Conferences aren’t for everyone. They are often busy, crowded and come with a little too much swag. I have attended my share of conferences and the jury is still out if I’m a conference person or more of a small retreat on a mountain person. But I think I have learned how to be a conference person. In my previous experience, I would follow the jammed-pack schedule of speakers and workshops, frantically moving from one thing to the next. Then I’d find myself burned out and grumpy by day 2, and vow never to attend another conference again. However, this was my first writer’s conference and I paid big money to travel to Michigan for the Festival of Faith & Writing; if I ever wanted to avoid burnout in anything, it would be writing.
Per usual, the conference came with a full schedule. I perused the catalog of sessions like I was online shopping for a new summer top, paying attention to the dimensions to see if they were a good fit. On the first day, I attended two sessions and walked out of two. I didn’t leave or stay because one was better than the other, I simply committed to paying attention to my soul. When I felt restless, I’d move. When steady, I stayed. I moved through the following days of the conference in this posture and it was the best decision I made. It generated the space my soul needed to take in all that I was learning but even more, it created moments of sitting at tables with other writers.
The faces I’ve seen on screens for years, stood tall (or short) before me. Some I hugged as if seeing an old friend for the first time, others were strangers turned friends. Introductions, IG handles, book pitches, and Substack connections, blended with life seamlessly. These moments felt like a pause on a long traversed path that for the most part lies empty, now filled with fellow travelers. We all carried our bags of desires and dreams, dusty from the miles we’ve walked.
I first met
, the author of Orphaned Believers and a fellow PNW writer based in Seattle. Meeting her felt like coming home, even while on the plains of Grand Rapids Michigan. She exuded light and presence. We became fast friends. and I recognized each other as we took a brief moment of shelter from the rain. We both appreciated our 5’2” stature and the need to create more space in our days while at the conference. Her book The Way of Belonging: Reimagining Who We Are and How We Relate releases June 11th! was my anchor after leaving a few sessions early. I could easily spot her in the lobby, conversing at a table and she’d invite me to pull up a chair. Her book Othered: Finding Belonging with the God Who Pursues the Hurt, Harmed, and Marginalized releases June 25th!Lindsey Medford at
was one of our Substack workshop leaders and the first person to introduce me to the ice cream bar in the school’s dining hall. Her genuine approach to wanting to help us Substackers was apparent. Our discussion about writing on Substack was both informative as it was encouraging. and I recognized each other right away and hugged. I have followed her for some time now and it was wonderful to meet this thoughtful writer in person. Her presence is just as beautiful as her writing.Sarah Driver and her husband Cory, were an absolute delight! Sarah and I instantly hit it off and began to discuss her passion for teaching justice in the church. Cory’s sense of humor and attentive presence instantly made me miss my husband. If these two lived in Portland, we’d be fast friends.
was already connected to my dear friend and traveling companion to the conference, . When I struggled with some logistics about my Substack, Drew’s encouragement was exactly what I needed at that moment. carried her a sweet baby girl throughout the conference. We had the best conversations about life and shared parts of our stories.Perhaps you know some of these people or you’ve grown tired of me listing them all by name. The point is we never write in isolation. It’s easy to deceive ourselves that writing is a lone act but it isn’t. We write for a community and in a community. We stand on the shoulders of those who’ve come before us and we walk alongside one another. We learn from each other. Imitate one another. Improve one another. And encourage one another. Writing is a group effort.
The first session I stayed for in its entirety, I became mesmerized by author and creative writing professor, Ayşe Papatya Bucak. She spoke about the borderless imagination but also, she addressed that writing and creativity have moved from a singular individual act to an act of co-creation. In her talk, she quoted from Vlad Glaveanu’s book, Creativity: A Very Short Introduction and perhaps she named for me on that first day what my sub-conscience already knew.
It is interesting to notice that the origin of creative acts was initially external to the person and attributed to divine forms of intervention. Gradually this influence was internalized and creative potential became the patrimony of individuals, a capacity explained in various way, from heredity and mental illness to special personality traits and cognitives abilities. These explanations all point back towards the phychological characteristics of the person. In recent decades, the narrative was challenged by the reality of the interconnectivity and expanded networks of collaboration. Even if creators - their genes, brains, and minds - remain important, creativity itself is gradually “relocated” to the in-between spaces of interaction and co-creation.
I realize this is a tough quote, so let me break it down: Creativity was once seen as an innate gift given either by God or passed down through your gene pool. However, in recent years we have seen that creativity and writing aren’t for those who won the lucky-creative draw but are actually born from experience and influence. Creatives bring forth their art from their very lives that are teeming with the influence of others and from their own personal experience, may it be good or bad. Art begets art. Not artists beget artists.
I have felt the gradual relocation of my writing move from a solitary act to a growing desire to connect with other writers. Whether that connection is in the flesh or through paper, I am the writer I am today because of the writers I surround myself with. And though conferences like the Festival for Faith & Writing offer rich and informative sessions, for me, it was the in-between spaces of sitting at tables with other writers, sharing snacks and stories that made me believe that I could keep at this writing thing. When this festival comes around again in 2026, perhaps I will be preparing for a book release or I’ll still be writing this simple Substack. No matter where my writing takes me, I am most glad it will lead me to a table of in-between companions.
May we all find those in-between companions to help us along our paths of creativity.
Peace and every good,