For the next few months, we are sharing writing that happened in fundraising workshops, Write Around the World. This is one way we are celebrating the AWA-certified workshop leaders & writers who joined together to raise money in support of AWA. Thank you to those who shared their voices in each workshop and especially to those who have offered their words to be shared in this space. If you’re inspired by our work and would like to be part of the fundraiser, please¬†donate!

Writing from Writing Full Tilt with Maureen Buchanan Jones in Amherst, MA:


He tried to catch the rainbow, he was on his hands and knees. He is one year and five months. I know if he had caught it, he would have just shoved it into his mouth, like the crayon at the breakfast place or the rock at the end of the driveway or the corn kernel in the dirt at the maze. The rainbow was strong, thick, wide bands of blue, green, yellow and orange, the whole thing just smaller than my hand. Bright, solid, with crisp edges, all on the tan wood floor. He had seen it the moment he entered the kitchen. It kept shifting position but staying next to the base of the stove and the skinny cabinet that held oversize serving trays. He said “ba” really loudly, that’s his way of saying “look” and I did. More “ba” as his hands moved in time with the rainbow. The sunlight was coming through a crystal dangling in the kitchen window. He looked at his empty hand, then on the floor full of rainbow, then at me. He smiled big! When he looked back at the floor the rainbow had moved on. I glanced at the window and the crystal and when I looked back, my grandson had moved on as well. “Shit,” I said, and exited the kitchen quickly. That boy can move! He had already covered the distance from the back hall to the front, ready to climb the long bare wooden staircase to the second floor. He’s not doing stairs at home. I called his name as I approached and plucked him from the second stair. He accepted his removal from the stairs with good grace, got his footing as I placed him to the floor and drunk walked his way into the living room. There were Duplo blocks there, a farmyard and a train set. I was right behind him, looking around for his older, by a year and five months, brother. Sometimes they played well together, sometimes they did not, leaving one boy unhappy. Sometimes playing alone after adult intervention. He looked at me. He smiled big! He chose the little girl from the farm and clutched in his left hand, popped her into his mouth.

Katharine P. Nelson

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