A scaffold, a tree
The supports that keep us writing, and a call for fiction partners
Into the woods
While in the midst of a life transition, I tend to retreat to the woods. A proverbial place, as well as literal, where essential tasks come forward and modern contrivances slip away. The woods is where I can hear myself again and, in so hearing, make room for meaningful work.
Someone in New York or LA might imagine that I live in the woods here in Anchorage, given the comparative climate. But the woods are more than a constellation of trees. Being in the woods means leaving society and building a temporary life that is even simpler than what I currently enjoy. No matter how remote one is, there are always more woods to find.
A lot goes into putting paragraphs on a page beyond sitting down to write. There is a scaffolding, as Suleika Jaouad describes,1 that allows us to create. The “invisible architecture that makes a creative life possible,” which includes “the structures, the income streams, the commitments we make in order to keep making anything at all.”
In the woods, the structures are necessarily simple. Eat, sleep, walk, repeat, all while reflecting and perhaps documenting such reflections. A clearing of the brain to permit poetic thoughts to come through.
I have become adept at seeking much-needed time in the woods. After college, when I had no clue what adulthood would entail, I worked on a trail crew in Colorado. Our days were spent building drainage dips and waterbars to prevent runoff from disturbing the habitat of an endangered species of fish. In the afternoon we hid from thunderstorms in our tents, and our evenings involved cooking, eating, laughing, and cleaning until bed.
After several years as a paralegal and before law school, while deeply unsure if I would enjoy lawyering at all, I spent a month in Nepal on a trek with my mom. We had the luxury of a team of sherpas carrying our bags from hut to hut, and our meals were prepared in teahouses along the way. The days were comprised of walking, eating, resting, and attempting to appreciate the delicate and beautiful places we traversed.
Now, as I step away from my decade-long legal career, unsure of what comes next, I again head to the woods as a resident of Chulitna Lodge, on the shores of Lake Clark. I am promised a wall tent (with heat) in exchange for some help with communal tasks. Otherwise, my time is free for writing, walking, sleeping, and whatever else feels right.
How to return
I’ve grown comfortable in the woods, learning to make meaning on my own. What’s less familiar, and the newest challenge, is what to do with the things I create when I’m back. Production is only a part of the process of releasing something into the world. Once made, the piece must be refined. It needs input beyond what I can see as the person who brought it to life.
Over the past few years, I have sourced raw materials that are ready to process. Pages and pages of first drafts that could use discerning eyes.
Be my scaffold?
Finding a writing partner is a bit like finding a therapist or significant other: it can take time and trial and error before the right ones stick. It’s tempting to seek out formal communities such as writing workshops or, bigger shift, an MFA. But if the goal is connection, I might as well see what’s in reach before taking more drastic steps. What I want could already be here.
The call: are you, dear reader, interested in workshopping fiction with me?
I seek writing partners who are discerning readers and not afraid to give their honest response. It helps if you also write fiction, so that we can trade our work. If enough people are interested, I am open to starting a Zoom workshop group that would meet about once a month.
If this intrigues you, please reply by email or send me a message through the Substack app. I’d like to hear a little bit about your fiction writing and reading journey, as well as what you hope to gain from the experience. Please share with others who also might want to participate.
I am once again heading to the woods but this time, I want to emerge ready to engage with other people. I want a creative scaffolding that holds me in community as well as while I’m alone. I want a rich reading and writing life that comes from exchanging work with those I admire, and the vulnerability of comments on messy first drafts. To my friends who already do this, you have my biggest thanks. It’s time to expand the circle and allow for friction produced by different stakes.
Here’s hoping we build something great.
Love,
Julia
Thank you to the thoughtful person who shared this last month.