We are the lucky ones. 

It was more than 6 years ago that I first started a Shut Up & Write session in my neighborhood community center. 

Although people often imagine writing is a solitary act that is best conducted in a dimly lit room under one single table lamp, with a heavy dosage of self-loathing and a lingering hangover from substance abuse present and past. But I don’t buy it, and I refuse the idea that art is born out of pain. 

Let me tell you what I believe: I believe that, like everything else in this world, it is done better with love. Not that kind of all-consuming love, but a constant, everlasting kind of love. You wake up every morning with that love in your heart, actively choose to write, one word after the other, a page at a time. We must cultivate this love fiercely, through art, books, movies, music - food for the soul - and most importantly, friendships.

Yes, friendships. Surprise, surprise, writers need friends too. 

And here we are: a community of writers, kindred spirits, travel companions on the journey of endless exploration. We. Someone once asked me: who are “WE”? I understood she expected me to give a clear definition, like WE as a creative collective with a manifesto, a list of names that, though meaningless to her, draws a shape with a concrete outline in her mind. 

But WE are simply an organism that is constantly changing shapes and forms. Whoever decides to come and interact, however briefly, constructs the WE. We need to come together, for nothing good can ever be done completely alone. Even the most ingenious poem that seems directly dictated from the muse herself to the poet alone, is built on all the poetry that has ever been written, and can only be appreciated with a sensitivity that is fostered by a society at the time. WE are never alone, and We are not born out of pain either. 

Rather, We are the lucky ones. Those who are gifted with this love and the sense of community, so we are able to survive the pains that have ever happened to us. WE are here, despite our pains.  

I often think of the ending of Fahrenheit 451, when all the books were burnt, people still came together to tell each other about the books they remembered. This love never dies off, if you have it in your heart. That’s why we are the lucky ones. WE are gifted, with this love for art, for writing, for creating, and WE are so lucky that we don’t need to do it all alone.

Thank you all for coming into my life, some briefly, some hopefully forever. 

Agnes