A Sliver of Truth In A Time Of Tyranny

Creative writing as an alchemical process of strength and transformation

The most immediate reaction I feel in the face of Trump’s rise to power is helplessness. There are so few things I can do to stop this train of destruction. But helpless is exactly how fascists want me to feel, want us to feel. So at times like this, I reject helplessness first at the core level, inside myself, by protecting my creativity, and centering myself inside of it. Because creativity is my birthright, and yours, and I refuse to cede it to forces that hope we’ll do just that.

Creativity is more than a particular method of art-making. It’s not a plan, a system, or a trick we pull out of our pockets to impress. Creativity is a space we enter, a way of moving through the world that demands curiosity, risk, and a willingness to be undone. At its heart, a practice of “writing in the dark” is not about writing better stories, crafting perfect sentences, or charming our way into a publisher’s inbox—although we might want those things, and we might get them. But they’re not the most important outcomes. The creativity itself, the experience of creativity, is what gives our lives meaning, texture, and light. And writing in the dark is a way to help us unmake ourselves and, in the process, discover what it means to become.

The English poet John Keats—who died at the young age of twenty-five—described something he called “Negative Capability,” a state of being that values uncertainty, mystery, and doubt over the frantic search for easy answers. This is not just a poetic ideal; it’s a survival skill for anyone committed to a creative lifestyle. It’s also a survival skill for times like now, when forces beyond our control threaten so much of what we hold dear, when the future feels fragile and impossible to predict. Practicing Negative Capability builds inner strength and resilience. Practicing Negative Capability protects us from concretizing into that natural response of helplessness. That’s because practicing Negative Capability in our creative life teaches us how to stand in the storm of not-knowing, to resist the urge to tether ourselves to certainty, and to soften ourselves as needed as the wind blows through, swaying until the storm passes.

To write in the dark is to thrive inwardly in that storm. It’s about the open mode—the place where judgment is suspended and we get to play, to connect ideas that shouldn’t go together, to throw out the rulebook and see what happens. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s absolutely essential. Because if we’re not willing to endure creative chaos, we’re not really creating—you’re just rearranging furniture in a locked room.

The truth is, humans are narrative creatures. We don’t just tell stories; we are stories. We understand ourselves and each other through the fragments we stitch together with language. And while language is a marvel—a bridge that lets us reach across the chasms between us—it can also be a trap. That’s because the words we choose are never quite enough. The stories we tell are never quite the whole truth. And that’s where the creative part of creative writing comes in—that’s where the dark part of writing in the dark comes in. Because writing isn’t about getting it right; it’s about getting it real. It’s about speaking into the silence, shaping what’s unshapable, and daring to make something honest even when it defies our assumptions and challenges what we think we know. Creative writing is meant to be a process of discovery and rediscovery, not recitation. And that requires us to unlearn and unknow, again and again.

This is why the craft of writing transforms not just the page but the person holding the pen. When we write, we confront ourselves—the fears, the contradictions, the wounds we’ve left buried. In that confrontation lies the potential for healing. Writing becomes an alchemical process, turning pain into insight, confusion into clarity, and longing into connection. It helps us reimagine the narratives we’ve been living into and discard the ones that no longer serve us. It allows us to build new narratives that align less with who we once were and more with who we are becoming. Through this act of creation, we don’t just discover ourselves; we begin to manifest the lives we were meant to live.

To write in the dark is not a method. It’s an invitation to gently unmask, to sit with our tenderness and discomfort, to let the page become a place of unending possibility. Keats called this Negative Capability. Others might call it silly. But the English word silly comes from the German word selig, which also means soulful. So I call it a sliver of truth in a time of tyranny. Whatever you call it, it’s waiting for you. All you have to do is begin, and begin again.

Love,

Jeannine

UPCOMING EVENTS FOR WITD FOUNDING MEMBERS*

(all times in Central)

January 27, 1-2PM CT Silent Write-In on Zoom

February 24 1-2PM CT Silent Write-In on Zoom

March 31 1-2PM Silent Write-In on Zoom

April 3 2-3PM Open Mic Salon Reading on Zoom to Celebrate Delights Intensive

(*Manage your membership level anytime here.)

If you or someone you know is walking the long path back to yourself after a painful childhood, then my memoir, The Part That Burns, might help light your way.