joelle schumacher

hi! my name is joelle and i'm a prize-winning poet and storyist currently residing in denver, colorado; and the "what the fuck is poetry?" poetry workshop is my brainchild ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎。

like many creative people in an uncreative system, i struggled heavily with my identity throughout my early creative life. i received the clear message from my family and from the larger society we live in that artists - and especially writers - have to struggle, be broke, be mentally ill or addicted to drugs, and usually end up killing themselves. the larger narrative was that artists should suffer for their art, and like many kids who came up in the punk and diy scenes i had no problem romanticizing my suffering (or creating more of it when the wells ran low). the idea that i could be a legitimate artist - not a hack, not just somebody dealing in cliche and overwrought metaphor, but somebody who was actually, truly making real and transgressive art - was tied to the idea that to be that artist, i would have to suffer for it.

flash forward several years and one lost book deal later, i had found myself in north san diego working in a diner and taking lit classes at the local community college. one of my regulars at the diner was opening a coffee shop, and since we chatted every wednesday when he came in with his son, he knew a little bit about me and my interests; and in the midst of me refilling his coffee one day, he asked me if i'd want to teach a writing workshop at his coffee shop.

keep in mind i had never taught anyone anything before. i was a college drop out who'd published a blitz of edgy and angsty poems as a high schooler and who had then gotten into a pill addiction and a severe eating disorder, hence the cross-country move to restart and try to be something other than a fuckup. i was taking less than full-time credit classes at a random community college in california after spending the entirety of my middle and high school careers working to get in to columbia or upenn. i went months without writing a poem, and i hadn't published anything since i was eighteen.

but i said sure and started teaching anyway.

teaching workshop has been one of the biggest blessings of my life. i had no idea how important it would become to me, or that my student's growth would mirror my own; no idea that even the most confident and talented writers i crossed paths with or took class with struggled with the same eternal feeling of dread & despair, comparison and perfectionism and procrastination and panic every time they tried to sustain a daily practice. we all felt like we were in a constant life or death battle to prove ourselves. we all only ever felt as good as the last thing we'd written. we were all anxious, emotionally unstable wrecks.

in the years since i started teaching workshop i've uncovered so many hidden skills and reserves of strength and hope that i never would have known existed otherwise. i've built a creative routine and cycle that works with me and my mental and bodily rhythms instead of trying to grind out against it. i've built a relationship with myself that is untied to my productivity, so that if i'm having a week or even a month where i get nothing done creatively, it doesn't affect how i view myself and my self esteem. i've learned how to hold love for my inner child, and how to create the spaces - both mentally, physically, and socially - that allow her to feel safe enough to express herself and create. and through it all, instead of making less art or getting caught up in the mental work around how to be creative, i've become an even more productive artist.

i take street photography, and direct photoshoots for my friends. i write poetry, and essays, and art & political criticism. i have an advice column that i started myself because i realized i wanted to be an advice columnist one day but i didn't see anyone who was hiring for one, so i just made my own. i sing and write lullabies for my cats and am never happier than when i'm dancing. i can dance in public without feeling weird or without any of the old anxiety that permeates so many of our daily lives - this question of am i good enough? are they looking at me funny? am i too weird for this? i can exist without worrying if i'm good enough or if i "deserve" to be in a public space. i dye and alter my own clothes, because why not, and have done improv comedy and stand up and wheel pottery and a random play when i was 22 despite having never acted on a stage before. i make memes, i can draw faces in graphite, and i water color all the time. i also just generally enjoy my life and the fact that i can be creative, whatever the inspiration that strikes. i made my cats a little mini cat house out of an old pink nighstand that was falling apart. i made a thirty-something page powerpoint one summer where i just talked about how bad my mental health was and made increasingly more worrisome memes, simply because it gave me something to laugh at in an otherwise very unfunny situation (it remains one of my favorite things i've ever made to this day). i make weird little gifts for my friends birthdays and holidays and i make hyperniche playlists and moodboards and i use my body to feel good and create and connect to the earth instead of spending my one wild and precious life plagued by anxiety and fear.

creativity is a gift, not a burden! it's supposed to make our lives more enjoyable, supposed to connect us to something bigger than just the school-work-grind-die schedule that capitalism has so many of us on. creativity is not about hustling or making the most or proving yourself to your childhood bullies, whether they were the other kids at school or your parents. creativity is the natural state and order of the universe. it is easier to be creative and learn to go with those ebbs and flows than it is to not be creative.

and that's what workshop is about: helping you to live the creative life you want to live. it's not about writing well enough to become a published poet or author, although we can certainly help with that and have had many formerly unpublished students go on to have work accepted for publication. workshop is for whoever wants to make more art, whether you make art professionally or you work at a grocery store, whether you've been practicing your whole life or you haven't had the guts to pick up a pen since you were eight years old. you are the only one who knows what your creative dreams look like; we just help you carve out the space and build the practices you need to get there.

so why not jump in? the water's warm. the sun is shining.

you have nothing to lose but your fear.