By Meg Nix
Before the Young Writers Book Release Party on Friday, I wanted to brag about one of the young writers in Teen Council. I’ll admit, I’m trying to get everyone to come to the reading (it’s from 6:30 to 8:30 PM this Friday and it’s free), but I’m also just so dang proud of the talent in the Young Writers Program, I want to give a specific shout out to one of the seniors in the group.
As you’ll see below, Abby Lahnert’s work often portrays—with signature restraint and well-chosen details—a person who needs a second look. She reminds us to notice the small ways the world changes for the better. I also love that she never tries to lose her audience in language; she gives us a taste of hope without over-decorating reality; and she reminds me that we should continue to be forward-looking like we were when we were in high school.
Here is one of Abby’s pieces, which she’ll be reading on Friday, and a few answers from the young writer herself.
Estefania Buttoning Her Coat
by Abby Lahnert
Somewhere between the last time I saw you
and the time I am seeing you now,
you became fuller,
a rounded peach, soft and smooth,
at last ripe.
You were not this way before,
your fingers twitched
as they did up the buttons of your jacket.
You would forget one
and have to come back to it,
or skip the top buttonhole
and have to start all over again
when you saw that the bottom
was two different lengths.
Now it takes only a moment
to do up your jacket,
and maybe it is because
you have owned it for three years now,
but I think it is because
your fingers have grown steadier.
When did you start coming to Lighthouse and what’s one of your first memories of a class here?
I started coming to Lighthouse about seven years ago, the summer before sixth grade, so it has been an integral part of my “growing up” experience. One of my first memories of Lighthouse was back in the old building. Across the fence, Lighthouse’s next-door neighbors owned two very small and very yappy dogs. You could go to the attic, the basement, the parlor—any room in the house and still be able to hear the high pitched drone of their barking.
[caption id="attachment_5903" align="alignright" width="200"]
Young writer Abby Lahnert, now a high school senior, reflects on her Lighthouse experience.[/caption]
How do you think your writing has changed over the last four years?
I think my writing has developed incredibly throughout my time at Lighthouse. Most notably the subject matter. There was a period when we were all in middle school and wrote only about dark, angsty things. Everyone’s story involved a death or a kidnapping or something to that effect. Now I typically draw inspiration for pieces from my own life, which can make it harder to read to others, but I would also say it makes it more honest.
My writing has also evolved stylistically. I used to write poems with very short lines, then moved on to more prose poetry, and am now somewhere in between. I love that Lighthouse has forced me to try writing in many different forms because I’ve also grown more comfortable with writing narrative prose—short stories especially. I think everyone I’ve been writing with all these years has become increasingly comfortable with their own style instead of mimicking each other.
I know this is breaking the rules of reading poetry (and nonfiction), but since you bring up writing about real people, can you say a little more about the Estafania in your poem?
Estefania is one of my dearest friends. I met her in elementary school because we both had the same bus stop and would walk to and from school together. She’s a perfectionist, with English that’s better than mine even though it’s her second language. She loves French fries and Sherlock Holmes. She used to be terrified of blood, but now aspires to be a doctor—I don’t think I can use little facts and anecdotes to put into words who she is and what she means to me.
When we were younger, she was very shy and unsure of herself. She didn’t like talking to other people much, or trying new things. But she has blossomed more than anyone else I know the past four years. She is more comfortable with who she is, and less particular about how others see her. That’s where the poem came from.
