A Trauma-Informed Writing & Wellness Practice
An online writing community that cares about writers as whole people who are processing, living, and creating at the same time. A space for writing through trauma, together. We are not content machines. We have bodies. Moods. Tuesdays.
Build Your Own Writing Survival Kit: 5 Days to Slay Your Ghosts (free course)
For writers whose process doesn't look like anyone else's, and who've been treating that as a problem.
Community opens July 1, 2026.
Facilitated by Erik Fuhrer. Author of nine books. Featured in Psychology Today. Ph.D., University of Glasgow.
"Erik's teaching helped me transform the traumatic events in my life into art. I started to release a lot of pain that I experienced into light and to have a greater sense of compassion for myself."
Here's What This Is
The method: Writing directly about difficult material, or through persona, myth, genre, and form. Whichever feels safe, productive, and generative for you. The community: An online writing community with daily practice, weekly co-writing sessions, monthly trauma writing workshops and craft seminars. Three tiers based on how much feedback and guidance you want. The facilitator: Erik Fuhrer. PhD in Creative Writing. 50+ workshops facilitated. Author of nine books. Featured in Psychology Today. The first step: A free 5-day email course. Five prompts. No commitment. Community opens July 1.
A space to stop doomsday prepping for the next storm.
Someone told me once that when I spoke with my abuser, I needed to bring an umbrella, to protect myself from the inevitable storm of those encounters. But umbrellas rarely hold in storms like those. They upend. They fly away. At least for me. There I go, literalizing metaphors again.
I've been part of so many spaces in my life that had the trappings and signals of safety but were ultimately not safe, because of certain people, or certain policies, or both. As a queer person, I found it difficult to locate safety in spaces often built and protected for cis, white, heterosexual men. For a long time, I believed that being safe meant morphing myself into more palatable shapes and forms.
A big aspect of queerness is feeling unhomed and the imperative to build a new, safer home. This is inner work. It is also writing work. In this space, those two things happen at the same time. This is a human feeling, though it beats deep in queer hearts that are constantly taught that they are empty or dysfunctional.
My most recent book, Gellar Studies (Spuyten Duyvil, 2023), uses Sarah Michelle Gellar's film characters to unfold narratives of queer trauma. My memoir, My Buffed Up Life, uses Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a fictional interlocutor to write through personal trauma and memory. I am not asking you to do anything I have not done and continue to do.
"Erik is a treasure. I would happily take a course with them again."
This space facilitates both craft and self-care because you can't separate the writer from the person.
Here's what I know from years of teaching people to write through trauma: you cannot show up to write about trauma if your nervous system is still running the show. The page becomes another place that demands performance. Another room where you have to hold it together.
That's why this space does both at once. You'll find weeks where the prompt asks you to move your body before you write, or to draw before you draft, or to sit with a single image for ten minutes before putting a word down. And you'll find weeks where we dig into line breaks, or structure, or how to build a braided essay. Both are here, because both are necessary.
Every month includes prompts, group chats, and live events, craft and mindfulness together, so you can participate at the level that fits your life.
"Erik validated that I could do this. I appreciate all of their feedback and the tender way they teach."
An online home for writers writing through trauma at every level of experience. No matter where you live.
Some members have written for years, while others are beginning serious writing for the first time.
Doors open July 1. Start with the free course.
Build Your Own Writing Survival Kit: 5 Days to Slay Your Ghosts (free course)
For writers who've been in spaces that claimed to be safe but weren't.
"These were deep experiences. I really appreciated that Erik touched upon the most vulnerable topics, and we could talk about them, voice them, admit that we wanted to write about them."
Three things, every day. Gratitude first, then noticing, then naming what you're working on. The whole person shows up as the writer.
We begin with gratitude because it is extremely difficult to produce luminous sentences while narrating your own downfall in the background. Gratitude adjusts the spotlight. Suddenly, you are less tragic third act and more the witches foretelling the future of the world in Macbeth (because let's be honest, the witches are the epic heroes of that play).
Second, we practice noticing because that's where the real witchy work lies. The way that cloud looked like your mother's face when you lied about where you really were that night. That perfect Elton John metaphor that popped into your mind in the shower (maybe you sang it!). There is no separate "writing life" floating above your real one. It's all the same fabric. We are our own ghosts.
Lastly, we name what we're working on in our writing, or in our relationship with our writing, because saying it out loud keeps us from ghosting ourselves.
Small posts. Ongoing rhythm. A way to stay connected with the spirits of yourself and your work.
If you don't feel like you can answer all three, focus on the ones that call to you today. This process is not about perfection.
The Daily Kit Bag is the cornerstone of every kit. The place where wellness and writing meet before you ever open a blank page.
"Definitely the greatest strength was helping all of their participants develop a good relationship with writing and the sessions themselves. All of us were made to feel valued as people rather than as the work we produced, and we were all super comfortable in sessions. We had a lot of freedom with what we wrote, as well."
This is not an exposure workshop or a forced disclosure space; it is writing that moves at your pace.
You hear "trauma writing" and you picture something specific. Everyone crying. Everyone confessing. Everyone is bleeding all over the page. Maybe we are all going to look like those wraiths from Harry Potter. Maybe it is going to be depressing in there. Maybe someone is going to tell you what your life was really like.
I get it. That sounds terrifying. It sounds like a costume party where the costume is your worst memory, and you did not even want to come.
That is not what this is.
Most of the people I have worked with do not want to write "light" things. They come in carrying something: a person, a moment, a memory, a pressure they can feel in their chest. But they are terrified of what writing it might cost them.
What you learn here is how to let the writing and the craft carry the weight, instead of your nervous system.
"Because of Erik, I felt free to write about very personal experiences and take chances in my work. It takes a special person to create an atmosphere where people can tell their story without fear of judgement."
Gentle, structured ways in. Through images, prompts, and play. Never forced excavation.
Pathways to speaking about trauma often open precisely when we stop trying to write directly about it. I learned that myself. The first hundred times I tried to write my own experiences, it failed. Then I started writing letters to Buffy Summers, and all of a sudden, memories I was never before able to write or speak started arriving on the page. This process became two books: My Buffed Up Life and Gellar Studies. For the first time, it didn't feel like my trauma was a grave I was buried in. I was the one with the shovel. With the pen. With control.
That's the work of this space. Not excavation. Not confession. Craft.
Here's what that has looked like in practice:
What all of these writers share: they came in wanting to write about something, people, memories, moments, and they left feeling unburdened by the imperative to bleed on the page. They learned that craft is its own form of protection. That a myth or a film or a fragment or a persona can hold what the body has been holding alone.
Trauma isn't a watch. It doesn't keep time the way we want it to. But writing can give it a form. And form is how we survive it.
"Through working with Erik, I became much more knowledgeable about the craft and what it takes to become a storyteller. On a personal level, it helped me transform the traumatic events in my life into art."
People here discover that their bodies are part of the process.
The body could rest.
Several members have said some version of this: I came in afraid I'd have to say everything. I left realizing that what I wrote was truer than anything I could have confessed.
"Made me feel very safe in sessions and able to participate freely and without judgment. I thought that Erik did a great job in creating a safe environment in the sessions for us to discuss different topics. I felt very relaxed and appreciative of these sessions."
I don't use the word "safe" loosely. I've been in too many spaces that used it loosely.
This is not a space where someone sits in the corner and tells you what your work should be based on their guidelines of good writing. We go by what the author thinks. That is the voice we honor every time we discuss someone's work. Always.
No one is ever required to share anything. You can show up to read, to listen, to think, to write privately. Part of what makes us good writers is being good readers, and part of the way we know what we want to write is by listening to what other people write.
If someone ruptures the safety of this space, this will no longer be a space they are invited into. I've never had to enforce that. But I say it anyway, because safety isn't implied. It's designed.
I can't promise perfection. But I can promise that I will always actively seek to be aware of people's needs, actively build around them, and listen more than I speak. Hopefully, in this space, we can put away our umbrellas.
"Erik really cares about our growth as writers. They took the time to recommend specific readings based on each of our writing. They encouraged us to try new things without any pressure."
Every kit includes the Daily Kit Bag, craft and mindfulness prompts, and a community that holds space.
What a typical week looks like
Monday morning, the Daily Kit Bag drops: a gratitude prompt, a noticing exercise, and a space to name what you're working on. Midweek, a co-writing session on Zoom where you write from a prompt or your own project for 90 minutes, with time to talk through what came up. An asynchronous prompt lands that alternates between craft and mindfulness. On weekends or evenings, one of the month's live events: a craft seminar, a guest instructor, a journal discussion, or a workshop where you bring work and hear what's landing. The AMA thread is open all week. Erik responds Fridays.
How do I start writing about this?
How do I make what I'm writing better and get it into the world?
How do I bring all of these pieces together into something larger?
Every kit includes: The Daily Kit Bag practice. Craft and mindfulness prompts. Curated readings. A community of people doing this work alongside you. An ethos of care.
All feedback in every kit is individualized toward your voice and your style. You will never be asked to write like someone else. You will be helped to write more fully like yourself.
None of this is therapy. This is a writing and wellness practice. Healing often happens inside it. The focus is always on the craft, the community, and the process.
Month-to-month. Yearly options offered at a discount with extra perks.
Start with the free 5-day course. Community opens July 1.
For writers who want to write through trauma and difficult material with somatic awareness and safety built into the process.
Your Facilitator
Erik Fuhrer (they/them). Queer, nonbinary poet and scarf tie aficionado whose fashion sense is part Buffy Summers, part Blanche Devereaux, and part the lion from The Wizard of Oz. Author of nine books. Featured poet, 32nd Annual Virginia Woolf Conference. 2024 final judge, UCLA Allegra Johnson Writing Contest. Ph.D. in Creative Writing, University of Glasgow. Featured in Psychology Today. Full bio.
No. But all of us are already writers in some way. We text, we write emails, reports, letters, social media posts. The collective will give you tools to explore that identity and practice.
No. A lot of people come to me because they want to write specifically through trauma. Other people are writing about trauma but not about their own. And even if you are writing through your trauma, this does not mean you have to write directly about it. That's what this collective really does: helps you find genres and forms to write about difficult topics and content in ways that feel safe, productive, and generative.
Not in the Explorer Kit. In that kit you are invited and provided space to share, but you never have to until you're ready, and if you never are, that's fine too. The Workshop and Developmental Kits are aimed toward revision and drafts, so sharing in those spaces will happen frequently. People who sign up for those kits are specifically looking for in-depth feedback, though you will always be able to set boundaries on the type of feedback you're looking for.
It depends on the session. All kits include live craft sessions where I lead us through a craft topic, guest speakers where a published author discusses writing trauma in their own context, co-writing sessions with structured time to write and discuss obstacles and solutions together, and sharing sessions where you have space to read your work and receive on-the-spot feedback focused on what's working and what the room wants more of. No workshop-bro energy that co-opts your work into someone else's voice or shreds it because it's not theirs. Promise.
Sessions will mostly be during evenings and on Saturdays, all PST, mostly starting around 6pm on weeknights and 10 or 11am on Saturdays.
For the Workshop Kit, workshop sessions will be scheduled in the evenings and/or weekends. If this tier grows, we will add more workshop groups and try to accommodate people's schedules when scheduling new workshops. Workshops are all capped at 10 people.
Asynchronous options will always be made available when possible. I'm always happy to work something out individually as well.
The craft sessions and guest speakers will be recorded. The co-writing and sharing sessions will not be, because I want people to feel comfortable writing, discussing, and sharing, and not recording helps with safety in those spaces. I will also create an asynchronous option for the co-writing sessions. You are always welcome to email me to touch base. There is also an asynchronous prompt each month that you can do whenever you'd like. As the community develops, I can set up private groups for people who have formed bonds and want to meet on their own.
Asynchronous options will always be made available when possible. I'm always happy to work something out individually as well.
If you sign up month to month, you're committed to finishing the month you paid for but can cancel at any time before the next month renews. If you sign up for the year, you're committed to finishing the year.
No. I do not have a clinical license. My PhD is in creative writing, and I have run writing courses, DEI workshops, and implicit bias workshops. My expertise is in building intentional spaces that are safe and brave for participants. While your life may inform your writing, and is welcome to be referenced in relation to the writing and your writing process, as this collective is about the wellness of the whole person, it is still writing-focused.
The Explorer Kit is for people who want to develop a steady writing practice and explore different pathways for writing through and about trauma and other difficult material, without the pressure of formal workshops or feedback structures. It is truly a place to explore.
The Workshop Kit is for people working on something specific who want direct, communal feedback. This is more like a supportive and caring MFA workshop community.
The Developmental Kit is for people who are really delving into a project, a book of poetry, a memoir, a novel, a collection or series of essays, poems, or short stories, and want 1:1 feedback from me.
If you're month to month, it's easy. You just upgrade for the next month. If you're signed up for a year and want to change in the middle, email me and we'll set that up and prorate your kit.
Then you're not ready, and that's fine. The free 5-day course is designed for exactly this moment. It asks very little of you. If after five days you want more, the collective will be here. If you don't, you got five good prompts.
There is no wrong here. There are drafts. There are attempts. There are pieces that don't work yet and pieces that surprise you. The only wrong thing would be for someone to tell you your experience isn't valid or your form isn't correct. That will never happen in this space.
In the Explorer Kit, you don't have to share anything. You can write privately for as long as you need. And you don't have to write about it directly to write about it truthfully. Persona, myth, genre shift, fragment, these are all ways in. You choose the one that fits. I'll help you find your individual path. Your safety and comfort is paramount.
Yes, of course. This space does not discriminate. Everyone is welcome and everyone will be treated with respect and care.