Some stories don’t just take time— they take pieces of you. Writing trauma, grief, rage, survival… it can feel like reopening a wound just to make something beautiful out of it. So I’m curious: How do you write emotionally heavy material without burning out? Do you… write in short bursts and step away? “buffer” heavy scenes with lighter ones? keep boundaries between your life and your work? debrief after writing (music, movement, journaling)? write it anyway and deal with the emotional aftermath later? If you’ve learned anything through experience—drop it below. Your process might be the exact thing another writer here needs right now. (And if you don’t have a process yet? That’s okay too. This is how we find one.)

Many writers aren’t struggling because they’ve lost skill or discipline. They’re struggling because writing now happens under constant observation. Metrics. Algorithms. Visibility. Comparison. It’s difficult to explore uncertain ideas when every sentence feels like it’s being quietly evaluated. Drafts need privacy. So does voice. Sometimes the work doesn’t need more effort or better tools. It needs a space where it’s allowed to be unfinished. Discussion: What helps you protect your early drafts and your focus from outside noise?

What’s a book that made you fall in love with language for the first time? Not the one you were assigned. Not the one you skimmed for a test. The one that made you pause mid-sentence and think, oh… words can do that. Maybe it was a line you reread three times. Maybe it felt like someone reached into your chest and named something you’d never said out loud. 📖 What was it? And if you remember—how old were you when it found you? (There’s no wrong answer here. Just stories wearing book covers.)

What’s the strangest place inspiration has ever found you? Some of my best lines have shown up when I didn’t have my notebook, my “writer mood,” or even a second to breathe. Inspiration is honestly feral. It doesn’t knock. It breaks in. Maybe it found you: in the shower in a doctor’s office waiting room half-asleep at 3AM at work (when you absolutely were not supposed to be thinking about poetry) in the middle of an argument in the grocery store aisle holding pasta like it held your entire life together ✨ Tell us: what’s the strangest place inspiration ever hit you—and what did it give you? A line? A scene? A character? A whole plot? Bonus points if you drop the line/idea you captured from that moment 👀

Wolves gather for a fight spoiling for a flight, or a delicious, lascivious rain. Jet dragons are transatlantic, Hegemonic, & romantic swooping Overhead, striking fear worse Than wolves, but never, never As dreadful as mankind. Men meet their muse in pouring Rain, and women take to Bed their mage despite the pain Hammering a tune, pedaling Despite a sliding rain. Singers sway beneath a Spotlight, surfacing to wave, Surfing displacements of Breaching whales. How lucky we are: screams Just near enough to lullabies To the ears of monsters, our Children who survive us. A viral contagion are mankind Who wear no discernible face: Our physiognomy a mask. We’re wolves on two legs: Consider the DNA we smear Effortlessly on most surfaces We’re near, other creatures Happily flee our unhappy stink. Female wolves hunt, but soon Forget the monstrosities they Regurgitate for their young. Let me forget this monstrance, As long as the children are fed Before they retire to sleep.