The way of the artist

The Artist's Way, week 1

The Death of Socrates, Jacques-Louis David (1787).

In early December, my friend Shahmir recently sent me a WhatsApp voice message from London: “Trying my very hardest to organize a group thing of The Artist’s Way where we go through a chapter every week. I thought of you.” I, like most of you, have been inundated with TAW recently. Peyton Dix is the TAW Supreme if you are queer and live in Brooklyn. Seeing as I was already committing myself to a renewed focus on my writing in 2026 (This week, I begin a solo writers’ retreat and will remain there until I finish the first draft of Ski Trip).

I said yes to Shahmir without giving myself reasons to decline. I asked Frank subscribers if they’d be interested in following along with my journey, and many of you said yes. One of my group chats of LA friends was also interested in how I’d fare. “I’d love to know your experience,” my friend Carder said. “Bc if it works for u…” Which, fair! I certainly wouldn’t finish it on my own.

I purchased the book and had our first meeting on Sunday, 12/28. The group is filled with writers, musicians, painters, and other artists across New York, Los Angeles, London, Brazil, and Pakistan. The energy in the group was very much “let’s give a real try,” and many of the participants have either finished it before or attempted it and quit.

The process of The Artist’s Way involves writing your Morning Pages every day. Three pages in a journal by hand. Free flow, whatever’s on your mind. This proved a problem for me early on, given that we began the week of New Year’s Eve and I was in the club. I abandoned my Morning Pages by 1/1 and felt incredibly guilty about it. But as it turns out, several other people in the group did too! I felt like less of a failure and resumed my morning pages this morning, confident that I will have fewer late nights that turn into me sleeping in and forgetting to do my pages because I will be nowhere near New York for the next few weeks.

You are also supposed to take yourself on a solo date each week. My date last week was dinner at Cafe Chelsea, where I read Vincenzo Latronico’s Perfection. I did not enjoy the novel (good thing I’m not on the Book Prize jury), and the room was too dark and noisy for it to be truly relaxing. Dinners are not a good solo date idea!

There are also tasks you’re supposed to complete each week. I did not complete those. They are lost to the world with my post-New Year’s Morning Pages. But I will forge ahead with the second week’s tasks!

Along with my writers’ retreat, this week I also begin an online course in short story writing via the Center for Fiction. I’ve found myself missing the structure that my MFA Dramatic Writing program gave me, and I’ve never properly taken a Creative Writing course. I’ve been self-taught through reading books, writing for television, working in theatre, and vibes. I’m intrigued by what I’ll take from the class and this entire next few weeks of immersing myself in nothing but cultivating my creative side.

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📚 Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. I began this before New Year’s, and I’m reading along with two other friends. This book was one of the first added to my Ski Trip reading list pile, as my novel is also a thriller involving a group of college friends.

🎧 Ella and Louis. I’ve been listening to this (and follow-up, Ella and Louis Again) while writing and reading the past month. Recently, after a mention in The Secret History, I’ve added some Josephine Baker albums to the mix. I’ve enjoyed the break from modern pop music for the moment.

📺 Industry; in anticipation of the new season. I previously watched with an ex-boyfriend and stopped around mid-season 2.

🎥 The films of Ira Sachs. Aside from Heated Rivalry, the sexiest depiction of a gay relationship in recent memory is Passages. I plan to rewatch it and also fill in my Sachs’ blind spots. I’m beginning with Keep the Lights On, which depicts Sachs’ former relationship with literary agent Bill Clegg. Clegg was recently the subject of a gaggy Substack post from Helen DeWitt, who describes her tumultuous 20-year journey to publishing Your Name Here.