St. Louis

This fall, I'm directing the StudioSTL magazine project. We're holding a series of workshops for writers ages 12 to 18 (anyone interested can find more information here) and will publish a magazine in the spring.

Last week was our first workshop, which we held in our new space downtown. The volunteer mentors wrote along with the students in response to a series of prompts. Here's my response to an exercise that asked me to describe St. Louis from my point of view:


When I think of St. Louis, I think of our cul-de-sac in our suburb of Webster Groves. The big oak trees are on the verge of turning brown. In October, the air feels crisp, with fewer mosquitoes. Kids shout as they ride bikes and scooters in the street. You can usually hear the drone of a lawnmower, or a barking dog.


When I think of St. Louis, I also think of the Arch. It makes the skyline distinctive; it flashes in the sunlight when the sky is blue, or blends with the clouds on overcast days.


Most days, I don't see the Arch. I don't see skyscrapers, or the Mississippi River. I stay in my suburb, driving my son to nursery school, dropping books off at the Webster Groves Library, or working out at the Y. When I get on the highway and see the Arch in the hazy distance, my heart lifts a little. The sight reminds me that there's a world beyond my suburb: a city with its own excitement and problems, with crumbling buildings, tourists, and sleek office buildings.


I see the new StudioSTL space in the Centene Center as a place where the various worlds of St. Louis intersect. We're in the city, but it's a quiet place where we can pull back and reflect. From the corner of the rooftop terrace, we can see the Arch, two and a half miles away. I look out the window right now at tall buildings, boarded windows, blue sky, and an alley. We're here in the middle of the city--suburb- and city-dwellers, with an age range spanning 20 years--writing together.