A Secret Third Thing: The Zen of Writing Together
Fosterverse Weekly #37
In August 2023, after a few years of experimenting with different ways to support writers, we at Foster came to a conclusion that felt so obvious, it was almost embarrassing we hadn’t landed on it sooner: the best thing we could do was just help people write.
We took a cue from W. Somerset Maugham, who said, “I only write when my muse shows up. Fortunately, she shows up at 9 a.m. every morning.” (Which is either a very inspirational quote or a devastating indictment of those of us waiting around for the right mood to strike.)
Most people don’t exactly look forward to the blank page. But having written? That feeling is gold. No matter what’s going on in your life, for a few blessed hours afterward you get to think: hell yeah, I did that.
So we launched Foster writing circles: free, weekly, 90-minute sessions where people show up, explore whatever’s most alive for them, and get some of it down on the page. Just human beings, together, doing the unglamorous work of making something out of nothing.
Led by facilitators who were just as invested in getting their own butts in chairs and words on pages, these circles quickly became a kind of underground conduit for growth, community, and actual creative breakthroughs. And in this attention environment? That is something.
I’ve been thinking about all this lately because, truthfully, I miss my circle. I’m in the middle of a 90-day Zen training right now, and while my regular Thursday crew is busy writing, I’m off chanting sutras. Before I left, I worried that if I wasn’t there to hold it down, the thing would quietly peter out.
Instead, something better happened: the attendees just…kept showing up to write and hold space for each other. And that’s beautiful. These rituals aren’t just about writing, and they’re also not just about community. They’re some secret third thing we weave together.
It reminds me a lot of Zen practice itself (sorry, you knew this was coming). Nobody shows up to the zendo because they’re looking to be congratulated for it. We show up because, somehow, it nourishes us. We’re never quite sure how, or why. We just know we leave feeling more like ourselves.
Writing’s like that, too. People have all these romantic ideas about it — tortured geniuses, lightning bolts of inspiration, divine downloads — when most of the time it’s just you, the chair, the page, and the mild terror of your own inadequacy.
But gradually you realize you’re not there to be brilliant. You’re just there to be there. A piece is built letter by letter, just like a life is built action by action. Speaking personally, over time, I’ve gotten the distinct impression that while it is in fact my responsibility to show up, what I am mostly there to do is be a channel for whatever comes through.
And weirdly enough, sometimes Zoom at 8 a.m. on a Thursday feels as sacred as a meditation hall.
Anyway. That’s the theory.
The reality? I’ve seen incredible things happen in these circles.
Take
, who landed his first paid writing gig — chronicling the 130-year history of a company — and credits it to finally trusting himself enough to write from a real, honest place.Or Erica, who called her circle a “port in the storm” during a year when everything else was falling apart.
Or Jude Klinger, who published two short stories in an anthology after years of wondering if she even counted as a “real writer.”
Or
, who started American Gaia, a blog that’s as raw and wild as its name, and who says that without the circles — the warm check-ins, the short meditation, the hour of heads-down work — she probably would’ve talked herself out of publishing any of it.Or
, who didn’t think she could stick to a regular writing practice, and now sends out a monthly newsletter, rain or shine. (She’s even stuck to it after the recent birth of her first child!)Or
, who found the courage to start a monthly newsletter about a story she’d yearned to tell for years. A year later, the monthly newsletter became a weekly one, which she calls a practice of keeping her own history in real time.And then there are the quiet wins:
, who spent months crafting a written album that eventually made it to Substack Reads. and , who went from attendees to facilitators. People who started newsletters, finished screenplays, moved to new countries, made big life decisions because of something they wrote (or realized they needed to write). People who remembered they were still allowed to want things.The point isn’t that every story ends in publication, though it’s nice when that happens. The point is that consistently writing changes you.
Foster writing circles have become a home for anyone — seasoned, stuck, exploding with ideas, feeling like a dried-up husk of a human, etc. — who just wants a place to show up, write a little, and see what might happen.
If I’m reading the tea leaves right, spaces like this, where we meet ourselves and each other, are going to become even more essential. The noisier the world gets and the more distracted we get, our creative communities will only matter more.
If you’ve been part of Foster Writing Circles this past year and a half: thank you. We’ve made something real. And if you are curious, there is a seat for you.
Here’s to many more years of butts in chairs, words on pages, and all the wild, unruly, miraculous things that might unfold when we keep showing up.
Write With Us! Join a Foster Writing Circle
Coming together on Zoom to write each week is our foundational practice. Writing Circles are artfully-crafted, 90-minute containers for writers to drop into what feels most alive and write from that place.
Our facilitators play with meditation, somatic experiencing, breathwork, and other modalities to help writers drop into embodied states of flow and unfettered expression.
After a dedicated period of focused writing, we circle back and share our experience, perhaps even reading something we’ve written.
Our simple application to join is here.
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