Every May, AWA workshop leaders across the globe bring writers together. Leaders help AWA raise funds by offering donation-based writing groups. Proceeds from each session support AWA and its mission. New writers experience the AWA method and celebrate the unique creativity in each other’s voices.

Write Around The World 2024 is nearly here! Check out this year’s event calendar and sign up for your chance to produce some great writing, engage with a supportive community and experience the magic of AWA. We’re offering groups nearly every day!

This writing was done in Susie Whelehan’s workshop “You Just Never Know When You Get Up In The Morning” during last year’s WAW.


Untitled by Christie Turano

I went to the training full of confidence, yet afterwards I wasn’t so sure I was cut out for the job. Helping my young brother and and sister when they scraped their knees was easy compared to the stuff they were talking about. Things like triage, deciding which kid was more hurt, and then the speed they said we would have to move without getting flustered. At home I was there for my sister and brother like I said but only really when mom was busy in the kitchen making dinner or she was taking a quick nap after work. She was a nurse at another school other than the one we went to, so I felt like she had trained me alright in the small stuff. I knew I was to first get the hydrogen peroxide, pour it over the scraped knee, elbow or hand until it stopped bubbling. Next pat dry with a clean piece of gauze or clean paper towel. Then put on antibiotic ointment and then the tricky part – to find a bandage big enough to cover the scrape without getting the ointment on the sticky part of the bandage. This really was a walk in the park, and I got plenty of practice because we were active kids: skaters, climbers, crawlers, swimmers and every sport there was to be played. So, when the teacher asked us who thought they were smart enough and brave enough to “man”, (which means be in charge of) a bleeding station during a school shooting, I quickly raised my hand. Things started out ok in the beginning with the details of the materials needed: really big gauze packs to keep the wound clean, tourniquets to stop bleeding, and knowing pressure points – another way to stop a kid or teacher from bleeding too much, all seemed doable. It was in the description of being able to use these skills while hearing the noise of real gunfire, the cries and screams of pain around me, and the possible risk to my own life that I realized this wasn’t like anything I knew how to do or had ever done before! I felt like I was wearing my dad’s suit and swimming in his shoes.


April in Southern Ontario by Susan Tromanhauser

It was the longest, darkest, grayest winter.

Then by surprise we were blessed with a whole week of summer for which I was ill prepared.
My toes had not been painted.
My legs were still forest-like.
My shorts were still boxed from last fall.

Then winter returned.
Then left again.
But it is still grey
Snow has turned to rain.

Wet rain.
Cold rain.
Loud on our new steel roof rain .

The damn rain.
The outside cushions are drenched.
The driveway is mud.
Last fall’s leaves are covering any sign of spring.
The rain stops me from going outside.

But Joy Harjo says to praise the rain!

The rain gives me one more book to read
The rain is a good excuse for mac and cheese instead of salad.
The rain is turning the grass green.

Praise the damn rain.