Adrian Nicole LeBlanc
I recently had the gift of an extraordinary afternoon in the company of the reading and writing collaborative Still Waters in a Storm. They had read my book, Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble and Coming of Age in the Bronx, and some of the subjects in the book were coming to visit. I was sitting in.
When I opened the door, it was immediately clear that extremely important things were going on in the room. Young people, gathered by choice on a summer Saturday (the weather was stunning) sitting on the floor in a crowded space. These teenagers were engaged. Animated faces. Direct questions. Strong opinions. Ideas spilling out, anchored and beautifully far-flung, mixed with personal and literary and movie references. They showed the ability to listen. They shared silence companionably. They tolerated—and absorbed—diplomatic critique. I could also tell by the precision of their responses to one another’s writing that they cared for one another, that they were specifically known. After hours of listening and talking and writing together, my hope in the power of writing—dare I say it?—was entirely renewed. I was in the presence of the very process of the transformative power of words.
Still Waters in a Storm is self-named and there is no lack of awareness among its members that it is a haven. But its purpose—reading and writing—moves beyond satisfying the need for a physically safe place in the Bushwick neighborhood. It teaches sustenance. It cultivates the freedom of imagination, a necessary component of self-determination. Individuation and connection occur together. The collaborative feeds an essential social wellspring and enhances the always-difficult process of growing up. Best of all, the group requires reciprocity; it confers on the kids legitimacy and value in the course of its demands.