Restful breaks by the warmth of the fire
On rest, the writers strike, and the future of writing.
Hi Writers — this month we’re taking a small break in preparation for an exciting Summer.
Nicole and I are also taking this time to reflect on our roles in the everchanging literary and writing world, from the massive publication layoffs to the most recent writers strike (read our member Justin Bonilla’s reflection on the WGA strike below). We graciously stand with our members who have been greatly affected by these events.
In the next few months, the writers club will continue to foster a space for you and other artists to meet and build. We are testing the waters to discover active ways to engage and build a healthy long-lasting community.
There are 3 budding projects that we want to design with you:
The first is our book review project. It’s active and submissions are open. We’re looking for interesting reads, short and long, poetry and prose, all of it!
The second is our first writers retreat. We’re interested in developing this very magical moment with you and we want to hear what would make an incredible retreat experience. Let us know here.
Thirdly, we are launching WRITERS ROOM, a dedicated writing space. We want to hear directly from you on how we can keep each other accountable in our writing practice. Build it with us here.
We value your feedback and input as we shape future artist programs.
And in the same vein of building a regular art and writing practice, last month, Francisco launched their personal newsletter, Swimming with the fish, a monthly memoir-style newsletter on grief, connectedness and belonging. Check it out here.
We have more coming soon! Stay tuned 📻
Swimmingly,
Francisco + Nicole
Reflecting on the WGA Strike by Justin Bonilla
Last Monday evening [May 1st] I received the email that had long been deemed inevitable, but that my atheist self prayed would never come: The WGA would strike at midnight. With the official announcement came a flood of dread. My eight months out of work had now extended indefinitely, and because my union was officially striking, I was also ineligible to collect the unemployment insurance that has kept me afloat. I immediately became aware of a dual reality. Not only could I not afford to go on strike, but I also couldn’t afford to continue working under the heinous conditions that so many of my TV writing peers and I have been subjected to.
On my last show I was staffed as a Story Editor, technically making me an early career writer. Which feels like an inaccurate grouping. Not because I think I’m a boss ass writer, but because to have gotten to this point, I’ve logged over eight years of assistant work, swapped my New York support system for an enigmatic Los Angeles, battled solitary depression and financial anxiety, and took up many side gigs to make ends meet—all while constantly berating myself for not having done enough and not being further along. When I was finally staffed on my first show, it was an overwhelming relief to have reached the golden summit this boy from working class roots had always dreamed of. But that sense of calm was short lived as I quickly realized countless more mountains still lied before me.
This is to say that I’m tired. And the path forward is riddled with so much crippling uncertainty. I know this strike is just getting started, but to be honest I don’t know how much fight I’ve got in me. Especially when what we’re asking for seems so fucking simple.
Like many who find themselves stuck in the endless grind of late stage capitalism, the writers of the WGA seek fairness. We want proper compensation for the creative work that make millions of dollars in profits for our “partners” at the studios. But because our requests have been blatantly ignored, we must strike. And while the picket lines have been filled with excitement and unparalleled camaraderie, each night this week I’ve returned home physically and emotionally drained.
I have to remember that I’m not alone in this. But I also know this fight doesn’t affect us all the same. And my greatest fear is that months from now, when some kind of resolution is reached, some of my most talented peers will have been knocked out of the game forever.
I have endless gratitude for the family and friends who have offered their support, emotionally and financially. This moment serves as a needed reminder that the only safety net that’ll never fail us is community. And that includes my siblings in the union who will keep the fight blazing as others take restful breaks by the warmth of the fire.
In solidarity,
Justin Bonilla