L. Newman: Hello, my name is Leslea Newman, and I'm the author of October Mourning: A Song for Matthew Shepard. I'm going to tell you a little bit about how I came to write the book, and then I'll read you an excerpt.

The book was inspired by actual events that took place in Laramie, Wyoming starting on October 6, 1998. Late that night, Matthew Shepard, a gay college student attending the University of Wyoming, was kidnapped from a bar, robbed, brutally beaten, driven to the outskirts of town, tied to a fence, and left to die. 18 hours passed before he was discovered by a biker and taken to the hospital. He never regained consciousness, and died six days later with his family by his side.

It was the start of Gay Awareness Week at the university, and I was the scheduled keynote speaker. When I arrived in Wyoming, I found a devastated campus and community. October Mourning is my personal response to this tragedy. The book explores the impact of Matt's murder in a cycle of 68 poems told in fictitious monologues from many points of view, including the truck Matt was kidnapped in, the fence he was tied to, the stars that watched over him, and the deer that kept him company all through the night. As a poet, I used my imagination to explore what the silent witnesses to this hate crime had to tell me. The facts were already known and documented. I wanted to get to the heart of the matter.

After the first draft of the book was done, I did a massive amount of research, including two trips to Wyoming. I read articles and books, watched videos, and visited the site where Matt was beaten and abandoned. I hope that my book inspires readers to work for social justice and carry on his legacy.

Here is a poem from the point of view of the fence that Matt was tied to.

The Fence That Night. I held him all night long. He was heavy as a broken heart. Tears fell from his unblinking eyes. He was dead weight, yet he kept breathing. He was heavy as a broken heart. His own heart wouldn't stop beating. He was dead weight, yet he kept breathing. His face streaked with moonlight and blood. His own heart wouldn't stop beating. The cold wind wouldn't stop blowing. His face streaked with moonlight and blood. I tightened my grip and held on. The cold wind wouldn't stop blowing. We were out on the prairie alone. I tightened my grip and held on. I saw what was done to this child. We were out on the prairie alone. Their truck was the last thing he saw. I saw what was done to this child. I cradled him just like a mother. Their truck was the last thing he saw. Tears fell from his unblinking eyes. I cradled him just like a mother. I held him all night long.