16th Century Europe

In an age when many people were illiterate, chapbooks were sold by chapman, which is an old term for a peddler who traveled on foot selling cheap printed matter like ballads, almanacs, fairy tales, erotic stories, religious warnings, and folk medicine.

Small enough to fit in a pocket and cheap enough to buy with a few coins, chapbooks were printed on single sheets of paper, folded and stitched into 8, 12, or 16 pages, and sold by the thousands. They were usually coverless, illustrated with reused woodcuts (which often had nothing to do with the content of the books - think random clipart from the 90’s), and read aloud in kitchens, taverns, fields, and workhouses.

They were the people’s literature; populist, subversive, often bawdy, and entirely outside the elite literary canon.

Eventually, preachers and moral philosophers began to use these pamphlets as a place for moral treatises. “This led to a proliferation of religious chapbooks, often called ‘Sunday schools’ or ‘godlinesses’, which aimed to bolster the moral fiber of the plebeian masses whom the racier strand of chapbooks had previously entertained.”* For very understandable reasons, the chapbook fell out of favor for a long time.

Fast-forward to the late 19th and early 20th century,

The chapbook resurfaced, this time aligned with the Arts and Crafts movement. The context for the books was different, but the impulse was similar: to create work that existed outside of mass production, cheapening aesthetics, and the alienation of modernity. (Do you see why I’m bringing this up now?)

Writers and bookmakers sought to return to traditional methods like letterpress, hand-stitching, and textured paper. Their goal now was to elevate the small book into a work of art and by then the genre of the chapbook had shifted.

While the original chapbooks told epic, sometimes ridiculous tales, now the chapbook was primarily poetic.

*If you’re curious, you can read more here: A Very Short History of the Chapbook – Middlebury College

The Chapbook Today

Today, many small presses hold contests for chapbooks, publishing the winners and sometimes the runners up as well. There is often a small cash prize, but the real prize is seeing your work in print.

Which brings us to you — and to now.

Today’s chapbooks still exist at the margins. They are usually too small to profit from and too strange to fit easily into the literary marketplace. And I think that’s part of their magic! Their brevity allows for experimentation, for obsession, and for writing that doesn’t fit anywhere else.

So, why might YOU want to write one?

• to hone your voice and create something beautiful

• to apply to MFA programs and residencies

• to submit to chapbook contests (a great way to get some visibility and publications)

Beginning to envision the book you want to put together

Chapbooks can take many forms, physical or digital.

A chapbook might be:

• A hand-bound zine of poems, photocopied and stapled

• A PDF designed in Canva and shared with your community.

• A serialized collection of poems on Substack.

• A single handmade object

• or a collection of poems you submit to small presses

Regardless of the form it takes, the goal of a chapbook is to bring together a small body of work into a shared shape.

Journal Prompts

• What are you always circling in your work?

• Where are your internal contradictions? Places where your words and actions misalign?

• What questions, ideas, or memories won’t leave you alone?

• How might this project be oriented in time and space — to yourself, other writers, thinkers, ancestors, or movements?

Want to dive into creating a chapbook this summer? You can grab my self-paced email course, “Chapbook Studio” here. This is a version of my five-week class from last summer, designed to be done at your own speed. Over 5 days, you’ll receive 5 emails with prompts for compiling, editing, naming, and designing your own chapbook (this email is an excerpt from the first day to give you an idea of the structure and content. The full email has even more prompts and exercises to get you visioning the book)

Learn More

(paid subscribers can get $25 off with a coupon code I will post in the paid group chat)

Happy writing!

Alix

Coming up today (June 13th) at 3pm Eastern - upgrade now to join us! (Zoom link can be found below the paywall on this post ⬇️ )

Hi friends! Our next writing circle is coming up on Saturday, June 13th!

I’m excited about this one, as it came to me in a dream, as all interesting things tend to do 😉

When I write from the deepest parts of my body and not just my mind, I can feel a vast portal open within me.

Inside the portal is every possible world: a realm of potential, imagination, intuition, cultural knowledge, ancestral wisdom, fiction, imaginal futures, ideas for books, my grandmother’s pile of handmade quilts, my father’s green rain boots, alternate lives and versions of myself.

It’s all in there. I used to describe the images that flashed through my mind like tv stations I could flip through. Now, it feels more like an infinite set of universes I can play in. Through poems and conversation, I will help you access your own internal portal.

On June 13th, from 3-5pm Eastern, we will play in the multiverse together through poetry and flow writing! Join the circle and let’s travel through time and space together for a couple hours.

Live on Zoom - (please carefully check your time zone to make sure you have the time right!) You will want to have a notebook and pen and some privacy to write and share.

Zoom link is included below the paywall <3

PS: If you’re a founding member, you can schedule a free 1-1 creative coaching call with me once per year- just send me a message or reply to this email! <3

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Your prompt if you choose to accept it: I inherited…

Writing Exercise: Scrying the photograph

“Scrying involves gazing into a medium, hoping to receive significant messages or visions that could offer personal guidance, prophecy, revelation, or inspiration.” - Wikipedia

• Choose two photographs, yours or two that you find intriguing, and begin by simply describing the first photograph in great detail.

• As you describe it, are there feelings or knowings or memories that come up for you? Write to those, too.

• When you have done that, focus on the other photograph and do it again.

• Once you’ve done that, place the photographs side by side, and write to the space between them. What is the story that exists there? Why did you choose these two photographs? What do they say about you?

Allow yourself to write beyond the images, beyond the memories, and into the mystical opening that can sometimes happen when we dive deeply into the unseen realm. Trust the images that come, let one lead to another, until you are both lost and found.

I’d love to see the images you choose and the work that comes from them! Share in the comments or tag me if you post them!

Leave a comment

Our monthly writing session is today, May 27th at 12pm Eastern (please carefully check your time zone to make sure you have the time right!)

I’ll bring poems, prompts, and a few thoughts on archetype and the creative unconscious. You bring whatever is currently rustling around in your inner forest.

You will want to have a notebook and pen and some privacy to write and share.

Looking forward to seeing you all!

Our next live call will be on June 13th (it’s a Saturday) at 3pm Eastern!

Want to learn about the Writing Circles before you join? Here’s the page with all that information ⬇️

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The muchness of coming home after leading my dream writing retreat

I don’t know how to tell you about my week. It is a non-containable entity, an infinite expanse of time; a lifetime lived and loved. I am finding it impossible to shrink it into language.

I spent most of today weeping and trying to understand this strange convergence of grief and gratefulness; the way we can hold what has been lost and know it, somehow, as gain.

My yard is a feast of greens and my dog leaps with joy to see me. My child, suddenly nearly my height, throws his arms around me in genuine relief to have me home. I wake and make my coffee the way I like it: a full mug of dark roast. I plant the thyme and shishito peppers I bought before leaving for Paris. I spend the morning typing up the words I wrote while I was there. Looking through the photographs. Missing the women I retreated with, the people I met along the way.

In some ways, I think it would be easier to accept this kind of portal-jumping if it took a month on a ship to return home from Europe. But an eight-hour direct flight, an hour in customs, an eighteen-minute taxi ride, and suddenly I am here again. Massachusetts. Mulch. Laundry. My son asking what’s for dinner. The sounds and sights of Paris still ringing in my ears.

I’m not complaining. I just don’t know what to call the ache that has risen like a mountain in my chest. Perhaps it is simply the existential pain of living a singular life. So many paths forking endlessly forward and backward through time, and somehow we only get to inhabit one at once.

Travel always reminds me how many selves exist inside me waiting for their turn at the wheel. The woman wandering through the Latin Quarter with a group of 5 amazing writers. The woman making lunch for her son. The woman teaching poetry in a villa outside Paris. The woman tending tomatoes in Massachusetts. All of them me at once.

I wish I could take you all with me somehow. Pull you through the tunnel of time and space and let you glimpse the vastness inside your own life, too. The thousand possible selves flickering just beyond the visible world. An infinite set of futures unfolding toward the horizon like stalks of wheat.

And that, I think, is why I write. It is an attempt to pull you into my experience with me, to let you see and feel what I see and feel, to bridge the unbearable distance between us.

So here are a few fragments from Paris.

Poems, photographs, evidence of having been changed.

The Writer’s Retreat!

We started each morning with a slow breakfast, followed by a 2-hour generative writing workshop, with sharing and conversation.

Friday, we wandered Montmartre, wrote at the café where Amelie worked in the movie (so fun!).

Saturday we hit all the big landmarks: Arc de Triumph, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, The Latin Quarter (Shakespeare and Co), and ended our day at Cafe de Flore, where so many literary and artistic minds sat and talked and worked.

The idea behind this retreat was simple: to take in the beauty of Paris, to talk with one another, and to write together. It was everything I could’ve wished for and more.

(written May 13th, in Paris)
What do you want at the center of your life? 

Grace
freedom
time 
a sense of belonging 
a garden to tend. 

I want travel and new adventure 
a kind of internal peace with who I am 
friendships that feel like safety,
laughter, 
intellectual engagement. 

Pleasure 
feasts, 
sleep that fully restores 
animals 
poetry, of course.
 
Honesty that opens every door within me and between me in the world 
I want to make a world I can live inside.

I want to see forever: to be able to name the colors and shapes I can see.
photography that bends time 
poetry that shifts space 
I want to be the ALL creature: that connected consciousness,
to know that I am love and that I am loved.

We take our time getting there. 
We are not alone. 
We are not out of time. 
We are hopeful and in that hope, whole lives are changed for the better. 

I take my time 
I make time 
I am time.

Prompt for you: What do you want at the center of your life?

(excerpt from another new poem)

I am grateful for my calm existence, 
my capacity to wake at 5:30 AM 
and make breakfast, then the lunch,
to brush my son’s hair and find his shoes 
and spend the day feeding various fur creatures 
and writing on the Internet. 

But still, there is a dark street with my name on it. 
A wolf waiting, 
a woman in a suit, 
smoking a cigarette outside a nudie bar. 

There is a secret package, 
an unopened box within me
with another kind of life inside.

A life less easy and less comfortable,
but possibly, inescapably mine. 

Creating a mini-retreat right where you are

The best part about the retreat for me, was being with some of my favorite people, talking about art and writing, but also our lives, our kids, our fears, our relationships. I spent the week largely off my phone (except to take photos or use the map), and almost entirely away from social media. This kind of presence, refills my poetic well with images and color, with stories I couldn’t come up with all on my own.

Paris helped because it interrupted my routine (and because it is one of the most beautiful places on Earth). But there are smaller ways to step outside ordinary time, too.

A few ideas:

• Spend a few hours without your phone. Bring a notebook somewhere beautiful or unfamiliar, even if it’s just a neighboring town or a quiet café. Go with a friend or two if you can, the conversation will become part of the fodder for your work.

• Visit a museum, botanical garden, bookstore, or old cemetery slowly. Sketch in a notebook, jot down images, use the names of paintings as poetry prompts.

• Wear the outfit you save for special occasions. Buy flowers and fruit for your kitchen table. Eat outside.

• Take photographs of your ordinary life as if you were traveling through it for the first time.

• Gather with other creative people in person if you can. Read poems aloud. Talk about ideas that matter. Stay at the table longer than necessary.

• Let beauty interrupt your daily routine.

“As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.”

―William Shakespeare (from Henry IV)

May is probably my favorite month of the year, (competing only with September) with its perfect weather and a feeling of hopes lifting. It also happens to be my birthday month, so every year it feels like a month to begin again.

In this time between my sober anniversary (April 22nd) and my birthday (May 19th), I fully wake from winter’s dormancy and begin to feel into who I’ve become over the past year or so.

This year, at nearly 45, what I want, more than anything, is simply to be present to my family and to my life. I want to write new and better poems. I want to keep making art and books, and being there for other creatives. I want to show up to my community (online and local) and be part of making the world a more just place, and I want to take care of the Earth, and her creatures to the best of my ability.

If you could make a simple list of what you want, what would be on it? What would it look like if you took off anything you’ve been taught to want, and put only things you actually feel pulled toward?

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May Poems

Marking Time

Tell me about May
the pink buds and the wet grass

the colors so bright it’s hard to remember 
the gray of February.

Time passes differently at 40,
I can taste every hour like honey 
not quite dissolved in hot water,

but the months go by as airports do, 
unnoticed and liminal.

Soon I will be 41 and then 47 and 52, 
it’s gathering speed as a wagon does
on the long slope home.

And I mark time in the month of May. 

What a gorgeous time to be alive 
and slowly dying. 

A month when even mortality 
smells of pink blossoms.

(from Hermit Season)

What has been eclipsed 
is shifting at last. 

The earth sings a song of blossoms
and generosity, and I reach
for one more handful
of bread, one more ripe
orange, one more kiss.

My hand on your chest
pulling you closer 
than the full moon 
standing watch 
outside our window.

I become the insatiable
birdsong, the outrageous
white blossoms against
that blue sky. I open
again and the world rushes 
in like seawater through 
the beating heart. 

(From Quietly Wild)

Poetry prompts to celebrate May

• Tell me about May…

• Soon I will be…

• Birds, buds, blossoms

• I open again

Happy Mother’s day to all those who tend and care for others.

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PS: Next week I will be in Paris leading a small writer’s retreat, so I will be taking a short break until I return. Our next live workshop is on May 27th at Noon Eastern!

Thank you for being here. It means the world to me.

with gratitude and pink flowers,

Alix

Beltane & the Fairy Realm

The concept of a thinning veil during Beltane is central to its celebration. This idea signifies a closer proximity to the mystical and magical aspects of the world. Beltane is a time for heightened spiritual awareness and interaction with the faerie realm. This period is seen as an opportunity for deeper understanding and connection with the mystical forces of nature. - Wicca Magazine

Every year, as we move through the turning points of the seasons, I find myself returning to the idea of the veil, that thin place where one world touches another. I’ve come to think it matters very much which world we’re speaking about.

At Samhain (Halloween), the thinning veil is oriented toward the past. The boundary softens between this world and the world of the ancestors. Memory deepens, grief surfaces, and there is a natural turning inward. We become attuned toward what has been carried forward: lineage, loss, death, inheritance, and the long arc of those who came before us.

Beltane carries a different vibe entirely.

Here, the veil thins between our world and that of the fairy folk. I like to think of the fae as representations of the animate, untamed intelligence of the natural world. As we enter late spring, our attention shifts outward and growth quickens. The streets fill with pink blossoms and the land itself seems to lean toward us. We are drawn into a more immediate relationship with what is alive, unpredictable, and not entirely knowable. Beltane asks us to respond to the fields, the forests, the edges of things, where something (or someone) might be watching, just out of sight.

The woods call to me, 
filled with the glowing eyes
of wolves and foxes. 
They wait for me patiently, 
wondering exactly when
I will run with them, 
hair down and feet black 
with the soil of freedom -
the call of wild winds. 

Pushing back my apron 
and throwing it on the floor:
the pie can wait, 
and the laundry will dry
on its own, 
and I, I must run 
to the dark trees, 
to the pack that waits 
silently at the edge 
of everything 
I think is real life.

(an excerpt from my first book)

My relationship with the Middle Realm

When I was young, the world felt permeable in a way that I have never been able to fully explain. I lived in a big yellow house on a tree-lined street in central Illinois. I would walk down the block and play with the neighborhood kids, and leap over stones in a stream, and make up ridiculous stories. Sometimes, when I was alone, I would see things - fairies or ghosts. I saw them every time I jumped rope - and it scared me so much that I stopped doing it (was the rhythm a kind of trance state?)

It’s not an easy thing to admit to being a seer, and saying it out loud feels too declarative for the amorphous quality of the actual events. What I experienced was closer to an atmosphere, a presence that gathered at the edges of perception and occasionally stepped forward.

Ghosts or fairies, perhaps. Or a mind not yet trained to dismiss what it could not categorize. What remains undeniable, is the sense that something was there, whether or not I could name it.

After years of brushing the sensation aside, I have spent a great deal of my recent life moving toward that feeling again. As a poet, I feel deeply connected to the unseen world in a way that feels both unencumbered and safe. I can hold both the imagination and the feeling of reality at the same time without a lot of difficulty; I enjoy the experience of paradoxical thinking.

What is your relationship with the fairy world? I’m so genuinely curious. Did you go through a fairy phase? Have you never gotten over it?

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Creative Prompts

• Write about a moment when you saw something you couldn’t quite see, something that moved at the periphery

• Return to a childhood place and let something enter that may or may not belong there

• Begin with: I crossed over

• Write from the perspective of something watching you from just beyond sight

• Begin with: Tonight, the veil thins

Coming up!

Monthly Writing Circles are for all paid subscribers, just $8/mo or $80/year (2 months free). Upgrade now to join us!

Free letters with poetry, creative prompts, and existential thoughts. Paid subscribers gain access to live writing calls, early-bird pricing to retreats and classes, and the membership library!

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Initiate yourself into the world of magical things

Do not wait to be invited
into the center, be among
the circle and feel the power
of witness and participation
without needing to be the lead.

Let the sparrow have her say,
the elephant and the otter,
the blue whale will take its time,
be patient while the aspens
get their thoughts together.

Be present as the scribe, 
the pattern-maker, the poet,
the artist, the seer,
and the song. 

Taurus Sun

Give me a cave,  
a hole in the ground,  
a stand of trees.  

Become a stream running through 
me,  I will be the bedrocks  
and the branches.  

Cowboys  

You remind me of the best parts of my 
father or perhaps you are a handheld 
mirror to my own rugged, gambler heart.  

I dream of horses lately, gray 
with mournful eyes and soft hair. 
I am so often men in my dreams.  

My hands, large and capable,  
I am my grandfathers;  
the rancher, the fiddler,  
the minister, the horse-whisperer.  
  
Never the women  
with their tight lips  
and lace collars. Only the men,  
with their leather saddles  
and tobacco pouches.  

I live out this life with cowboys in my veins,  
cowboys in my dreams.  

All three of these poems are in my book, Hermit Season: Poems and Visions

Poetry Prompts/Ideas

1. Enter the Circle
Write about stepping into a space you weren’t invited into.

2. Body as Landscape
Become part of nature.

3. Dream Body
Write from a dream where you’re in a different body.

4. Who Lives in You
Write about the people you carry: ancestors or imagined figures.

5. What You Refuse / What You Are
Start with what you are not. Move toward what you are becoming.

I’d love to see what you come up with!

Leave a comment

Coming up

These workshops are included for all paid subscribers to Earth & Verse. Upgrade anytime if you’d like to join us!

Paid subscribers also gain access to the Membership Library, with past paid posts. I try my best to make the value undeniable, and am incredibly grateful to all of you who support my work, here or elsewhere <3

Old Soul/Modern Heart

My brand, if you want to call it that, emphasizes the use of analog tools alongside modern communication. I type on a real vintage typewriter, shoot photographs on film, and write all my poems by hand in physical notebooks. I cut photos and quotes out of magazines and glue them to poster board. I draw with charcoal. I walk through the woods and by the lake. I am, in many ways, a fan of the “real world.”

But I also post on Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, TikTok, Substack, Bluesky, and run three different online businesses. I use my phone to take most of my photos these days and I use digital tools like Canva and A Color Story to edit and design my visuals.

(I am a product of my time: born in 1981, right on the cusp of Gen X and Millennial. I feel an aching nostalgia for a pre-internet, or at least pre-smartphone, era, but I also balk when someone calls without texting first. And I want my online presence to reflect that internal conflict/balance.)

Color Stories

If you look at my work across all of these different social media sites, you will notice that the aesthetic is largely the same: trees, flowers, tarot cards, animals, poems, my books, occasionally my face. And even more coherent is my color story: black and white, green, brown, cream and then the changing colors of the seasons. This is all intentional, and designed to speak visually to what I’m about spiritually, intellectually, and creatively. I want you to know right away that I am a poet who writes about nature, seasons, and my own life.

A while back I made a guide for how to grow your account on Instagram as a poet. While this was designed for Insta, the basic principals apply to any social media platform, including Substack.

You can download it here as part of the Membership Library for paid subscribers. Below the paywall you will find the workbook, some of my favorite color theory palettes for poets, and a visual branding exercise.

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Friends,

I am jealous of the ocean’s generosity. I am tired and hoping for a voice inside to tell me “come, this is the way.” As the chaos of the world continues to swirl around us, I am seeking activities that bring me joy and comfort and safety; not just for myself, but also for others. I feel the need to be offline more often and create spaces that I can rest in and replenish from, so that I can continue to serve the world.

This week, let's keep it simple. Take some time to think about the gifts that you bring to the world. Not the ones you get paid for, necessarily, but those that feel most real and nourishing to you. The ones that when you offer them up, you feel more yourself because of it.

Some of my sacred gifts

Prompts for orienting yourself to where you are now.

1. Who are you in this moment?

2. What can you offer the world?

3. What do you need?

4. Are there any ideas/projects/plans that feel MORE possible right now than usual?

5. Where do you want to be at this time next year?

A short list of sacred gifts to get you started

Sacred Gifts of Being

• Presence – showing up fully to the moment.

• Attention – the act of noticing, listening, and honoring.

• Wonder – the childlike awe that keeps the world alive.

• Stillness – the capacity to rest, pause, and make space.

• Resilience – carrying light through difficulty.

• Gratitude – choosing to see abundance and say thank you.

Sacred Gifts of Connection

• Compassion – entering into another’s joy or pain.

• Hospitality – creating safe and welcoming spaces.

• Story – sharing meaning through words and memory.

• Laughter – dissolving barriers with joy.

• Touch – comfort, healing, grounding in the body.

• Witnessing – holding someone’s truth without judgment.

Sacred Gifts of Creation

• Imagination – the seed of new worlds.

• Poetry – shaping language into beauty and truth.

• Art & Craft – hands making meaning tangible.

• Music – vibrations that evoke unnamable feelings

• Ritual – gestures that make time sacred.

• Dreams – whispers from the deep unconscious.

Sacred Gifts for the World

• Justice – the fierce gift of fairness and repair.

• Stewardship – caring for land, water, creatures.

• Courage – speaking truth when silence is easier.

• Community – weaving the many into one fabric.

• Hope – refusing despair, offering possibility.

• Love – the root gift, shaping all others.

I’d love to hear what gifts you’re feeling right now - make them into a list poem if you like, or just name them for yourself <3

drop a note in the comments so we can gather a little basket of them together.

Leave a comment

Speaking of retreats and classes,

I am co-leading a little day retreat in North Andover, MA on June 27th with my friend and colleague, Erin Browning. She will be leading us in some breathwork, and I will be leading us in writing prompts, together we will help you open the doors within that feel stuck or immobilized. I really think it will be an incredible, restorative day. Click the image below to learn more or send me a message with any questions or curiosities!

Thank you for being here, for reading, and for giving these thoughts a place to exist in community. I am grateful and I don’t take it for granted.

with joy,

Alix

If you enjoy my letters, please feel free to share them! I keep them free so they can find whoever needs them.

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Spring Dreaming: The Archetypes that follow us into adulthood

I’ve studied the Enneagram for 25+ years and it remains one of the most insightful and fun archetype systems I’ve found. It has its limitations, of course, as all typing systems do, but I find the Enneagram more resonant and flexible and consistently revealing than I find it limiting. Last week, I invited you to dive into your Origin Stories a bit, to go back to some turning points and explore some of the events, times, and situations that made you…you.

This week, I thought we could play with the Enneagram as a tool to explore some of your dynamics as a writer or creative. I’ve never seen anyone talk about the Enneagram as a writing tool, but I often use it as a way to create complex and dynamic characters that feel real, that feel like people you’ve met in real life. The Enneagram is also a fantastic way to think about what you might be working on in your relationship with yourself, with your loved ones, with your sense of vocation, and with your creative work.

I am going to be describing the types as I have observed them in creative and spiritual coaching; leaning more into how each point on the Enneagram might struggle with the multiplicities of a creative career. And if you are curious about your Enneagram type and have never read anything about it before, I’ll list a few recommended books and sites at the end of this post.

Note: Unlike Myers-Briggs or the Big 5, Enneagram is not easy to test via an online quiz. The Enneagram is a lens you see the world through, and it can be very hard to see the lens at first. So be patient with yourself as you dive in, and be willing to change your mind about your home type after you live with the system for a while. I mistyped myself for years before I realized that my real issues were those of a type 2 and not a type 4. I’ve always believed that you learn just as much from mistyping and exploring that type in great detail, because there is likely work for you in each of the numbers on the wheel.

Want help figuring out your type? We can do that together in a 1-1 session (message me for more info if you’re interested!) P.S. founding members get a coaching call once a year included with their membership!

Creative Blocks for the Enneagram types

I made these up from my own experience and research, don’t take them too too seriously; this is supposed to be lighthearted and helpful, not prescriptive or judgmental.

Type One: Perfectionist or Reformer - Ones have a tendency to see what’s missing, to notice the difference between what is and what could be. As creatives, they can be hard on themselves, never feeling good enough, or having trouble getting started for fear that they won’t be able to live up to their own standards. Many Ones will live their lives close to their creative passion but will not allow themselves to step into the center ring, preferring instead to critique or analyze other people’s work. Their growth point is to move toward play and levity, to release their high standards long enough to get into flow with their work.

Type Two: The Giver or the Helper - Twos will get distracted by the desire to help other people. Instead of focusing on their own creative work, they will often get sidetracked by coaching or teaching, becoming cheerleaders for everyone but themselves. Twos have a hard time acknowledging their own needs, or asking for help, so they may resist critical feedback that could improve their work. Two’s growth point is moving toward authenticity, and claiming space for themselves. Their work is in the creation of boundaries.

Type Three: The Performer or the Achiever - Threes want to be the best, they want to be seen as accomplished, capable, and excellent. As creatives they may get distracted by the appearance of success instead of developing their work with internal intention. They may also seek proximity to fame and friendship with those they perceive as more successful than them. Three’s growth is toward integration between the outer self and their inner values. This may look like developing a body of work away from the public eye and away from the possibility of approval.

Type Four: The Individualist or the Romantic - Fours are creative by nature, deep, insightful, and emotionally sensitive. Their block as creatives is often around followthrough, as they can easily fall into times of low mood and low energy. Their desire to be unique and unlike anyone else can also create a fear and judgement of derivative work, or work that doesn’t live up to their ideals. One of the issues I see for the fours in my life is a tendency toward jealousy or a belief that other people are having more success with less effort. Fours work is toward consistency of action. Instead of waiting to be inspired, most fours need to develop a regular discipline that keeps them from getting stuck in their feels.

Type Five: The Observer or the Investigator - Fives live in their minds and can be disconnected from their feeling selves. Fives can find themselves stuck in a pattern of overanalysis, believing they need more education or knowledge before they can get down to the task of creation. Five’s struggle with a tendency to be isolated and to guard their energy with intensity. Their creative growth will often look like a willingness to be messy and imperfect, to collaborate, and to find ways to use their special knowledge in unique and unusual ways.

Type Six: The Loyalist or the Guardian - Sixes are oriented toward safety, stability, and preparedness. They are deeply thoughtful and often incredibly perceptive about potential risks or pitfalls. As creatives, this can manifest as hesitation or waiting until they feel more certain before they begin. Sixes often second-guess their ideas or look for external validation before trusting their own instincts. They can also get caught in cycles of doubt, asking, “Is this good enough?” or “Will this work?” Their growth lies in learning to trust themselves, and to move forward even without certainty, to take creative risks, and to build confidence through action rather than waiting for it to arrive first.

Type Seven: The Enthusiast or the Visionary - Sevens are full of ideas, possibilities, and excitement. They are often prolific starters, bursting with inspiration and curiosity. As creatives, their challenge is not beginning, but staying with a project until it’s done. They may abandon projects when they become difficult or lose their initial spark, chasing instead the next exciting idea. This can lead to a trail of half-finished work and a sense of restlessness. Sevens grow through commitment and depth; learning to stay with a project even when it becomes uncomfortable or tedious, and discovering the richness that comes from seeing something all the way through.

Type Eight: The Challenger or the Protector - Eights are powerful, direct, and driven by a desire for autonomy and control. They bring intensity and boldness to their creative work, often unafraid to tackle big themes or speak hard truths. Their challenge can be vulnerability. Eights may resist exposing the softer, more tender parts of themselves on the page, or may push too hard, too fast, without allowing space for nuance or reflection. Their growth is in allowing themselves to be seen more fully and to let their work hold not just strength, but also sensitivity, complexity, and care.

Type Nine: The Peacemaker or the Mediator - Nines are attuned to harmony, connection, and the avoidance of conflict. They are often deeply creative but may struggle to prioritize their own work, especially when it competes with the needs or desires of others. Nines can fall into patterns of inertia, procrastination, or self-forgetting. They often lose touch with their own voice in an effort to maintain peace. Their growth lies in remembering that their perspective matters, that their voice is needed, and their creative work is valued.

I am so curious if any of these resonate or if you see friends or colleagues in here. Sometimes it’s easier to see these patterns in other people first. If you had to pick one or two that you feel you most embody, which would they be?

Leave a comment

A few things to think and write about this week:

• Looking back at your origin stories from last week, what patterns or roles do you recognize in yourself now?

• Which type (or types) seem to echo those early experiences?

• What did you learn about yourself then that you are still carrying into your creative life now?

• Where might those patterns be supporting your work—and where might they be limiting it?

• What would it look like to gently shift one of those patterns this week?

Resources

There are many methods for studying the Enneagram

1. My favorite Enneagram author is Helen Palmer - she uses what’s called the narrative approach. Her style is more colloquial and spiritual and focuses around panels of people telling their stories (thus, narrative). (Narrative Enneagram also has a $10 test on their site - I have NO IDEA how it is because I don’t really think tests tend to work for the Enneagram.) I do, however, have two copies of Palmer’s book, The Enneagram: Understanding Yourself and the Others in Your Life, one is my well-used and marked-up copy and the other is for lending out.

2. Riso-Hudson looks at the Enneagram in a more social sciences way, which is fine, but not really my take. They have good descriptions of the types though and the site is thorough. I particularly like the little sound clips they have for each type.

3. Youtube has a lot of Enneagram panels you can watch. I particularly like Beatrice Chestnut’s panels. They’re LONG, but you can get a lot out of them. These are a great way to check between 2 types and see which panel resonates with you more.

Coming up

Live writing workshops on April 11th at 12-2pm Eastern and April 26th at 3-5pm Eastern - these are generative poetry-writing workshops over Zoom and are designed to get you out of your head and actually writing!

They are included for all paid subscribers, so upgrade before the 11th if you’d like to join us! (note: upgrading in your computer browser is cheaper than in the app because of fees)

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"The truth about stories is, that's all we are." -Thomas King, The Truth About Stories

The year was 1994

My So-Called Life came out, Friends premiered, Kurt Cobain died, and I, age 13, found out we were moving to Spain for a year.

There are some events in one’s young life that just change the course of all that comes after. My parents’ divorce when I was two-years-old, our move from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Central Illinois, and the year I missed my freshman year of High School because my mom & step-dad brought me to Spain for a year (they were both Spanish Lit professors) and put me into public school despite me not knowing the language all that well.

I had a rocky grade school experience full of mean girls, but by 8th grade, I finally felt like I had found my “cool self” in middle school. I rocked thrifted corduroy grandpa pants 3 sizes too big for me and giant concert T’s. I had friends and we went to movies together and hung out in each other’s basements. I played the violin and was good at art. I wasn’t cheerleader cool, but I had a place in the social hierarchy. 

1995

Clueless, the OJ Simpson trial, the Oklahoma bombing, Gangsta’s Paradise - I was living in an apartment on Calle Viriato in Madrid, eating Palmeras, and wishing I’d paid more attention in Spanish class.

Spain was…a whole post unto itself, but needless to say, I learned a lot about how it feels to be out of place, out of context, and largely alone. Without a shared language, I was incredibly grateful for music - the one place where I could connect with my peers with relative ease. I joined a string quartet and in that one place, I didn’t feel like an idiot.

1996 - the summer of Ska

When I came back to the states I was… out of touch with the American youths (Schmidt voice please). Ska had become this huge thing while I was gone, and I was still listening to The Smashing Pumpkins and Hole. I remember so distinctly the way it felt to leave the US in this Greenday/early Radiohead place and arrive back in a world filled with Cherry Poppin’ Daddies.

Going into my Sophomore year of High School, I knew I had missed a lot, but I didn’t realize I would feel somewhat out of step with my class for the remainder of my time there. Friend groups had been established, and no matter how hard to tried, I never really slipped back into the time stream I’d stepped out of.

What I gained though, was an ability to “see” my own culture in a new way. I got out of the water I had been swimming in, and when I got back in, I was given the ability to choose what to do with it.

Origin Stories

What we’re really doing, when we return to these moments, is writing our origin stories. Our becomings as artists and writers are often full of disruption, awkwardness, misalignment, and unexpected turns that didn’t make sense at the time.

These turning points are the places where something essential was formed.

And from where I’m standing now, I can see it more clearly: that year in Spain taught me how to step outside of a life and look at it with fresh eyes. It showed me that identity isn’t fixed, that culture is something you can change you, and that belonging is more fluid than I had imagined.

And this is also the advantage to using the past for our writing - we are no longer in that context. Even if we never moved out of our hometowns, the past is a foreign country we can write about with a lot of detail, emotion, and knowledge.

Creative Prompts

Activity for the week

Make a playlist of music you've loved over the years

• Start with the first album you ever bought and go from there. 

• Let the music bring you back in time, 

• take notes on your thoughts, memories, feelings, 

• connections, locations, relationships, etc. 

Writing Prompts

Self-inquiry

• Who were you at 14? 22? 39? 55?

• What did you love to do?

• What were your concerns?

• What did you wear?  

Choose a year or a few years that feel particularly relevant to your formation as a creative, and tell your origin story from that time.

Write a poem about a turning point in your life; let the poem remind you who you are.

Find an old photograph and write about it as a documentarian might.

I’d love to hear any insights, memories, stories, or poems you write based on these prompts! Post em in the comments or tag me!

Leave a comment

If you’re enjoying this series of prompts, consider subscribing - there will be more!

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Coming up!

Poetry workshops (on Zoom) for paid subscribers:

• April 11th, 12-2pm Eastern time

• April 26th, 3-5pm Eastern time

In-Person Retreats

June 27th, 9am-4pm, North Andover, MA

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Welcome to the Spring Creative Circle!

Blessed Ostara/Vernal Equinox! The light has returned and we are once again in a place of balance, between night and day. I, for one, am extremely relieved to be back on the brighter side of the year with 6-7 months of glorious weather ahead of me.

This year, I am going to re-start my kitchen garden! The plan is to stick with lettuce, kale and herbs and tomatoes; basically all the things you’d find in a simple salad.

I surprised myself with my sudden interest in gardening a few years ago, but tending the earth seems to be something that emerges with age, like birdwatching or crossword puzzles. So we ordered some raised beds and filled them with deep, rich soil. I am excited to get back to it after a year of focusing on other things. (This is also a good reminder to myself that I can take breaks and come back to a thing refreshed).

As creatures of this planet and natural inhabitants that live for many years, we know instinctively when the seasons are turning. We don’t need the calendar to remind us that the days are lengthening or that the ground is almost ready for planting. We human animals are deeply aware of the cycles of the earth. In fact, did you know that humans can smell fertile Earth better than sharks can smell blood in seawater?

Geosmin, the chemical created when rain hits the Earth is almost universally adored by humans, we even have a poetic name for it; petrichor. I love to think that there is some evolutionary reason behind our love of wet earth smell, that biologically speaking, we’ve kept passing on that genetic trait for millions of years, so that I could wake up one day in my early 40’s and think “gosh, I should really put some seeds in that earth today.”

Nature is Enough

When I was in Unitarian Universalist seminary, I learned language and terms for all kinds of incredible things, including a theology aptly called religious naturalism.

At its core, religious naturalism feels almost embarrassingly simple: that this world is enough. That meaning is not elsewhere, waiting to be discovered in some other realm, but here, in the systems we are already part of: in forests and oceans and bacteria and breath, and in the fact that we are capable of awe at all.

I write many of my poems in the woods. It is where I go when I am joyful and when I despair because when I am walking in the forest it is so easy to remember that we are all connected. And therein lies the religious aspect of naturalism, that for some reason, when we are alone in nature, we feel less isolated. We remember that leaves fall and replenish the soil, that everything eventually changes state and becomes part of the whole. Perhaps, we even understand for a brief moment that death is not the end, but rather a form of transformation.

Everything is moving, changing, becoming something else, even this life of mine, even this body.

There’s a line I return to, from Ursula Goodenough’s The Sacred Depths of Nature, about how death is also what makes complex life possible. That the very structures that allow for consciousness, for beauty, for love, are inseparable from finitude.

“Is there such a thing as an immortal organism? The answer is yes, but immortal organisms are by definition very limited in capacity. For example, there is no death programmed into the life cycle of a bacterium or an amoeba. For sure, the cells can be killed by boiling or starvation, but they don’t have to die. But once you have a life cycle with a germline and soma (the parts of an organism other than the reproductive cells), then immortality is handed over to the germ line. This liberates the soma and allows it to focus instead on strategies for getting the gametes transmitted.”

In less scientific language, once an organism can create complex structures like wings, gills, eyes, tentacles, etc those structures are no longer immortal. The focus becomes on passing along these complex structures to the next generation before they die.

Goodenough goes on to say,

“So our brains are destined to die with the rest of the soma. And it is here that we arrive at one of the central ironies of human existence. Which is that our sentient brains are uniquely capable of experiencing deep regret and sorrow and fear at the prospect of our own death, yet it was the invention of death, that made possible the existence of our brains.

“Death”, she says “is the price paid to have trees and clams and birds and grasshoppers, and death is the price paid to have human consciousness, to be aware of all that shimmering awareness and all that love.”

It’s a difficult thought. And also, in some quiet way, a relieving one.

We are not outside of any of this, we are expressions of it.

Which makes the impulse to plant something feel less like a sudden and unexpected hobby and more like participation in the long, unceasing cycle of death and rebirth.

So we garden. We raise children. We walk by the water at dusk. We notice the light lingering a little longer each evening.

Last night, I stopped by the lake near my house and watched the sun set at nearly 7pm. I didn’t take a picture (ok, I took one picture). I didn’t write anything down. I just stood there, long enough to feel the day shift into something else.

And that, too, felt like a kind of prayer.

As we step into this new season, and into Spring Dreaming together, I’m not interested in asking you to overhaul your life or to become someone new, only to notice where something in you is already beginning.

I want you to follow that beginning, gently, and trust that the same instinct that draws you toward the smell of rain on dry ground might also know what wants to grow next.

Creative prompts for this week

For your writing (poetry or prose):
– Write a piece that begins with the line: “The earth remembers…”
– What is ending?
– What is just beginning because of that ending?

For your journal:
– What is emerging in you right now, even if it feels small or uncertain?
– Where in your life are you being asked to think beyond immediate comfort?
– What does “enough” mean to you in this season?

For your ecological attention:
– Go outside and notice one sign of early spring (buds, birds, light, mud, anything)
– Spend five minutes simply observing, without documenting or sharing
– If you feel inclined, place your hand on the ground (or a tree, or a stone) and stay there long enough to feel something shift.

Leave a comment

I’m so glad you’re here for this new season! Please share your thoughts and poems in the chat or in the comments. I want this circle to feel collaborative, so show me your gardens, your poems, your new beginnings.

With you in the turning,
Alix

Coming up: Saturday, March 21st 3-5pm Eastern

Balancing Family and Creative Practice

I don’t talk about my family life all that often here, because my family is full of deeply private people, who mostly don’t use social media or enjoy being talked about in a public forum (fair fair), so I will keep my remarks about them vague today.

My kiddo is eleven now. He’s neurodivergent and incredibly smart. Those two things together can create a kind of complexity that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. We’ve been trying to find places where his wholeness is celebrated rather than merely accommodated, and it’s the kind of work that requires patience, advocacy, and a fair amount of emotional stamina.

I want to talk about it more someday, because I know how many families are navigating systems that weren’t designed for their children. At the same time, I want to respect my child’s autonomy and privacy as he grows into himself.

So for now I’ll simply say this: being a mother has been more of a full-time gig lately.

And like many of you, I’m feeling the way that caregiving and creative life sometimes wrestle with one another for space.

In addition to this more intense phase of parenting, my husband has been working from home for almost a year now. I’m grateful for the flexibility it gives our family, but it has changed the texture of my days in ways I didn’t quite anticipate. For most of my writing life, I’ve relied on long stretches of quiet solitude. I used to have many hours when the house was empty and my mind could stretch out without interruption.

These days I keep catching myself thinking, I’ll get to that once John goes to work.

And then he… doesn’t go to work.

Which means the hours I once relied on for writing have slowly evolved into more conversations, questions, lunches together, a dog who would really prefer another walk.

And the house itself seems to be reflecting this shift.

This morning I went downstairs and the living room was almost untraversable. Boxes were scattered across the floor, shoes and sweatshirts lumped into piles, dog toys, books, notebooks, and 4 mugs that had been abandoned every morning for a week.

I stood there for a moment feeling completely overwhelmed and realized: I am desperate for space, both inside myself and inside my home.

One of my mentors, , used to teach about pockets of space. She would walk us through the act of choosing a single corner to start with, ask us to clear it out completely, wash it lovingly with essential oils and soap, and then to slowly start to put back just the things that belonged there.

I was always enchanted by the gentleness of her approach.

She understood that most of us don’t have entire weekends to reorganize our lives. What we have are small pockets of time. A half hour in the afternoon, ten quiet minutes before dinner. I often put dishes away while I wait for my bread to toast, for instance.

Those pockets are often enough, and getting started paves the way for more capacity over time.

This is true of cleaning and decluttering, but it is also true of finding time to write.

The Simplest Ritual for (almost) Spring

I want to invite you to clear some space for your writing practice.

• Take on a small corner of your life (I’m choosing my desk) and clear it off completely.

• Clean it with warm water and soap.

• Put only the things back that truly belong there.

• I am also going to go one step further, and ask for a bit of mental space this week, for some real solitude so that I can get into the flow of my own practice, my own mind.

Journaling Prompts

• Describe the space where you write when no one else is home. What changes in the atmosphere of your mind when solitude appears?

• Write about the smallest pocket of time you’ve used for creativity lately. What made it possible?

• Make a list of the objects that truly belong near your writing practice. Why those?

• Begin a poem or paragraph with this line:
  “I am learning to make room for…”

• Imagine your mind as a house. Which rooms are crowded right now? Which rooms are waiting quietly for you to appear?

I’d love to see the before and after photos of your corners!

Leave a comment

Next week, my spring writing circle begins.

I want to arrive there with my inner landscape a little clearer, a little quieter, ready to welcome whatever new work is waiting to grow.

If you’re feeling the same pull toward space, imagination, and renewal, I would love to have you join us.

And in the meantime, start with a corner.

Sometimes that’s all it takes to begin again.

with joy,

Alix

March 21st: Ostara Workshop kicks off the Spring Circle!

Learn more about Spring Dreaming:

Hi friends,

I’m writing this from the Baltimore airport, two hours early for my flight home to Boston. The airport currently feels calmer than the writers’ conference I just attended, which should give you some sense of how the past few days have been.

This week I went to my first ever AWP conference.

For those who don’t live in this particular part of literary culture, AWP stands for the Association of Writers & Writing Programs. Once a year they host a massive conference and bookfair for writers, publishers, and literary magazines. Think: panels, readings, conversations in hallways, open bars, and thousands of people carrying tote bags full of poetry books.

It is… a lot.

Upon Arrival

My conference was colored, in part, by the fact that the hotel I was staying in didn’t have hot water for the entire time I was there. From Wednesday night until Saturday morning, every shower required either bravery or a generous friend with a functioning hotel bathroom. Luckily, I had the latter (Thank you )

And so, the whole experience had a slightly surreal quality from the beginning. Walking between conference buildings, trying to orient myself among thousands of writers, most of whom seemed to know where they were going, and what they were doing there, while I…did not.

On Wednesday evening, after registering and picking up my badge, I went to an offsite reading organized by Kai Koggin of Wednesday Night Poetry. It turned out to be one of the most welcoming spaces I encountered all week: an open mic with good seating, warm lighting, and the kind of attentive listening that poets secretly hope for every time they stand up to read.

I shared a short poem from Bread Sex Trees and listened to about twenty other poets read their work. For a little while, the whole enormous conference shrank down to something simple and human: people in a room, telling the truth as best they could.

Thursday morning, for reasons I still don’t understand, I woke up at 4:30am.

No hot shower. Too early for panels. So I went looking for coffee and eventually, and with some trepidation, I found the sober meeting that happens each morning during the conference.

I don’t regularly attend meetings, and I didn’t get sober through AA or any particular program, so I was a tad nervous to be new at both the meeting and at the conference in general, but that hour ended up being one of the most connective times I had at AWP.

Writers sat in a circle and talked about what it means to be both an artist and someone who has struggled with addiction. They talked about navigating spaces like this conference—rooms full of people who want to be known, who want to be published, who want to make it—and the strange emotional weather that can create.

I shared a little. I cried a little. Mostly, I listened.

And I realized something I hadn’t fully named before.

For the past eight years, since I stopped drinking, I’ve been quietly avoiding certain kinds of social spaces: large gatherings, networking environments, and the subtle competitiveness that can exist among writers. Not consciously, exactly. But my nervous system has learned to steer toward quieter rooms.

Where the F*** do I fit?

Every person I met, whether at a panel, in line at the bathroom, in the hallways, or at the multitude of bookfair tables was so lovely, welcoming, and kind. I am so grateful I went and for every hug and connection I found there. And still, I was often overwhelmed with uncertainty.

AWP contains many beautiful things, but it also contains a lot of the dynamics that can feel hardest for me: performance, comparison, the quiet pressure to explain who you are and why your work matters.

And I noticed, over and over again, how strangely I fit within the writing world.

I don’t have an MFA in writing. I’m both self-published & traditionally published, but not by the academic presses that anchor much of the conference. I move somewhere between the literary and the more commercial-facing worlds of poetry and essays.

Standing in the middle of it all

I went to this conference knowing that I’m standing at a kind of crossroads in my own creative life.

Having published books both traditionally and independently, I find myself asking new questions about what comes next.

Do I lean further into editorial work and literary magazines?
Do I write the novel that has been quietly forming in the background of my mind?
Do I finish the hybrid poetry/fiction manuscript I’ve been circling for the past two years and send it out into the academic press world?

Or do I plant a garden, keep writing essays, and continue leading classes for the community of readers and writers that has grown up around Earth & Verse? Do I try to do it all?

Perhaps I’m too tired to be writing this letter to you from an airport chair, or perhaps I’m just tired enough to tell the truth: I feel worn out, confused, grateful, hopeful, overwhelmed, and inspired all at once.

Saturday, the final day,

I attended a panel of neurodivergent writers whose honesty and brilliance gave me a quiet sense of hope—not just for my own path, but for the larger landscape of writing itself.

Some of the walls surrounding traditional literary institutions are beginning to soften. Writers are finding each other in new ways. People are publishing work outside the structures that once felt like the only path forward.

Knowledge that used to live behind university doors is becoming more accessible.

And in the middle of all this, I noticed something inside myself shifting.

I grow weary of pretense and no longer seem to be able to mask, even when I want to. I’m exhausted of trying to prove myself in rooms where the rules are both invisible and constantly changing. And my nervous system feels the weight of the subtle posturing that sometimes creeps into creative spaces when everyone is trying, in one way or another, to matter.

And in my fatigue, I feel a strange kind of liberation.

The truth is, I care more about my readers than I care about which press published my book. And there are so many ways now to reach the people who most need our work.

If sobriety has taught me anything, it is that life becomes much more meaningful when the focus shifts away from ambition and toward service.

And so I will continue the practice of holding space, of writing with honesty,
and hopefully, over time, helping to prop the door open a little wider for the people who come after me.

What I know is this: I’m here. There’s no rush.

We can keep building this together.

with love and gratitude,

Alix

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Coming up

The Spring Creative Circle is coming so soon now! We begin on March 21st with a live writing session at 3-5pm EST. Learn more and sign up here:

The Urge to Start Over

I’ve spent the past few months feeling pretty anxious. Winter is a challenging season for me, mental-health-wise, and Trump’s presidency, along with the relentless onslaught of unfathomable news, has NOT helped. When I struggle with anxiety and depression, I tell myself a lot of stories about it—that I’m faking it to get out of things, that I’m not doing that badly, all things considered. I tell myself I’m lazy and ungrateful. I feel guilty and ashamed for having such a beautiful life and still not being happy.

The problem is sometimes compounded by the fact that my friends and community members are going through real struggles: financial instability, grief, the loss of parents, adopting children, dealing with job insecurity, racism, discrimination, lack of healthcare. The list goes on. And here I am, with amazing partners, a beautiful home, time to rest, travel, good resources for my autistic child. And still, I am struggling with panic attacks, exhaustion, chronic sickness, and depression.

And, I know that’s not how it works. I know that struggle doesn’t adhere to logic or fairness, that joy and grief coexist, that the weight of the world can still find its way into even the most fortunate life, but ugh.

The Elusive Escape Hatch

When I feel this way, I look for solutions. I search for an escape hatch. Historically, this has meant moving. Something in me believes that a new home, a fresh landscape, a different city with different rhythms might realign me. I love that moving forces you to shed the unnecessary—half my wardrobe gets donated, old furniture left behind, only the most precious belongings making the cut. We paint the rooms, we plant a garden, we take walks to orient ourselves to this new life. It’s an act of reinvention, a way to feel like I’m in motion rather than stuck. And, to be honest, this has tended to work for me.

Maybe it’s all the Sagittarius placements in my birth chart (this is what the astrology buffs tell me), but I feel the most myself when I’m in motion, when my surroundings are unfamiliar, when I am rediscovering who I am through the process of settling in.

But every move is costly, in more ways than one.

Quillen, my now 11-year-old, would lose friends, a sense of belonging, the safety and support of teachers and adults who know and understand him. My husband would have to look for work, and it’s not always as easy as it is in Boston to find a good biotech job. My other partner is also part of this equation —where would he want to move? Where could he find work, community, joy? It’s not as simple as when I was 20, debating between San Francisco and New York City, my whole life a blank slate. Now there’s a lot to fuck up and a lot to lose.

Each move would mean more than just a shift in scenery; it would be a rupture, a recalibration. And so, I’m sitting with the question:

What if I don’t need a new place? What if I need a new way of being where I am?

The Subtle Reinvention

Maybe the reinvention I’m seeking isn’t about geography. Maybe it’s about finding a new way to inhabit my own mind, my own creative life. Maybe the fresh start isn’t in running, but in a more subtle set of shifts. Maybe I go ahead and donate half my wardrobe and repaint a room. Start exploring neighborhoods I’ve never spent much time in, join a social dance class. Maybe it is a time for deepening, not escaping; I really don’t know but it seems worth a try.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about poetry and fiction as a way of finding new places to explore. How every blank page is a doorway to somewhere as of yet unknown. How every new project is a chance to transform.

We will be exploring some of these ideas in Spring Dreaming as a way to practice beginning again, over and over. To meet the page as a stranger. To orient ourselves toward curiosity instead of expectation. To plant something small and trust that it will grow.

Journal Prompts

• Have you ever felt the urge to run away, to start over, to erase everything and begin again? What did you do with that feeling?

• If you couldn’t change your external world, how might you change your internal one?

• What’s a small way you could make your life feel new, right here, right now?

Creative Prompts

Writing prompt: Write a poem or a short piece of prose about reinvention. Begin with the phrase: I want to run away…

Visual art prompt: Who am I now? A collage, a Pinterest board, a poem, a painting, a photograph, a story.

I’d love to hear what comes up for you. leave a comment below and join me in Spring Dreaming if you’re feeling the call to begin again.

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Thank you for being here and for supporting my work. I appreciate each one of you!
Alix

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What is Earth & Verse?

Earth & Verse is part seasonal blog, part creative circle, part gathering place for people who want to live attentively, imaginatively, and in relationship with the living world.

It’s rooted in poetry, but not limited to it. Photography, collage, journaling, myth, philosophy, conversation, and the slow noticing of everyday life all have a seat at the table here as well.

I’m Alix Klingenberg, a poet, photographer, earth-centered spiritual director, and creative facilitator who has spent most of her adult life trying to figure out exactly who I am and how I can best make a difference in this world.

About Me

I don’t often lead with credentials, because art has always felt like a lifelong practice, not a resume. But for those who are curious about how this work was shaped, here are a few threads of my own path.

I grew up in a house where creative discussions were normal dinner table conversation. Both of my parents taught literature, and language was treated as something alive and worthy of attention. I played the violin from age 5 through college, and for much of my young life, it was my primary identity.

I went on to study visual art at Oberlin College, focusing on photography, film, and art history, and spent a semester at NYU learning to make films on heavy analog cameras, physically cutting and taping reels together in dim editing rooms. I learned photography in the darkroom where I spent many hours disappearing while images slowly emerged in trays of chemicals.

After college, I worked under other photographers for years before running my own wedding and portrait photography business for a decade. That season taught me about storytelling, presence, collaboration, and the quiet intimacy of witnessing people’s lives at meaningful thresholds.

Eventually, I felt called toward a different kind of work and went to graduate school, and earned a Master of Divinity, becoming an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister and certified spiritual director. Those years were steeped in theology, community organizing, anti-racism work, writing, facilitation, and the practice of holding space for complexity and transformation.

Along the way, I’ve taken more workshops than I could possibly count; in poetry, psychology, counseling, teaching, and creative practice. I’ve written and published four poetry collections, including Bread Sex Trees (Central Ave Publishing, 2023) and Quietly Wild (Mandala Earth, 2025).

I’ve been self-employed for fifteen years and have led online creative circles since 2017. The throughline across all of it is complexity, curiosity, and the belief that creativity is both a discipline and a form of caring for the world.

Seasonal Circles - Spring 🌸

Experience has convinced me of one thing above all: creative people need containers that are gentle enough to hold sensitivity and structured enough to encourage practice. We don’t necessarily need more pressure, but we do need companionship, rhythm, and encouragement.

That’s where the seasonal circles come in.

Each year, as the earth turns, I design small creative containers that mirror the emotional texture of the season.

Spring Dreaming is this year’s offering for the months when everything is thawing: the soil, the light, the nervous system, the imagination. It begins on March 21st, the spring equinox, and unfolds over six weeks of letters, prompts, reflections, and optional live writing workshops.

The weekly letters are free for all subscribers. They’re meant to feel like small sparks of inspiration for the season; poems, questions, creative invitations, and reflections that encourage you to step away from the scroll and back into your own interior landscape. The paid layer adds live workshops, community space, and extra support for those who want a deeper level of connection.

Learn more by clicking through the link below!

Writing Workshop - Feb 25th, 11am-1pm EST

Before Spring Dreaming begins, I’m be hosting a Zoom workshop on Wednesday called The Late Winter Lodge where we’ll read poems, write together, and spend a couple hours in gentle creative companionship. Simply become a paid subscriber to join us for the workshop and the Spring Circle!

Subscribe now

If you’re new here, you don’t need to catch up on anything or understand the full ecosystem. You can simply begin where you are, read the letter archive if you want, write in the margins, join a workshop if it calls to you. Let the season move through your creative life in whatever way feels possible.

If you’ve been longing for a quieter corner of the internet, one that values depth over speed, process over performance, and community over comparison, you’re in the right place.

A new season is beginning, the ground is softening, the birds are returning, and something in you may be stirring as well, even if you can’t yet name it.

with joy, as always,

Alix

Prompt: I dreamed you were a poem

Set a timer and write for 7 minutes without stopping or editing. I’d love to see what comes through!

Leave a comment

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends!

love,

Alix

Today it is a balmy 37 degrees (2.7 C) and the snow we got a few weeks ago is slowly leaking from the tall piles onto the sidewalk, forming terrible, dark puddles that will likely freeze by tonight. My body is frazzled and worn out and desperately craving a clear spring day and the kind of mental clarity that slowly comes back to me as the Earth turns her face more directly toward the sun once again.

Spring is not an easy transition here in Massachusetts. The ground softens into mud, and everything becomes messy; the weather, my moods, the temperatures rising and then falling again. All the emotions that were kept at bay by the quiet cold of winter, thaw and re-emerge in unpredictable ways.

But then, the daffodils press up through the ground and the buds start to form on the trees. Mud becomes grass and clover and the birds begin to sing and sing and sing. I am so ready for the reemergence of green.

🌿 Spring Dreaming, the spring creative circle will begin on March 21st, the spring equinox 🌿

One of the hardest parts about winter for me is feeling cooped up and disconnected from the land, and from my community. I’ve been really feeling the weight of being online so much, especially with the news being so triggering for so many of us lately.

Who this is for:

Spring Dreaming is designed especially for creative, reflective people; artists, writers, teachers, caregivers, thinkers, and seekers who want to imagine a more beautiful, just, and interconnected future while also tending to their own inner life.

We will be exploring

Thresholds — what is waking in you now.
Origin stories — the myths you’ve lived inside and the ones you are choosing.
Being different — your gifts, your sensitivities, your singular way of thinking and feeling.
Archetypes and inner life — meeting the figures that move through your psyche.
Desire and money — how you want to feel, what you’ve inherited, what you might set down.
Callings — not one grand purpose, but the quiet work you are here to tend.

What’s Included:

Free weekly letters with...

– Guided meditations to help you listen inward
– Journaling and creative writing prompts
– Poetry as a way of thinking and feeling
– Collage and visual exploration
– Creative coaching reflections
– Invitations to connect your inner life with the living world around you!

Plus paid subscribers will be invited to three, 2-hour Zoom writing workshops!

Live call dates:

March 21st 3-5pm EST

April 11th, 12-2pm EST

April 26th , 3-5pm EST

Join Us

Spring Dreaming is open to all paid subscribers of Earth & Verse. If you’re already a member, you’re in! If not, you can join for $8/month or $80/yr (2 months free!) to gain access to this seasonal writing circle (plus all the other benefits of being a paid subscriber).

✨ The first letter drops on March 21st! ✨

✨ Live Writing Calls will be on March 21st, April 11th, and April 26th (Reminders and Zoom links will be sent out before each workshop. My apologies to those for whom these times won’t work - I have to do the calls when they make the most sense for me and my family <3 )

👉 Join Earth & Verse to begin.

(if you’re reading this on the Substack app, I recommend you upgrade in your browser using this link: https://alixklingenberg.substack.com/subscribe, to avoid the app fees)

Please do invite your friends, spread the word, and share to notes! Thank you, friends - I am so glad you are here.

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As always, if you have questions, just hit the reply button - I am on the other side of every email I send.

Alix Klingenberg <3