
NOTE: To my new and old subscribers, welcome! So glad you’re here.
I’m relatively new here (I launched my Substack in February) and am in the process of rethinking what I want my Substack to be. I began driven by one narrow focus; I wanted to post pieces about resilience and finding joy despite the outrages happening in the US under the Trump regime. I felt compelled to respond directly to the authoritarian takeover of the US using writing and photography as tools of empowerment. I see my current Substack as a form of resistance in action.
But after three months creating a steady presence here, I’m finding that I want to express more of who I am than my identity as a grieving, outraged citizen. I’ve been able to do that in Notes, where I’ve been much more versatile in my posting. Now, I want to bring that same versatility here.
What I do in the world, what I write and what I’ve written, how I teach and how I show up encompasses so much more than my reaction to what’s happening in the US and in the world. So I’m contemplating the ways in which I want to broaden my focus here. I’m sure I will keep writing pieces like this one, but it’s not all I want to do with this little corner of the Internet that is mine.
I’m sure it it will take me while, and some trial and error, to figure this out, so stay tuned.
In keeping with my desire to broaden my focus, I’ve added an addendum to the bottom of this post. Each month, I recommend five Substacks. You’ll find my May recommendations at the bottom of this post.
I have decided to pay attention.
I have decided to bear witness.
I have decided to open my heart, my body, my chest, my bowels, my being to this dismantling.
I will not look away.
I cannot.
I will see and name the cruelty.
I will see and name the devastation.
I will see and name the greed, the arrogance, the hatred, the lies.
I will see and name the gleeful destruction, the pleasure taken in ransacking the natural world and demeaning other human beings.
But that is not all I will see.
Because I also commit to beauty. To celebrating the awe that still rises in my chest. The bald eagle holding a silvery fish across the lagoon. The shadow of curving trees arching across the footpath. The deep grooved bark of redwood. Tangled seaweed stretched across a beach.









I commit to stretching across the broken earth to grasp both extremes in my hand.
You see, there’s a formula. For every hour I take in brutality, I must spend an hour seeking beauty.
For every act of cruelty, I reach for the hand of a friend.
Each time my heart breaks at the next terrible thing, I choose to do the next right thing that’s right in front of me.
I do what I can each day, using every resource I can to rise from the tempting suck of hopelessness and despair. And sometimes I succeed.
Each day, I find my way to the woods. Beyond the verdant beauty I see with my eyes, past the dappled paths on which my feet tread, I reach down into the tick tock of life itself, tuning my being into the vibration that thrummed before we humans arose, that will persist long after we are gone.
I commit to stretching across the broken earth to grasp both extremes in my hand. You see, there’s a formula. For every hour I take in brutality, I must spend an hour seeking beauty. For every act of cruelty, I reach for the hand of a friend.
It is not an accident that I am living now. It is not a tragedy that I am spending my final years witnessing the end of life as it has been, praying for the dormant seeds of a better world to germinate far below the storm-studded sky.
I do not know what the next harvest will be, and I do not expect to live to see it.

It is my job, and the job of all elders, to stand sentinel. To watch. To speak. To proclaim. To say: I saw the end coming. I prayed for something new to arise. I celebrated life as it is, despite and because of everything.
It feels odd to be a human being right now, actively making plans for a future I am uncertain will exist.
I listen, I watch, I wait, I do what I can.
I stand with hundreds of millions on a tipping point. Savoring and aching for life on that exquisite razor’s edge.
I am here. This is where I am.
Now here’s your prompt. You can write to it, meditate on it, discuss it over dinner.
PROMPT: What are you paying attention to right now? What are you turning away from? How do you decide when to pay attention and when to turn away? How would you like to show up in this time of emergency?
As always, I invite you to share your thoughts or excerpts from your writing in the comments.
And remember, every time you click the heart, leave a comment or share a post, you’re making it easier for new readers to discover The Writer’s Journey.
WRITE WITH LAURA
The work of my heart is to teach.
These are the writing workshops and retreats I’ve got coming up:
In person:
The Healing Heart of Bali: A Writer's Journey of Renewal for Body, Mind and Spirit. Learn about Balinese spirituality and healing and explore the back roads of Bali in three beautiful locations. A remarkable, life-changing journey. August 10-25. Two spots left.
Flourishing as We Age: A Writing Retreat for Women at a beautiful oceanfront retreat center in Santa Cruz, California. Using story, deep listening, and ritual, learn to welcome change, build resilience and hold grief and gratitude simultaneously.
I led the 2025 retreat last week. It was glorious and transformative, and I’ve just booked the dates for next year: June 1-7, 2026. Registration is open now.
Online on Zoom:
Weekly Writing Practice Class: This Wednesday class has met weekly for 25 years. We meet on Zoom, write to prompts and share intimately in a sacred circle. You can attend from anywhere. Openings now.

Weekly Feedback Classes: My Thursday Zoom feedback classes are for those already working on a long-term narrative writing project who are looking for a master teacher and a supportive group of peers to support them in their goals, critique their work, and hold their feet to the fire--with love.

My May 2025 Recommendations
Each month, I highlight 5 publications for you to check out on Substack because I love curating content.
I choose publications in the following categories:
Substacks that …
keep me informed
celebrate beauty and the natural world
bolster my resilience and inspire my courage
share brilliantly about the practice and craft of writing because these are my colleagues; I’ve been a writing teacher for 30 years.
explore authenticity in aging, because well...I’m getting older.
feature storytelling that is just so damn good, the language glorious
dig down to the bone and tell the real truth
made me laugh, delighted me or caught my fancy
Each month, I’ll also share one Substack I’m relying on to keep me informed about the catastrophe unfolding in the US. I’ve pretty much given up corporate media and am getting my best information on Substack.
I hope you enjoy this month’s recommendations:
@claremulvany, The Wild Edge with Clare Mulvany. Clare’s enriching collection of writing, poetry, photography, and art offers deep spiritual nourishment for fraught times. Clare uses the Celtic calendar to teach us to deepen our connection to the rhythms and beauty of nature and the ancient wisdom of ritual. Her reflections, writing prompts and poetry salons provide a much-needed salve for tired hearts and frayed attentions.
@jenknox, Here We Are with Jen Knox. A philosopher, author and creative writing teacher, Jen Knox speaks to anyone seeking to reclaim their attention so they can be fully present to their creative process and in their daily lives. Candid, vulnerable and wise, Jen offers us solid ground in a shifting landscape through her mindfulness tools, prompts and guided meditations. She and her community of thoughtful, curious readers create a sheltered place for self-exploration.
@ronitplank, Let’s Talk Memoir with Ronit Plank. Ronit Plank is an award-winning author, teacher, editor and podcaster who work has been featured in The Atlantic, The Washington Post, and New York Times. In her All about Memoir Substack and podcast of the same name, she shares her expertise and interviews with other authors and editors, providing invaluable insights into the struggles, lessons and gifts of memoir-writing and publishing. A must for all aspiring memoirists who believe in the power of stories to heal and transform.
@amandasaint, The Mindful Writer Amanda Saint. Amanda Saint invites us to discover the art of slow writing and to connect deeply and intentionally with ourselves, our craft and others. Her mindful creative writing approach, developed through her experience as a prize-winning author and publisher, offers a rich understanding of not only the “hows” but also the “whys” of storytelling. Her articles, prompts and courses remind us to embrace the power of words and stories to bring compassion and understanding to ourselves and the world.
My highlighted news source for the month:
@contrarian. The Contrarian. Started by Jen Rubin after she left The Washington Post and Norm Eisen after he left CNN, The Contrarian provides clear, direct, reliable coverage of the breaking news in Trump’s America. Short, live, informative interviews, daily coverage of the pro-democracy movement, and great articles by an incredible array of experts make The Contrarian one of my go-to news sources. Despite the dire nature of political news these days, the Contrarian remains upbeat, always encouraging citizens that we have power and can make a difference. All subscription money directly supports lawyers fighting Trump’s executive orders in court. That’s why I’m a paid subscriber.
HOW TO GET THE MOST OUT OF WRITING PROMPTS
If you’re new to my Substack, here’s my advice for how to mine the deepest material in your writing:
I look forward to reading your posts each week. They bring me hope during this time of uncertainty. Thank you for being a reminder that there are still beautiful things all around us 🌈
What a dazzling post Laura! Did you already have this written when we spoke yesterday???? You’ve perfectly distilled what so many of us feel and need. And your prescription for surviving this pestilence is spot on. Except oh god I hope we survive to see it vanquished.