Mini Love-Fest for @getnicced as the @S_StoryFest Closes Down

"I love her," says Kemoy after we drop her off at the Bradley Airport, so she can fly to Atlanta for an hour, then fly back to NJ to spend the night (she tells us, don't ask, so we don't).

Instead, I simply thank the Great Whatever that we dropped her off safely, but more importantly, I'm thankful that Kemoy and Chunjang were delivered home in serenity, too.

Kermit...aka The Hulk...aka known as the Crandall-mobile carried precious cargo yesterday afternoon. We had a writer inside. Scratch that. Remix. We had two amazing young men in that car. Whoops. It's more than that. Rewind. Remix again. The Hulk was carrying full-fledged, passionate, spiritual, brilliant human beings who are on a quest to find answers to whatever The Great Whatever launches their way. I'm not sure about them, but I enjoyed every second of the journey from Staples High School to Hartford. I love company. I love company that shares their stories. I love story festivals and we had a mini-version of our own in the car.

I lied. Stories are sometimes embellished this way. I didn't enjoy every second. We came upon an accident - a 4-car pile up. There was a young driver, a woman driver,  a family, and an elderly couple. The children were okay. They were pacing aside the crash. The older individuals didn't seem like they were fairing as well, and the teenager was on his cell phone screaming in absolute paranoia. It was not fun to see. It was fresh. It was vivid. I held my breath. I was glad Nic Stone's back was to it and she was engrossed in the conversation with Chunjang and didn't turn her head.

Rewind again. The conversation with Kermit. Remix. Revise. Hit submit. I loved every second of it, but sometimes the stories we share aren't always easy to digest. Sometimes they're, well, honest. That's what happens when one drives from point A to point B in a random sojourn through Connecticut, especially with adolescents on the journey.  Stories get shared. There's confessionals. There's reflection. There's, for aging farts like me, memories and flashbacks - luck and contemplation.

So, this morning I'm thinking about the magical, Slytherin-esque, magical and sage-like phenomena that is Nic Stone. I was graced to be with her for a couple of days in person, but I've also been honored to work with Dear Martin with teenagers as well as graduate students (the art work to the right, in fact, is a collaborative piece created of painted essays and Martin Luther King quotes to recreate her book cover) that was presented to her Friday night (if, and, or when you read the book, you will understand the importance of multiple perspectives that went into the creation --- that is, the writing of my students).

I will mail the portrait to her home this week, but this morning, I simple want to recognize what I saw this weekend. Nic Stone is the real deal. She gets that period of time between 12 years old and college when one hits their funky, vibrant, adolescent selves. She writes for them, and she has an ear for voices: the privileged, the pampered, the struggling, the poor, the funny, the athletic, and the mentoring. That's what was put into the story of Justyce in Dear Martin. It was a culmination of many stories and voices - what arrives when you're an individual like Nic Stone. You read people. You figure them out. You hear them. Then, in the complicated spaces that we human beings exist, you try to figure out the justices and injustices of the world. Shrewd. Smart. Brilliant.

This weekend, however, I saw that Nic Stone's writing matches her personality and that she does EVERYTHING with readers in mind. My favorite parts of the Saugatuck Story Fest this weekend were those moments when I caught/observed/witnessed Nic Stone's listening to the questions and stories of young people. She gets them. She hears them. She believes in them. Like Harry, or Hermione, Ron or even Snape, she has a magic wand. She uses it when appropriate and the teacher in me was inspired again and again seeing the wanderlust she has over the youth she writes for.

I thoroughly enjoyed every second of the Story Fest and feel it was a tremendous success. Like Nic Stone, all the writers were gracious, phenomenal, and - at least in the YA crew - pro-youth. I personally have an intimacy with Dear Martin, however, because I've used it in courses and professional development. As an educator, I see the power of the text and the teachability for the discussion it incites. It worked wonderful with #Unload: Guns in the Hands of Artists, too.

So, I REALLY am thankful that Nic Stone was delivered to the airport safely. Kemoy, Chunjang and countless others need her to keep writing as she's writing (and doing as she does). We are who we are because of the phenomenal human being that she is.

But now it's Monday, and I have my other job(s) to attend to.

Feeling blessed, indeed.