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Writing by residents of Cyndi Taylor Krier Juvenile

Correctional Treatment Centerin San Antonio, Texas

in partnership with Gemini Ink,readers and writers today and tomorrow

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Outside the Razor Wire

Writing by residents ofCyndi Taylor Krier Juvenile Correctional Treatment Center

In partnership with Gemini Ink’s Writers in Communitiesprogram in San Antonio, Texas

readers and writerstoday and tomorrow

Summer 2011

Funded by Bexar County Juvenile Probation DepartmentAdditional support from Carina Gors

Writers-in-ResidenceCary Clack and Trey Moore

PhotographsJoanna Zamarron

Design & LayoutAnisa Onofre, Director, Writers in Communities

Rosemary CatacalosExecutive | Artistic Director, Gemini Ink

The authors’ work is edited as lightly as possible in order to honor the original voices

© 2011 Gemini Ink

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“There’s a place somewhere out there, outside the razor wire.Everyday, I dream of being there, it’s a burning desire.A place called home.” ~Christopher

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CONTENTS

Foreword by Writer-in-Residence Cary Clack 1

Being a Man Joe 3

Childhood Daniel 5

Self-Portrait Aaron 6

Love Poem to My Mom Joe 7

Emotional Swirleys Johnathan 8

Lord Have Mercy Daniel 8

I’m Sorry Lavonte 9

Tribute to Ethridge Knight Aaron 10

The Pages of Your Book Johnathan 12

Feelings Isiah 14

Dreams Isiah 15

Love Lavonte 16

Love Poems to My Girl Leslie Joe 17

You and Me Aaron 19

Love is Pain Lavonte 20

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Ben Johnathan 21

Powerless Christopher 22

Me Christopher 23

The Real Me Lavonte 24

The Ballad of Epic Lee Isiah 25

My ‘Hood Daniel 26

No More Aaron 27

Send Me an Angel Lavonte 28

Untitled Daniel 30

A Minute Past Johnathan 31

This is Who I Am Johnathan 32

Sense of Humor Matthew 34

Timeline Isiah 35

Untitled Daniel 36

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ForewordWriter-in-Residence Cary Clack

Imagination can’t be confined and the impulse to communicate isn’t easily restrained. This anthology of young writers is a testament to the need to create and to connect with others. Each of these teenaged males were residents of the Cyndi Taylor Krier Juvenile Correction Treatment Center when they wrote these pieces last spring. Many had already begun their dance with words, with poems and observations scribbled in notebooks, and scraps of paper or typed into a computer. Some of their writings display a confidence and maturity of someone used to waltzing or jitterbugging to the music in their heads. Others accepted the invitation to dance and after a few tentative steps discovered they possessed some nice literary moves. But they all wrote in voices unique to their personalities and experiences. Some of the voices are raw, some polished, some a unique mixture, but all of their voices are authentic and demand to be heard. They don’t excuse away the indiscretions that brought them to Krier but assess their lives, their actions, their neighborhoods, their families and their times in which they live with unflinching candor. There’s social commentary but there’s also writings about the hunger and longing of the spirit and the flesh. There are love songs here, valentines to girlfriends, mothers and to dreams and ambition. For a while they see life as it is before and as they were confined within the razor wire they can also see through and beyond its sharp confines and imagine the lives they want to live. And just as butterflies don’t want to be defined by the caterpillars they once were, these young men who have fallen and have gotten up, don’t want to be defined by their stumbles. They believe in the power of redemption and believe that they are worthy of its gift. As Aaron H. writes at the end of “No More”: “No more falling, no more molding us into something we would never be. We have decency. Let us become the people we are meant to be. No more. No more. No more.” The power, beauty, simplicity and honesty of their words as they move towards lives outside the razor wire will move those of us welcoming their transformations.

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ForewordWriter-in-Residence Cary Clack

Imagination can’t be confined and the impulse to communicate isn’t easily restrained. This anthology of young writers is a testament to the need to create and to connect with others. Each of these teenaged males were residents of the Cyndi Taylor Krier Juvenile Correction Treatment Center when they wrote these pieces last spring. Many had already begun their dance with words, with poems and observations scribbled in notebooks, and scraps of paper or typed into a computer. Some of their writings display a confidence and maturity of someone used to waltzing or jitterbugging to the music in their heads. Others accepted the invitation to dance and after a few tentative steps discovered they possessed some nice literary moves. But they all wrote in voices unique to their personalities and experiences. Some of the voices are raw, some polished, some a unique mixture, but all of their voices are authentic and demand to be heard. They don’t excuse away the indiscretions that brought them to Krier but assess their lives, their actions, their neighborhoods, their families and their times in which they live with unflinching candor. There’s social commentary but there’s also writings about the hunger and longing of the spirit and the flesh. There are love songs here, valentines to girlfriends, mothers and to dreams and ambition. For a while they see life as it is before and as they were confined within the razor wire they can also see through and beyond its sharp confines and imagine the lives they want to live. And just as butterflies don’t want to be defined by the caterpillars they once were, these young men who have fallen and have gotten up, don’t want to be defined by their stumbles. They believe in the power of redemption and believe that they are worthy of its gift. As Aaron H. writes at the end of “No More”: “No more falling, no more molding us into something we would never be. We have decency. Let us become the people we are meant to be. No more. No more. No more.” The power, beauty, simplicity and honesty of their words as they move towards lives outside the razor wire will move those of us welcoming their transformations.

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Being a ManJoe

All I ever wanted for me, when I was younger; keeping it real, chilling with boys, and staying with my

mother. Find a clue, keep it true, stay with your family because they’re going to be there for you.

Get some hope, get to rest,and put it to your chest.Because when you become a daddyThey’re going to put you to a test.I’m not lying, I’m living a hard life.And I realize when my mom gave me birth I wouldn’t stop crying.

I thought I was cool messing up my life.Running from the cops, when they shine the light.Now I think I came to be the real “me.”

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ChildhoodDaniel

One important thing that I lost and will never get back is my child-hood. I started sellin’ crack at a young age so I really didn’t have time for all the things that kids are supposed to do, whatever that is that kids do. I guess ride bikes, play tag, or all that other stuff. But that really doesn’t matter to me at all anymore. I’m 16-years-old and living like I’m a grown man, when in reality I’m not.

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Self-PortraitAaron

Mentally and physically I’m outspoken Disregard I’m brokenBecause mainly I’m disoriented in life.

I’m struggling with X’s and O’s; they spread their wings And take flightLeaving me on this lonely road I’ve taken.

Feeling forsaken, it’s time to awaken Mistaken, aching, feeling so goneTormented by drugs and sex.

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Love Poem to My MomJoe

I was raised on the streets, mamaYou didn’t know what it meant for me.Even though, I was hard headedComing home late and still beggin’I never realized what I was doin’I thought I was a bad kid, but let’s get to it.

I’m sorry for all the pain I gave youAll this time I’m away from you.I understand that I have to be a better manStop acting like a kid, get on with my plan.

The plan is to show you that I can make it.Stop acting like a fool, but never fake it.I thank the Lord, He hasn’t taken youEvery time I see you I respect you.

The only words that I have to say is that I love you.I’m becoming a better man,Every day I think of you. I can’t focus on something elseBecause I’m missing you.

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Emotional SwirleysJohnathan

Suicide is on my mindNo idea where my thoughts resideConstantly flying ‘round like beesMy emotions lie between two treesScared teeth bared No matter how much I cut burn bite my emotions swing like a kite.

Lord Have MercyDaniel

Lord have mercy, Momma done raised a real thugMe and my Daddy cool, but he show me tough love.At 15, I was out getting grown, by this timemy old man done moved on.

Momma couldn’t drive, she didn’t have a carI can still see my Momma walkin’ far.Sweat on her face, purse in a grocery bagMe and my sista all that she eva had.

Stuck my chest out, became man of the houseNow I’m da bread winna go gettin’ at any cost.Flippin’ burgers, washin’ cars, cuttin’ yardsI graduated to cookin’ soft ’n’ sellin’ hard.

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I’m SorryLavonte

Time has come for me to be a manI need to step up and be the best I can.My momma told me she loved meBecause I’m her son. Sometimes I wish I was her only son, the only one.

If momma didn’t die and daddy didn’t bailI know for sure I would never went to jail.

Sometimes I lay down at night I wonder why my future is so bright. I miss the love you give. I miss the wonderful life we lived. Momma I need you, the love we shared between us two.

Now I feel kinda homeless. I wish I had a Mom to go home with. As time goes on I learn to be a man See how tall I stand.

Emotional SwirleysJohnathan

Suicide is on my mindNo idea where my thoughts resideConstantly flying ‘round like beesMy emotions lie between two treesScared teeth bared No matter how much I cut burn bite my emotions swing like a kite.

Lord Have MercyDaniel

Lord have mercy, Momma done raised a real thugMe and my Daddy cool, but he show me tough love.At 15, I was out getting grown, by this timemy old man done moved on.

Momma couldn’t drive, she didn’t have a carI can still see my Momma walkin’ far.Sweat on her face, purse in a grocery bagMe and my sista all that she eva had.

Stuck my chest out, became man of the houseNow I’m da bread winna go gettin’ at any cost.Flippin’ burgers, washin’ cars, cuttin’ yardsI graduated to cookin’ soft ’n’ sellin’ hard.

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Tribute to Ethridge KnightAaron

I know all your problems, Aaron.Like say your drug problem. Your “do—it—yourself” problemYour weed problem, inhaling till you’re dizzy And inhaling some more problem.Your extortion problem, your buy your girl An abortion and leave her problemYour money problem, turning hundreds into ones To fake the fun problem.Your thinking problem, saying #%@?! the world Because there’s nothing to believe in problem.Your gun problem, wanting to carry two everywhere In case something pops up problem.Your ready to act dumb problem.Your manipulating problem, getting a girl to be your side girl, Even though she want to be your main girl problem.Your panties problem, keeping momentos and throwing Them in your dirty laundry so when your mom washes She says, “I never bought those” problem.Your anger problem, beating people up for prices, but you’re Displacing your anger problem.Your love problem, having sex to cure your lust problem.Your family problem, bringing friends over and pretendingThey’re your brothers cuz ya’ll smoke blunt after blunt problem.Your John Travolta problem, acting tough but you’re Really soft as Charmin Ultra problem.Your relationship problem, putting all your heart in Mary Jane cause she don’t break hearts problem.Your dream problem, dreaming of nothing but Dematerializing and breaking down problem.Your incarceration problem, thinking when you are locked up It’s your safe haven problem.

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Your Xanax problem, @#&? your mind, so you can’t Explain what’s next problem.Your silence problem, keeping everybody distant problem, So nobody knows what you do, who you are or anything about you problem.Your trust problemYour not letting anybody in problem,What’s your problem Aaron, so many problems you have A problem of becoming a problem, Aaron.

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The Pages of Your Book Johnathan

How short is life? How unjust is death? How insignificant are we all to use our art to tell our story, to lay out our paths?

Regardless of how thoroughly proven, we can’t amount to anything, even in our safe haven.

Always, there’s someone more clean shaven, better suits, more money, everything… they’ll all cave in.

Ode to a Raven? Forget that s**t. My poetry won’t go down unlit, consumed by fire and the blood slit from my very wrist. Oh yes you seem still very much pissed.

As the blood is secreted this is very much needed. I allow it to flow and indeed it flows like this poem from my mouth, like a garden hose.

All the way down it flows to the depths of the ocean, a shark bites a fish and you wonder why.

Why that fish?Like a dog dissected on a big bloody dish to no longer live is

everyone and everything’s wish.Although your arms are wrapped like a child ‘round his

mother, you don’t understand if death is for you or another.To be three is the ultimate free, flipping your letter blocks at

the age of careless, innocent number three.Now at sixteen, with much bigger blocks, you sprint for miles.Though still angry, though still pissed, you want to be hugged.

What’s wrong with a kiss?Or lunge, take the plunge, over the cliff, the cliff of grim and

gloom. Gloom and grim but no glory.Over and over you’re annoyed by the knock but you shoo

death away. You remain in shock.So in conclusion, your life’s an illusion.Not like your various multiple contusions.Something has happened, something rang your bell. Perhaps it

was the thought to reside in hell, head at the Devil’s feet, twenty-four-

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seven completely beat.I will rise up with a straight clean sheet and in everyone’s

eyes become an optimist, no matter how pissed.Even through that grim and over that gloryless cliff. You’ll

still get your whiff, that sweet scent of death, that sour smell of life.Your blood is pumping, adrenaline rushing, water in a river,

emphasized on a map, reminder of your many veins, you have gone thoroughly insane. It’s your turn to die but before you say goodbye, look at me. Look at me and take a good look, though at first glance you may be shook, it’s the pages you should read, not the cover of the book.

You thought this was over but it has just begun. That was the negative now this is the fun.

You have found your release, the sport that brings you so much peace. Football is more than your very least. You finally hit your turning point, your life no longer bathed in strife.

You rushed your thoughts of suicide, all that was, was time to bide.

As you sacked your self-esteem and sent it to the sky, all you could think is, were you living a lie?

My recent days have been amazing, though they all flew right by. None were in the least phasing.

The old me is gone, just like one of eight pawns, just like the grass clipped off the lawn, blown away…

As death’s dark lure slowly brought down my core, I couldn’t help but realize that this was all thanks to the help of Trey Moore.

Now before I hear that you have objected don’t think that I have neglected the man that always had my back, the amazing newspaper writer Mr. Cary Clack.

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FeelingsIsiah

How can I put it…I’m only 16 years oldBeen told, can’t do what I want. I wanna rest in the cloudsSitting on hard-earned money. Family say, “That’s not God’s way.”But can’t lie, I’m confused.Don’t know what to do, what is me—art walking.

A blank space in broad light in front of a crowd of carsPassing me like any day. Backpack full of paintSound of a sax and grand piano slowly relaxing.No Mom and Dad. Only child raised by Grans.Pain in the ass.

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DreamsIsiah

Everyday I look up to the skyLooking at the stars, my mind just froze I said to myself, “I’m going to be one of those.” I’m a shine real bright, everybody going to see me.I’m a be in everybody’s CD, IPOD, or maybe TV.I tell a lot of people, but it seems they don’t believe me.They say, “It’s part of being young, so boy keep dreaming.”

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LoveLavonte

Love is a beautiful thing.Kinda like when the flowers bloom in mid spring.Love is like the sun setting in the evening skyI’m always love you till the day I die.

The love we share just feels so rightI want you in my arms so I can hold you tightBaby, you’re the love of my life,Maybe one day you’ll be my wife.

Oh girl you so special to meYou all I want and needYou are beautiful and unique

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Love Poem to My Girl LeslieJoe

I remember the time I met youWe were both skipping schoolHanging out by Culebra Avenue.

I went to your house after three monthsTold you, “Baby, you’re the love of my lifeAnd I will never diss us.”

Back on track to the first day I thought you where just another girl to playDidn’t know what I was doing

Coming in and out of jailLike our relationship wasn’t thereBut deep down in my heart

I realize you’re the perfect girl in my lifeIt’s been a year in lock up.I regret it. Things are going to change

With me and baby girlI love you, you my boo.

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You and MeAaron

Two and a half months throughAnd no words can explain how much I miss youThere’s nights I don’t know what to doBecause all I want is you.

If you’re not here, things just aren’t the sameIt’s like everyone else is stuck on playing gamesI miss your eyes and your puppy dog staresI didn’t know this feeling is so rare.

Since the 10th of November you’ve been goneAnd all I have are those love songsBaby I can’t wait to see your faceI know it’s going to make my heart race.

I’m counting down days till I know somethingI just look at it as a surprise comingI’m scared for the time I must waitBut that’s just part of our fate.

Two and a half months throughAnd no words can explain how much I miss youThere’s nights I don’t know what to doBecause all I want is you.

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Love is PainLavonte

Love is pain. Pain is love. People say you have to go through life to live life. But life goes on with or without you. We’re born to die, but all the pain you go through before you die is nothing like the pain your loved ones feel when they lose you. Life goes on with or without you. Some people sell drugs for a living not knowing how much their loved ones worry about them. You got a kid on the way, but you get locked up. Now you have to live knowing that you let your loved ones down. Then your son dies and you are in unbelievable pain. But life goes on with or without you. Some people die from a car crash or a shooting. Whatever it may be, their family is in pain because they love them. And life goes on with or without you.

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BenJohnathan

My idol, my elder (my life in pieces)My melder.

Given advice my life less complicatedIt’ll be hard to tell we’re related.

No hugging. No kissing. No saying, I love you.Whenever we meet I feel anew, like a leafin the morning, with fine fresh dew.

Feeling less like another hanging out with my friendIt is hard to imagine that he is my brother,When I speak to him (as if he is another)

I feel like that leaf. My sword in its sheathMy feelings unleashed on the tree with four wise leaves.

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PowerlessChristopher

I know what it’s like to be in your shoesTo be used and abused…I’ve been there too.Don’t give up faith, you’re not a disgrace.In fact, you’re something great. Keep your head up high and let your mind be your escape.Just remember that your situation is something temporary. Life is like Kool-Aid, you can make it as sweet as necessary.Through my words I hope to empower the powerless.Because you’re better than you think you are…I think you’re

marvelous.

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MeChristopher

I am the underground sounds that penetrate your ear drums.I’m from Japan and Germany far from your slums.I’m from a broken home and family, who still show me love.I’m from my mother and my father, and my creator above.I’m from a history of drugs and hanging with thugs.

I am from the correctional facilities behind the razor wire.I came from my music, my only desire.I’m going down the road less traveledI’m going home to end my family’s battles.I’m going to the free, where my future welcomes me.I’m going into a world, where I’m rejected by society.

I’m going back home, but not to the streets where I used to roam.I’m going back to the music that I left all alone.

I’m going back to a life that was better than my old one.I’m going to make my life into legacyI’m going to a place more heavenly.

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The Real MeLavonte

Why do people love?Maybe it feels like being in the stars above.Why do I feel so low?I want to explode.

I try to be sweet as candy,But people just don’t understand me.I try to run away from my fearsOnly to make them disappear.Who’s that man staring in the mirror?My vision is blurry and it won’t get clearer.No one listens to me anymoreI kind of feel ignored.I’ve got the heart to do good,I don’t want to leave my ‘hood.Now I sit here all alone.

Sad because I can’t go home. I really want to leave this place,

But I fear seeing God face to face.

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The Ballad of Epic LeeIsiah

I hear they leave no boy behindEpic Lee dat dude cold meanLocked up behind X’s and O’sHe got a year closer to fat and Obese struggling to breatheFrom OD’in’ on Big Macs And quarter pounders with cheese.

I trip so hard, when I’m locked up Behind Xanax bars, that I seeMiniature Montana’s with Nike’sOn their feet shootin’ wordsThat say “Happy Birthday, Epic Lee.”Drips on a Krylon piece.

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My ‘Hood Daniel

Its like jumpin’ in an ocean you can’t get out ofNight time gun shots gettin’ louder and louderWestside, drugs, violence, and hatredI only keep a coupla friends,Cuz a lotta people fakin’.

I broke bread with you, showed you how I liveLayed in bushes together, you had me fooledI woulda done a hundred years for yaYou showed me what a good heart In these streets will get you.

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No MoreAaron

Expectations of society, I cannot tolerate corruption channels of the media, see beyond wide screen vision. Government is expanding without limits. There is no easy way. No more, only police brutality and aggressive force. See the arrogance of the country we made. Death is not death for the non-oppressed. Death is another word for atonement, compensation, restitutional apology, inheritance. Receive the wealth of death. The government, police, president are all self-serving, they feast and feast like a buffet. They break us down into little crumbs on their plates and wipe us off eventually. They take and take from us, they take from themselves. They corrupt us into expectations of expansion just to govern more. What person doesn’t want a child, a decent life? We can no longer fall into corrupt vision. How many more gangs? How many more gangsters, rapists, lost souls? No more falling into expectations. We are not the influences of crime. You are. No more falling, no more molding us into something we would never be. We have decency. Let us become the people we are meant to be. No more. No more. No more.

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Send Me an AngelLavonte

God send me an angel to help me through the dayEvery night before I sleep I begin to pray.Sometimes it feels like God don’t hear meOr I did so much wrong I’m feeling his fury.

My dreams crushed and my soul ripped out my hand.I’m starting to feel less and less a man.I got the will to do right. Trying hard with all my might. I do all I can to get in God’s good graces.I think I’m in hell seeing familiar faces.God saved me from myself when no one was around.I still pray to the Lord even though my life is going down.

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UntitledDaniel I want to live right, yes I do.But as I ride through the night, I see no clues.Trying to get the message, but I just can’t find it.God please bless me, cuz the devil done got me.I’m trying so hard to get my ways back in place.But it feels too deep these days.I want to live right.

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A Minute PastJohnathan

Gazing down the path I walkA minute past, I’m in shock.Amazed to see my dying coreEaten away by death’s dark allure.

A minute past, I’m feeling lostA minute past, look what this causedA minute past, my life’s been tossed,I have been severely crossed.

I’ll change my ways in a while.It will take me one more mile. My path is lit by my own fire,I’m going only where I desire.

Gazing down the path I walk.A minute past, I’m in shock.A minute past, I’m in shockGazing down the path I walk.

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This is Who I AmJohnathan

Rolling through the streets, spectacular fun To roll through the hills and down the ditches It’s not what you think, I am not a bum I’m not one of society’s snitches.

My love is my board and my loud music Feeling the vibration beneath my feet My tricks are sketchy and kind of cubic Flip my hair, adjust my feet, still skate neat.

Here I am on the streets, not where I’m from Like my foot off the board my life is shoved Skating everywhere I probably look dumb. Kick. Push. Lupe Fiasco, the sound loved.

This is who I am, this is where I’m at. No clue where I’m going? I’m up to bat.

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Sense of Humor Matthew

My abilities allow me to turn a simple plant to an Amazon. I’m a beast, a god with the abilities to make something

disappear and reappear. I’m a superhero flying through the sky, saving people from

burning buildings or a cop getting the bad guy-and the girl. I’m playing ball with Michael Jordan or passing the football

with Troy Aikman. I’m on the news telling the city of San Antonio the forecast for

the week. “Watch out! There’s meat patties falling in the streets and

alleys.” I’m running through the city decorating buildings with spray

paint or jumping from rooftop to rooftop, running from the guy that I can only see.

Maybe I’m clay. Maybe I’m not. But when the day’s over I’m in this cell. Locked away for life is

where I really am.

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TimelineIsiah

Say, what is this feeling? I feel like I’m on a timelineStruggling to get my life right, can’t seem to hit it.Feeling like a dumb kid, can’t unlock The anger building deep inside, kicking in,Getting crapped on by the world, hated when born.A kid broken down, torn, pressed to do what’s best.

This is too much to bare, a life in another’s hands.Fighting a never ending battle with a crown on my head,I’m my own man, then I mess up my own plans,Stuck in pitch black, lost, gone, then the “Don’t cares”I’m worthless. Now this when, God comes inI got a whole life ahead.

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UntitledDaniel

Lord please help me cuz I’m trying to get my mind right.I’m in a real dark stage now, trying to find the light. Cave living, I only trust a couple to ride with.You ain’t got to go to Iraq to be in a battle field.Condemned to these streets, one move can get you killed.

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Writers-in-Residence

Cary Clack writes on local and national news, events and social issues. Born in San Antonio, he is a graduate of St. Gerard High School and St. Mary’s University (1985 with a BA in Political Science). In the summer of 1984, he was a Scholar-Intern at the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change in Atlanta, and he wrote CNN commentaries for Coretta Scott King. From 1989-1995, he was a trainer in nonviolence at King Center workshops for high school and college students. Clack has also worked as a substitute teacher in the San Antonio Independent School District, and is a columnist for the San Antonio Express-News. His book, Clowns and Rats Scare Me: Columns by Cary Clack (Trinity University Press, 2010) is his first book.

Trey Moore, a poet and fourth-generation carpenter, holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Texas State University. He has traveled extensively (Alaska, Malaysia, Thailand and Laos) and has taught as a poet in public schools and juvenile detention centers, as well as at Northwest Vista College in San Antonio, Texas. His work has appeared in The Texas Observer and a number of anthologies, including Is This Forever or What? and Between Heaven and Texas, both edited by Naomi Shihab Nye. He has published two books of poetry—We Forget We Are Water (Wings Press, 2006) and Some Will Play The Cello (Pecan Grove Press, 2009) A Spanish-speaking Texas native, arts activist, and builder of community gardens, Trey’s poems investigate “our intimate, indivisible relationship to nature” from a city-dweller’s perspective.

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A FOCUS ON READING AND WRITING FOR ALL

Gemini Ink nurtures writers and readers and builds community through literature and the related arts. At Gemini Ink we believe human story in all its diverse and complicated forms and genres—from poetry and fiction to memoir and oral tradition—is essential to developing compassion and richness in both individual and community life. We encourage focused reading, writing, and exchange at every level, from elementary school students to incarcerated youth and from polished to the elder who has always wanted to record her family stories.

Writers in Communities (WIC) sends professional writers into diverse community settings to work alongside students of all ages, needs,

interests, and abilities in free workshops based in oral traditions, reading, and creative writing.

Open Classroom, comprising Autograph Series and Breakthrough Thinkers, presents writers of national and international stature—many

of them recipients of major prizes such as the Pulitzer or National Book Award—in free public performances followed by audience Q&A.

University Without Walls (UWW) offers three semesters of fee-based reading groups and workshops and also many free literary events, all led

by professional writers, scholars, and interdisciplinary artists.

Dramatic Readers Theater (DRT) features professional actors interpreting literary works in free performances, often accompanied by

original music.

Contributions and donations of time and resources are gratefully accepted.

For more information about Gemini Ink,visit www.geminiink.org or call 210.734.9673

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513 S. PresaSan Antonio, Texas 78205877.734.9673www.geminiink.org