Spanish! lol, it's actually quite beautiful) to keep and pamphlets to read to help broaden my understanding of the religion. I also attended jumu'ah one Friday at the mosque, and sat with the MSA secretary, Haseeba. Haseeba went out of her way to make sure I was comfortable and understood what I was listening to and watching (the service is in Arabic). The women and men are separated--the women have to sit in the upper balcony of the small mosque. Women of all ages and backgrounds sat or kneeled with their children in the small space. I also wore a hijab (required of all women in a mosque), which, I mean, I don't want to make it sound like it's a big deal overall, because it's not. But it was my first time, and I definitely felt different. I should add that the final sentence of my story as seen above is not the final version. I think the above is literally the 2nd to final version before we sent the issue to print. I had such a difficult time with the conclusion! But it ended up being: "Although many Muslims around the world face criticism for creating places of worship, Syracuse offers a welcoming community."

I'm really proud of this issue. Medley has only been around for a few years and is still a work in progress compared to the other publications on campus. But we are definitely on the right track. We received a really great response from people on campus for this fall issue, and I'm excited to increase awareness about a magazine that covers topics, people, and places really important for students and the community to know about. And though this is my last semester and Medley is just beginning to grow and improve editorially and visually, it makes me excited to know that we can leave a sort of legacy.

"Stop apologizing for what you do."

Another excerpt from my story, another moment, another reason students join:

Alecia Gordon, an undecided sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences, reads a letter addressed to God, filled with the anguish that comes with knowing you’ve disappointed. By the end, tears stream down her face. She lets out a small laugh, embarrassed by her moment of weakness and vulnerability. As Gordon walks back to her seat, Hawkins, her roommate, turns to give her a hug. The poet to Gordon’s right, Janel Sullivan, turns and says under her breath, “I’d want to hear it again, if you can type it up and send it to me. That was really beautiful.” Gordon still can’t shake the embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says. “I hate when that happens!”

“Can I say this one more time?” Bolton says in a stern voice. “Stop apologizing for what you do. It was meant to be.”

Gordon cried the first time she attended a Verbal Blend meeting, too. The power of the other poets’ words affected her in such a way she decided to keep coming back. Bolton credits poetry with having a therapeutic quality that many students on campus may need. “If they need to cry, they can cry and get it out through that poem," he says. "[The poem] will help to heal them."

Ayo Technology

Above is a picture from the "Ayo Technology" Skype open mic event--the same one depicted in my lede. Verbal Blend poets alternated with poets from Voices Merging (on screen), the group that Cedric Bolton started at the University of Minnesota before he came to Syracuse. It's quite a shame that not many people knew about it or had an interest because it was truly a unique event and I'm willing to bet the first of its kind.

"This is the element. Now you set up a stage, you're connecting two schools, faculty, community, students--the artists who are there with our artists who are here--through digital mediums." - Cedric Bolton

Tyler (above) is one of Verbal Blend's most dynamic members. He's a great poet and I plan to dedicate one of my future posts to describing him and his poetry in detail. Check the woman on the screen. She became a permanent presence during the event; as both Verbal Blend and Voices Merging poets recited from their phones, laptops, or memories, she stood in the background and signed in American Sign Language for deaf viewers. It was beautiful. Even the most vulgar of words looked delicate on her fingers.

Can y'all hear me?

The story itself needs a lot of work. I'm too ashamed to post what I handed in to my magazine professor (though it appears she liked it because I got an A- in the class?--still, I know it's not as good as it can be). But here's the lede; this still needs work too, thinking about changing the first sentence altogether:

Dim lights illuminate the 307 descending seats that lead to the center of the auditorium. Christiona Hawkins walks up to read her poem. The light shines brightest on her smooth coffee-colored complexion. But her eyes, instead of looking at the audience, focus for a moment on the Webcam resting on the orange plastic-covered podium set in front of her. “Can y’all hear me?” she yells. A few seconds later, an emphatic “Yes” emanates from the speakers, the voices of a group 1,000 miles away filling the room, their own stage at the University of Minnesota projected onto the large screen that hangs behind her. She begins to read, “A Warrior Out of Us,” from her phone. Her kind voice becomes firm, urgent, unwavering as she unravels a combination of metaphors expressing her observations of the African-American experience. The frustration overflows from her voice as she alludes to the false illusions of progress that plague the black community. Don’t be fooled, she says. I’ll let you think you’re flying high, but just like kites, I have strings attached to you. Snap, snap, snap. The audience appreciates her clever prose. We will really see what a disaster our people have become. An eruption of applause and snaps follow the last line. While Hawkins walks back to her seat, the host in Minneapolis says, “Someone in the audience has a special note for the young lady who was just on stage.” “Uh-oh, uh-oh!” shout men from the audience. But the message doesn’t come with the expected flirtation—just admiration: "You are an amazing poet," the person says.

Hawkins, a sophomore international relations and policy studies major, belongs to Verbal Blend, a spoken word program at SU.

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"I'm pulling the dirt together"

Below is a moment I witnessed during my first two hours with Verbal Blend. It was so brief but telling.

Cedric Bolton brings two poems by Joy Harjo in honor of Native American Heritage Month to the last two Verbal Blend workshops of the semester. On the first day, only four poets showed up, two volunteered to read "The Creation Story," and "Equinox," aloud. Afterwards, they take turns sharing interpretations of the poems and decide that Harjo pulls inspiration from nature and the natural to form images of important themes and feelings in her life: creation, love, ancestry, war, guilt, fear. Bolton encourages the poets to use, if they need to, Harjo's words for inspiration during the routine 15 minutes of free write.

Katherine, one of Verbal Blend's newest members--the senior joined this fall, says little during the first hour but willingly stands to share her poem. For 45 seconds, she reads from her notebook, often stumbling over the words; she twice repeats two lines. The most noticeable part of her performance are her feet, which fidget from side to side, and her body, which on occasion seeks the nearest table for support. Despite her slight discomfort, the group loves the poem. Desperation has made me crave a murder of an innocent world that was self built inside my cage's walls. "I love that last line," Michelle says. "Can you read the whole thing one more time for me?" Ruthnie adds. Ruthnie, nicknamed Rae and affectionately called 'Rae Sunshine' by the group, often presents challenges to the poets. Tonight, "I challenge you to keep both feet flat on the floor. If you force both feet to stay flat on the floor then your body will use that energy." Katherine begins to laugh; her feet jitter in her acting class, too.

For the second attempt, the words flow fluidly--save for two times, when Katherine pauses as her body pulls the strength up from her anchored feet and through her diaphragm to force the words brick and crave out of her mouth, clear and unbroken. Not once does she stutter on a word, repeat a line, or move her feet. "Damn!," Bolton says after the last line. Rae, just as, if not more, impressed the second time, breathes out an awed "Gosh!" Snap, snap, snap all around the room. "How do you feel?" Rae asks.

"I feel mad," Catherine responds. "And I feel good that it's in here," she says, lifting her notebook with her right hand. She brings her left to her chest. "Not here."

"I created a separate identity."

This audio clip took me a lot longer to edit than it probably should have, and still it needs some work. But no matter. I posted it because one of the first things I noticed when I began attending Verbal Blend workshops was the way many of the poets transformed when they took the stage. All are students of varying disciplines and before Cedric Bolton (the director of the program) begins the workshop, they talk about their schoolwork, share anecdotes, and laugh. Normal. But after a 15-minute silence period designed for free-writing, one by one, each person volunteers to share. Some sing, sway, yell, cry. And some become different people entirely.