Building a Creative Community Anywhere
Having lived in very remote places and huge cities, I’ve learned some tricks about how to build a strong, vibrant creative community.
I’m referring to your cheerleaders, and vice versa: the people who you think of when you’re creating something and say, “I hope so-and-so likes this.”
And I’ve also learned some things not to do. In fact, some of my biggest regrets about my work center around community.
So here’s a few things I’ve learned along the way that you can use anywhere, whether in an overwhelmingly big city or a small town, to build a community that lasts.
Do: Practice hope like it’s exercise.
I don’t love networking for the sake of it. Putting yourself out there takes something I find very difficult: hope.
People don’t see this side of my life much, but I’ve been burned a lot in the industry. I’ve had some really, really hard losses. Stuff that took years to recover from. And my temptation is to let those experiences lead to cynicism.
Hope takes work. It’s an act, and it can be exhausting and intimidating. I sometimes feel the same way sending one email that I do going to a new gym: awkward and anxious, and already a little tired. But the alternative of staying quiet and alone isn’t healthy and doesn’t allow me to do what I love, and so I slowly build up hope with each action.
Set small goals, and celebrate small victories. Building a community takes time and work, and you have to believe it’s possible in order to have it.
Do: Broaden you artistic engagement.
My favorite readers and audience members don’t all work in my field. Many are visual artists, musicians, and designers. I found them by attending gallery openings, concerts, and other events that interested me.
They always give me a different perspective on my work, and I get to be a fan of theirs at the same time.
Don’t: Wait to schedule something.
One of my biggest pet peeves about living in LA was the “let’s do coffee” culture. Everyone said it – it’s the LA version of goodbye – and it means absolutely nothing.
You will never get that coffee. They live an hour away in traffic. You’ll actually probably never see them again. You’ve already forgotten their name. The coffee is a lie.
During my time in LA, I took an almost year-long detour in the small island nation of Vanuatu. I met a theatre artist there who had everything I was looking for in a friend: she was creative, somewhat close to my age, and spoke English. But I’d been living in LA for years, and so at the end of our conversation she said “Let’s do coffee!” and I agreed. And out of habit, I just left, having not even gotten her email or phone number.
We never got the coffee, because we couldn’t, because I was so LA-ified I had assumed it was an empty phrase and I’d see her again somewhere.
This may not work in LA, but everywhere else I’ve lived, including New York City, just get something on the books, right now. Instead of saying you should get together sometime, ask them if they’re free Wednesday. If they avoid the answer or put you off, move on or (depending on the situation) set a reminder to yourself to check in later.
Almost always, if you’re hitting it off, they’ll schedule the coffee. Don’t take it personally if they don’t. It’s a swipe left/swipe right situation, and you have a community to build, so better to know now if they’re going to be that kind of acquaintance.
Don’t: Feel like you have to go to everything.
Sometimes I’ve worried that if I communicate how I’m really feeling about an invitation, I might lose the friend. So I said yes to everything. But a friend who doesn’t understand the ups and downs of my capacity and time availability isn’t a friend.
If you make a lot of creative friends, you’ll be invited to a lot of creative things. Unless you’re wildly extroverted, it can get overwhelming. Plus it keeps you from your own work and life.
So focus on the big events that mean the most to people, and try to bring along other people to go with you. Your presence and support will mean even more, because you’re making them new fans and additional revenue. And you’re building that community, person-by-person.
Same thing for reading people’s work. If you can’t agree to beta read someone’s entire novel, be open and honest about it. Offer to read a chapter instead, or just let them know it isn’t in the cards right now.
Similarly, don’t take it personally when people can’t come to your event or read your work / etc. Just note who your biggest fan friends are, and thank them for their support. Don’t hold people’s engagement with your work against them or overvalue it as a sign of their friendship one way or the other.
Don’t: Burn bridges for no reason.
If someone threatens or harasses you, or disrespects you deeply, obviously set boundaries. But generally speaking, generosity and openness will only serve you as you build deeper creative community.
I live in a small town now, just outside of New York City. Are there people here who aren’t my cup of tea? Of course. There’s one writer who seems to think to themselves, “What would Joanna hate?” and then writes it down and asks me what I think. There’s a writer who is so sweet but, just because our personalities don’t mesh, gets on my last nerves.
So of course that means I see them at least once a week, usually more. I run into them at the grocery store. Our friends overlap. We go to the same parks, houses of worship, parties.
And you know what? For all our differences, they’re both experts on certain things that I’m not. Even just local information, but also some bigger things. We know we won’t have the deepest conversations when we see each other, but I’m glad they’re in my life. If I ever need that specific information, or if another friend does, I know exactly who to call.
In an ideal world, everyone would act as though we live in a very small town, where we’re all stuck with each other:
Speak ill of no one; show kindness to all. Communicate openly; apologize when you don’t. And on petty things, let the grudges go.
Do: Treat your creative community like your “real” one.
I’ve been in a lot of writers’ group, including two really fabulous groups in DC and LA. In both, I made really close friends whose work I admired.
But generally speaking, we saw each other at writer events: our group meetings, maybe a book launch or screening or party.
In one case, I’d gotten drinks with a friend in LA but otherwise only knew him through our group events. We’d talk a lot before and after the group, but that was it. Then his father passed away. I happened to have a new puppy, and I asked if he might like to meet her.
I drove out to his place, and we met in the park across the street (thanks, Covid). His mother and girlfriend joined us, and we played with Dorothy Pawker and talked about life. I don’t think writing came up. It was memories of his dad, and their travel plans, and how the puppy was still learning how to walk on a leash.
Since then, we’ve become real and close friends. And within our writing group, somehow this person whose work I already admired made more sense to me, meant more. If I bumped up against something in his script, I could better understand what he was trying to say. And that meant I was better able to help him get there.
We’re still close. Even after moving across the country, we talk for a few hours every month, no exceptions. It should be so obvious, but it wasn’t: sharing in each others’ day-to-day experiences reminded me how easily I can compartmentalize my domestic and creative life. Too often I treat them as though they’re separate parts of me, when they’re actually in constant conversation.
Don’t: Rely on social media.
I got off social media at the beginning of this year, and I haven’t looked back. Definitely consider me biased, but as a community-building tool, I believe social media has made us passive, comparison-driven shells of what we could be.
I’m not saying it’s useless. It’s extremely helpful for keeping up with people from a distance or following brands we like. But now more than ever, after so many years of isolation, we all desperately need physical, personal, eye-to-eye, awkward, real community.
Social media simply does not offer the kind of interaction that leaves me feeling strong, confident, and supported. Most of my friends in town communicate through group chats, in-person events, and phone calls (I know, it’s so weird. I’m still getting used to it). The majority also use social media, but they don’t rely on it for social interaction.
What’s more, before I left the apps, I shared the habit with most people of looking someone up on social media and making judgements about them before knowing a single thing about them. All from a post or misspelling or cool photo or old belief that might have changed. All flattened and void of context and political and impersonal. And to what end?
If you’re on social media, my personal advice is this: don’t friend anyone or even bring up social media until you’ve socialized with someone at least three times. Don’t even pick up your phone in their presence, except to get their number.
They might bring it up, but as much as you’re able, leave it off the table. Build something deeper first, so that when you want to update them, it feels natural to send them a text or call instead of assuming an algorithm will feed it to them on your behalf.
One last thing…
Don’t: Feel weird about this not being easy.
Lasting friendship takes a lot of time and effort, especially as we get older. Anyone saying otherwise is either lying or has it built into their lives for them in a relatively passive way.
If it feels like everyone around you has a much easier time, just know the data suggests they feel the same way as you. Studies show a rising loneliness epidemic in the United States:
Especially after Covid.
Especially in a chronically online culture.
Especially with so many people still working remotely or through the gig economy.
Especially without housing security or the financial ability to put down roots.
Especially in isolated creative fields like writing.
We need each other more than ever, and the last few years have kept so many relationships from progressing.
So maybe it’s helpful to circle back to hope. If we can practice it slowly, over time, with the right people, we can build something collectively that’s worthy of our creative, interesting, abundant selves.