My first dis-invitation was last year in Norman, Oklahoma. I had donated a school visit to a charity auction. The winning bid came from a middle school librarian, who was excited to have me talk to her students about poetry, writing process, and reaching for their dreams. Except, two days before the visit, a parent challenged one of my books for "inappropriate content." She demanded it be pulled from all middle school libraries in the district. And also that no student should hear me speak. The superintendent, who hadn't read my books, agreed, prohibiting me from speaking to any school in the district. The librarian scrambled and I spoke community-wide at the nearby Hillsdale Baptist Freewill College. (The challenged book, by the way, was later replaced in the middle school libraries.) The timing was exceptional, if unintentional. It was Banned Books Week 2009, and my publisher, Simon & Schuster, had recently created a broadside of a poem I'd written for the occasion. My "Manifesto" was currently being featured in bookstores and libraries across the country. Segue to August 2010. Simon & Schuster repackaged "Manifesto" just about the time another dis-invitation took place. Humble, Texas is a suburb of Houston, and every other year the Humble Independent School District organizes a teen literature festival. I was invited to headline the January 2011 event. The term "invitation" would later be debated, as no formal contract was signed. But through a series of email exchanges, the invitation was extended, I agreed, we settled on an honorarium, and I blocked out the date on my calendar (thus turning down other invitations). According to the National Coalition Against Censorship, removing an author from an event because someone disagrees with their ideas or content in their books meets the definition of censorship. This time it was a middle school librarian who initiated the dis-invitation. Apparently concerned about my being in the vicinity of her students, she got a couple of parents riled and they approached two members of the school board. Again, no one read my books. Rather, according to the superintendent, he relied on his head librarian's research—a website that rates content. He

On Tuesday [Sept. 28, 2010] I spoke to a packed house in Columbus, Georgia. I talked about my journey to New York Times bestselling author—a road pitted with pain. (My first novel, Crank, was inspired by my daughter's descent into the hell that is methamphetamine addiction.) Afterward, I signed books, and as the room emptied one lovely young woman remained. She came forward and when I asked her name, she crumbled into tears. Then she shared her own story. How she started getting high in middle school, mostly as a way to deal with her alcoholic mother's absence. Didn't care about the trajectory she was on—straight down into the same hell my book represented so well. But one day, she found that book. She saw herself in those pages, and suddenly knew she didn't want to be there. That book turned her around. Today she's been sober two years, is graduating high school and has embarked on a modeling career