Forging Creative Community in a Burning World
Wishing you a peaceful Spring Equinox. Join me this weekend at the Hi-Dez Lo-Fi Lit Fest!
The drum I beat is community, that community is going to be the thing that gives us hope and gives us meaning in times that feel harder upon harder, that lump manufactured crises on top of manufactured crises. Sometimes I need to stop myself and untangle what I actually mean by this. Community is complicated and often imperfect, but ultimately I think it’s about connecting with people who share some overlapping interests and values in order to mutually support each other. I don’t naively think that community will solve all of our problems or make the injustice of the world fade away, but that building authentic community will help us survive them, will help us use the power we do hold, and will help us remember why we are here, to make the world we want to make, and find purpose.
Like so many writers, I recently returned from this year’s addition of AWP, the huge annual writing and publishing industry conference that everyone loves and loathes in equal measure. Attending AWP is a privilege and one I don’t take lightly. This year’s edition was held in Baltimore and to make it more affordable to attend, I was lucky enough to stay with a friend and took part in the work exchange program for a free badge.
AWP always feels frenetic, running around an often new-to-you city with thousands of other writers (apparently 11,000 writers attend the conference this year!) from readings to parties to friend hang outs. It’s always exhausting, but this year felt especially so. Everyone I talked to about their experience said they felt especially drained. The world is just that much harder this year and it’s hard to throw yourself into an event that’s a roving panel discussion, party, and pitch session rolled into one when there’s another unpopular war being waged abroad and an onslaught of violence continues to target communities at home.
However, creative communities can offer solace, a reminder that we are still here. I was delighted to discover and revisit places in Baltimore that have harbored and nurtured creative and defiant communities, whether Leon’s, one of the oldest gay bars on the east coast that graciously hosted a reading and open mic my friend Liz and I organized, or Red Emma’s, a worker-owned cooperative bookstore and cafe that has been in operation since 2004. I only went to definitely feminist and queer events and readings at AWP and that felt great. I hugged friends in passing, to acknowledge we’re still making a go of it, still investing in our creative work and the communities that hold us, even in this strange and straining time.
Co-organizing my own reading at AWP, as well as the high desert writers meetup the weekend before, was a reminder that we have the power, however small, to create and support the communities we want to see. In a world where AI is treated as inevitable (it is not) and those holding the most political and economic power are actively exploiting and separating us for their own gain, taking a do-it-yourself approach is more important than ever. And as I always used to say, Do It Yourself does not mean Do It Alone. Creating community space creates an opening for others to step in and exercise their voices and their power and to connect.
I was so gratified when nine people signed up to read at the open mic after our invited readers. It’s so brave to go to a new city and present your work in front of readers and listeners you don’t necessarily know. What a beautiful thing. A big conference like AWP can feel so alienating, can reinforce social hierarchies and feel like you’re the unpopular kid at middle school, so I felt it was especially important (for my own sake) to create an inclusive, welcoming event. It also meant I got to invite writers I admire who live all over to read in one space and that felt like a dream come true. I hope you’ll pick up (or pre-order) their books, including In Inheritance of Drowning by Dorsia Smith Silva, Whole, Holy, Hot by Chrissy Martin, Southwest Reconstruction by Raquel Gutierrez, Diary by Marisa Crawford, and When My Mother is Most Beautiful by Rebecca Suzuki.
For anyone wondering exactly how to find a writerly community, I also wanted to recommend a great guide! At AWP I picked up my friend and pressmate Jessie L. Kwak’s recent book From Solo to Supported: The Writer’s Guide to Finding Community. Jessie breaks down the nuts and bolts (and power and pitfalls) that can come from finding your community. I thought her section on approaching events and conferences was especially excellent. She even gives a step-by-step guide on talking about yourself and your work, making conversations, and how to go from feeling awkward to feeling confident. I also loved her frank talk about how to navigate writerly relationships, especially when they bridge the professional and personal. This book is even pocket-sized, so it can easily fit in your bag if you need to take something to an event to remind you what to do.
Speaking of writing community, I was proud to have a chance to write about our homegrown, and growing, writers community in the hi-desert for this month’s issue of the Coachella Valley Independent. I’m also excited to be participating in the upcoming Hi-Dez Lo-Fi Lit Weekend March 20 - 22. I’ll be on a panel about music writing on Saturday, March 21 at 3pm and joining Susan Rukeyser for the Desert Split Open reading on March 22 at 1pm that highlights voices that are queer, feminist, and otherwise radical. I’m really looking forward to a weekend of hanging out with my fellow writers so close to home and if you’re in the area I hope you’ll come join us!
I just returned from New York, where I headed after AWP, and had the luck to catch “false spring,” where the temperatures shot up to seventy degrees and people shed their layers and lazed about muddy Prospect Park on hammocks and inflatable couches in shorts and tank tops. I love the flush energy that spring brings, the renewed sense of aliveness, the turning towards light. It’s so important to keep finding each other right now, to reassure each other we’re not alone, that we can see and be seen and support others, to model the kind of world and communities we want to live in, all of this can give us the energy to keep going.
xox,
eleanor
Currently reading: Some of Us Just Fall: On Nature and Not Getting Better by Polly Atkin