A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats

you are the people you hold, and the people who hold you

Welcome to Ruminations, a newsletter dedicated to sharing vulnerable musings on art, literature, and creative identity & home to Altars & Artists, a monthly interview series divining the poetry of artists’ spaces. Subscribe for monthly letters, or join our coven of overthinkers to unlock the FULL archive of poetry, audio & visual content, exclusive updates, community conversations, and the extended cut of Altars & Artists.

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Photo by The Cleveland Museum of Art on Unsplash

Almost every month over the last two years,

I’ve made a quick tea and dinner, brought it to my desk, logged onto a Zoom call, opened Notion, and worked on my latest creative projects. Each time, between one and four other writers have populated the meeting room and from the glowing corners of my screen, welcomed me back to the craft. Usually, it’s late at night or early in the morning; between Australia, America, Canada, and sometimes the UK, it’s difficult to find a more reasonable time to meet. But this hasn’t stopped us from consistently trying.

Writers have always been drawn to each other’s company. Despite playing God with pens in our hands, we still very much crave human connection. In the 1920s, the Bloomsbury Group was formed—Virginia Woolf, John Maynard Keynes, E. M. Forster, Vanessa Bell, Lytton Strachey and at least 5 others revelled in the creation of art, the rise of aestheticism and the pursuit of knowledge. The Dymock Poets congregated ten years prior; Robert Frost, Lascelles Abercrombie, Rupert Brooke, Edward Thomas, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson and John Drinkwater banded together to write despite the horrors of the First World War. For The Inklings, an all-male literary group home to J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, fantasy gripped their hungry imaginations…that is, when (allegedly) they weren’t amusing themselves with the “notoriously bad” prose of a certain other female writer¹ (my theory is jealousy, though this is, of course, out of feminist spite). And who can forget the Brontë sisters? With each other’s support, Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë wrote some of history's most renowned literary classics. Now it’s me, my friends, and our virtual backgrounds on a Thursday night. Five writers sounding their barbaric yawps over the rooftops of the world.

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It hasn’t always been this way. I spent so many years writing with nothing but my stubbornness (and there was beauty in that too), but alone I could only shout so loud. Writing groups offer far more than just accountability: they offer community. Every writer is intimate with the isolation that defines the craft, with the time spent lingering within the hazy borders of our imaginations. Writing is, for the most part, an intangible, elusive process. Transcribing your inner workings is one thing; translating them into a coherent, living body of work for others to devour is something else entirely. We become so deeply entrenched in our own stories and narratives that we often become blind to its flaws—and even its strengths. I can recall countless times when I have returned to my group feeling lost or stuck. I have vented, shrugged, tentatively celebrated (because sometimes victories feel just as terrifying), and even cried over the state of my work. Each time I have received love, reassurance, guidance, and empathy in return. These writers have been the soft gauze to my open wounds—and I have been theirs.

Reading at OUTspoken for Perth Perth Festival

Lately, it’s felt like all my years of toiling, plotting, scrawling, and putting myself and my writing out into the world have been worth it. Only, it doesn’t feel real. On Wednesday, I was invited to feature at my local Poetry Festival’s queer poetry night. It was my first time reading to the local writing scene as an openly queer poet, but I felt so held. The night was magnificent and magical and moving. And to make it even more precious, that very same night, it was announced that I am one of four lucky recipients of a Centre For Stories All Write Hot Desk Fellowship.

I keep pinching myself.

The life I have always dreamed of is beginning to unfold before my eyes and I couldn’t be more grateful. It’s strange. Wonderful. Vulnerable. Surreal. And I would be nothing without the community of people who continue to raise me up.

“Alone, we can do so little; together, we can do so much”

— Helen Keller

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

You are the people you hold, and the people who hold you. Communities like the one growing right here on Substack are incredible for this very reason. We champion and elevate each other. So far, Altars & Artists has been my small contribution—a way for me to give back to you and raise other voices as I do. Today, I’d like to do something else and share some of my favourite newsletters with you. Someone did this for me recently and I felt so seen and loved. I hope these writers feel the same <3

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I hope you find your new favourite read or, at the very least, a message that moves you. I hope you lean on your supports and allow yourself to be vulnerable. I hope you’re brave and kind and most of all, I hope you remember that a rising tide lifts all boats.

Yours,

Caitlin x

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In case you missed it…

1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanda_McKittrick_Ros