Before the pandemic, I took workshops in person, practiced spoken word, and learned how to revise manuscripts, while sharing the table with students and instructors. It was an in-person local community who shared vulnerable drafts and performed readings together. During the pandemic, everything moved online, and this opened up endless possibilities for me as a writer. The more virtual workshops I took, the bigger my network expanded, exposing me to various forms of teaching from a myriad of backgrounds.

The Poetry Lab (based in California) offers many of these virtual workshops, focusing on craft, form, and inspiring writing prompts. I’ve also learned with Community Building Art Works (DC area), Hugo House (Seattle), Lighthouse (Colorado), and A Very Important Meeting (all over). Each of these organizations are unique in what they offer, but all of them have one thing in common – community.

In the summer of 2021, this virtual community became a lifeline for me. As a new survivor of sexual assault, I suffered PTSD, depression, and high anxiety. There were days/weeks/months when I couldn’t get out of bed and writing poetry to process my trauma was the only thing I looked forward to. So, I would open my laptop, eat some yogurt in bed, and write along in these virtual workshops. In the darkest time of my life, poetry allowed me to process my pain, my anger, and this community gave me a safe place to do it.

These workshops have helped my poetry practice grow as well. As I learn new techniques and brush up on old ones, my poems begin to shapeshift from a glistening spider web into a neon cat’s cradle. The imagery became more vibrant. The metaphors and form, more intentional. I’ve been introduced to many legendary poets, like Audre Lorde and Sappho, and read many modern writers, like Chen Chen, Ocean Vuong, and Melissa Febos. Because most of these workshops draw on the wisdom of those who came before us, my poetic worldview has expanded.

Most importantly, these workshops have gifted me with meaningful connections all over the globe. Friends that I could talk to about my trauma and my sexuality. Friends that I could plan trips with. Friends who offered me a place to sleep. As an introvert, I underestimated the impact of sitting in front of a camera for an hour or so on a weeknight, but as I attended more, I began to recognize people. I began to feel seen and included. I became part of something larger than myself. 

These workshops are full of people just like you and me – poetry nerds with lots of feelings, who share our weird favorite bands, who invite their pets to Zoom with us. If you’ve never joined a virtual workshop, try it out. Give yourself the chance to get to know a community, the chance to transform your practice, to make dear friends. Come home to the space that’s waiting for you.