Dear Reader,
Long story short, I'm offering three monthly narrative craft masterclasses this summer. Click here for details or read on.
When I work with writers, there are ebbs and flows—and this winter brought rapids.
Writers sometimes offer me apologies for not having written. I ask them what we'd write about if we didn't take time to be present with our real lives?
German Awakening took me thirty years to complete.
Yet I feel compelled to justify my self-imposed time out since the ICE-y winter in Minnesota that terrorized our diverse neighbors. Spiteful ICE invaders scared us "mainstream" Minnesotans too, enough to piss us off. Our state was targeted as political retribution, to divide us. And we refused to comply.
The surprise to the world was how many Minnesotans stood up in defense of the people who have been painted as "other than US." Certainly some heroes carried far more of that heavy burden.
But it helps if you understand something: In moments like these, there are PLENTY of ways to show up. Minnesotans have built organizations for mutual aid. Notably, our arts community is strong. Systems that nurture creative expression connect us.
In these moments, each creative act reveals where more room exists and what that can look like. Such generative resistance creates a culture of beauty that revels in common humanity.
But what if you missed the moment? (Hint: You can't.)
Some seasons build momentum and some create liminal space. This winter brought both, one of those glacial times that changes so much we can't see the path forward. So we did what we could to be present, knowing ICE thaws.
In the meantime, I wrote myself Post-it® Notes. (They're from Minnesota, doncha know?) I can write from them later.
This summer, I invite you to a season of wordplay.
Now is a moment to write, but not rush.
After a storm, there's clean-up work with a different pace.
There's still time for people to step in. We can keep healing, remembering, and choosing what we would prefer.
Can I tell you a secret?
That's what drives my work with Courageous Wordsmith: nurturing relationships that call people back to real-life writing, repeatedly across time, using my language gifts for connection.
I hold a degree in German literature. I taught those stories for nearly two decades. And then the career I loved broke me.
It left me feeling utterly alone, even among people I loved.
I wrote about all this in my two books... to heal myself.
It's important to remember that when your nervous system is under sustained duress, your survival instincts kick in. You don't process all the emotions and the energy stays in your body until... you feel safe enough to express it, little by little, feeling it slowly with people who show and tell you that you're not alone.
The work of wordsmithing books can feel overwhelming.
But here's a paradox: People can only tell you they understand what you've written that after they've read your writing. That requires a different understanding of how language works.
Especially for a book, writing is a sustained act of courage.
It helps to gather words in the moment, rest, and keep moving. Slowly. Steadily. Faithfully over time, because you feel it matters.
You can know all the words in the world and not be able to do your truth justice in words. I'm talking about your emotional truth. After I left my career, it took me years to come back into balance. So no, I will never rush anyone headlong into writing at a pace faster than they can handle. I provide welcoming space.
I provide language insights to help people write.
And yes, writing is inherently a solitary engagement.
But I have never, ever been able to do this work in isolation. Which is why I actively nurture community ties among fellow creatives. And I have found that my collaborators are everywhere.
I can help you recognize yours.
Making connections has always been my greatest gift as a language teacher.
Since 1987, when I was an exchange student in West Germany, I've known that wordplay is a powerful way for people to reach across our different origins and find convergence. And in many ways, I still approach writing like an exchange student would: looking at how the words can function best to connect us.
I've been welcomed as an outsider. Those memories don't leave our bodies. Once you've been there, you know. But I was already an outsider hiding in plain sight, seeking words for that feeling.
As an exchange student, I was far from fluent in German. So I was learning all these things—viscerally, intellectually, emotionally—and it took time to learn the language to express portions of all that I wanted to say. Meanwhile, I stood on both sides of the Berlin Wall, traveled through Greece on a school trip led in German, and navigated the daily life of a West German teen.
Those three months in West Germany took real collaboration with people who weren't native speakers of English. They didn't have to be. None of us needed to know all the words, just enough.
Doesn't that sound like a book writing journey to you?
Notably, my exchange sister modeled the work I now do.
I help writers to use their language meaningfully so that readers relate as fellow humans.
And so I'm ready to play with both things this summer:
The art of creative partnerships in concert with narrative craft—the language of real-life writers.
My friend Jenn Pike has her own stories to tell, and I'll let her tell them. She's a brilliant writer. But long story short, I've asked her to join me in offering three monthly story-finding masterclasses.
These will help you find your words and these will help you find your own creative community partners to help you keep writing.
One evening a month for three months to seed writing for years.
Travel safely.
Love, Amy
PS—Here's a preview of another exciting summer development: Save August 9 for a virtual launch party!
Nikki Kindred Halvorson is releasing the inaugural title in Courageous Wordsmith Collection, Salvaged: A Reclaimed Life.
