What’s happening right now?

Dear You,

We have a pile of mulch in our front yard taller than the Subaru parked next to it. The green plant beasts that reside in our windows have suffered forgotten waterings, and the four-legged fur-baby has spun himself out with his instincts to work and herd while being cooped up in a busy house. We live between three hospitals, and while I’ve heard that people who live next to fire stations become accustomed to the sirens, that hasn’t been the case with me. I notice them all the time. It’s a busy season, and I’m carrying three absolutely beautiful manuscripts around with me wherever I go—even when I’m not editing my client’s work, I’ll think about them. Sometimes during that sacredly scheduled client time, but often something will happen in life, or I’ll read an old poem or a new book, and I’ll think, “What if this scene began where it currently ends and weaves in that sweet memory of watching the lightning on the lake?”

There are unending ways to write a book, and there are a thousand ideas to start with, but one thing is absolutely true: you just have to get through the first draft to understand what you’re writing. So I’ve developed Write Your Rough Draft in 6 Months.

This is a cohort-based, individual support program for writers who need a fixed accountability container and structural guardrails to get work done. While my regular 1:1 coaching clients have more flexibility with their work patterns, this is for those of you who know that you can buckle in for the next six months to get your rough draft done.

To recap: Right now there are three ways we can work together.

• Ongoing Memoir Coaching (think beginning writing through publication)

• Write Your Rough Draft in 6 Months March Cohort (think firm structure, accountability, deadlines, and completion)

• Group Pre-Speakeasy Storytelling Class (think in-person stage-style storytelling instruction)

My mulch pile will stay there until I decide that is the most important project to move onto. Your unwritten story will remain unwritten until you decide that is the most important project to move onto next. Everything in life is choices about where to put our energy, time, and love. What will you love to do next?

Be well,

Ash Wylder
(2/16/2026)

Dear You,

As the unseasonably sunny winter in the PNW continues, I am finding new rhythms in myself and my work as a book coach. Thanks to a slow and introverted holiday season, I’ve started off the year with a nice influx of energy. Has that translated into any of the promised renovations to my website or offerings? No. But somehow, that has paralleled the right writers finding my little corner of the internet, and I’ve adjusted my work patterns to accommodate increased client work.

On the personal side, L and I have been training our pup, Indy, to perform impressive acrobatic jumps while struggling with his anxiety, growling, and barking whenever a neighbor shuts a car door. We’re still cranking on that construction project in the backyard, and have enjoyed rewatching Shrinking together. We believe we are very funny and laugh often, which feels like a tiny success story these days.

I’ve been working on a theory:

I think 2025 was “The Year of Concurrent Loads,” while 2026 is “The Year of Moving from Center.”

In athletics, an athlete with a strong core can move deftly, loading their strength in their limbs without losing their balance. (Think of a tight-rope walker catching a ball—they have to stay centered at their core in order to reach for the ball without losing balance.) I’m striving to apply that model more consistently in my life. It brings up different questions. Instead of asking, “What should I do?” I’m learning to ask, “What can I do without jeopardizing what’s most important?”

In book writing, a strong center of gravity brings the reader back to the main arc, no matter what side-quests happen along the way. Instead of asking a first draft, “How can this be improved?” I’m helping my clients ask, “What is the core story of this chapter and how does everything else I want to include relate to it?”

It’s the difference between falling because of a far reach and staying upright. It’s the difference between noise for sound’s sake and melody. At least, that’s my theory.

The Storybreath School Upcoming Offerings!

• The in-person Speakeasy Storytelling Class begins February 4th in Hood River, Oregon.

• The Write Your Rough Draft in Six Months group program begins at the end of February! Snag your spot now!

Be well,

Ash Wylder
(1/15/2026)

Dear whoever you are!

I’m writing from my couch as the evening light finally starts to shift. Outside, the neighbor’s old Mercedes rumbles in their driveway as they rev the engine, trying to diagnose some elusive issue. The Vaux’s Swifts have returned to Portland! This afternoon, they filled the old Douglas Fir tree on the northeast corner of our yard with a storm of chatter.

L and I got married in June in a beautiful hayfield looked over by Mount Adams. It was windy and perfect, and our pup Indy took center stage (as is only right). The entire weekend was filled with out-of-town friends and family hiking and playing in the lake together, and the stars the night of our ceremony lit the sky on fire. We cried, of course, and maybe you would have too.

The ADU (additional dwelling unit) that L is diligently building in our backyard is still under construction. Next up? Siding. The yard itself is mostly dirt and mulch with an ever-growing wood pile under the birch. In a fit of needing to “finish” a project, I painted our tiny hallway a bright egg-cream yellow and our kitchen a Florida-sunrise coral. We may be on a timelineless journey with our capital-P Projects, but we’ve at least got some new cheerful swashes of brightness in our hobbit hole for the long PNW darkness that is coming.

This has also been the summer of injuries. My bruised ribs finally healed, but both L and our pup, Indy, have been sidelined, too. L is nursing a pulled calf muscle, his crutches balanced on the arm of his chair while he downloads maps on his phone. Indy sliced his leg badly in August and needed surgery, so L’s injury feels almost like solidarity. Tomorrow, all three of us are heading out for a road trip: Owyhee River to the Alvord Desert for camping, and Grand Junction to Crested Butte for a wedding, then circling back home for another wedding, and the sweet shifts of fall.

Client shout-outs are due: Julie is making incredible strides with her memoir (second draft nearly done!); Marina’s creativity is lighting up new poetic pathways (where will these sweet images take her?); Silvia is nearing the end of her third draft (I’m impressed with her thoughtful integration of beta reader responses); and Sara’s writing has changed dramatically for the better (She started doing everything as voice-to-text to avoid the blank page, and now she’s writing full chapters on the computer!).

At the beginning of this year, I announced changes coming to the website. They are still on the way, but between wedding planning, rounds of IVF, the wedding itself, and that pesky aforementioned injury, my creative reserves went into client work rather than public-facing projects. Shifts are coming, but the two most important things to note now are:

• The in-person Speakeasy Storytelling Class begins October 1st

• The Write Your Rough Draft in Six Months group program launches February 2026 (no link yet—just calendar save.)

Be well,

Ash Wylder
(9/12/2025)

It’s been a while since I’ve written one of these. Not since August? I guess that makes sense; life has been a firehose of, well, life. Those of us who have been through IVF know how taxing that entire process is. I’m not announcing a pregnancy, but L & I have some lovely embryos ready for us when we’re ready for them. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions, hormonal upset, and wild body transitions and I am so glad to have that “project” in the rearview mirror. It’s a huge process. If you know someone who’s been through it or is going through it, give them a gentle hug.

Speaking of gentle hugs, I’m in that hard time of the year where I’m between my sweet cousin’s deathiversary and birthday. Everything is swollen with nostalgia, grief, and blue edges. I’m reminded of his huge, almost eighteen years of life daily, and feel the river’s pull. He was the kindest adventurer that I’ve ever known and I miss him so much.

Between IVF and grief, I’ve said no to doing some of my favorite life things for a day or two (okay, four) on the couch while my adrenals heal. What’s the difference between rest and play? Perhaps it’s just joy. That’s my life experiment right now. If I bring more joy to rest, will the resting feel more like play or will I still feel like I’m benched for the time being? I’m trying on that this is an opportunity to examine the game from a different angle, and that’s led to some exciting things in business. I

Today I did a Poetry and Parts-Work workshop with The London Writer’s Salon which kicks off a month-long cohort that I’m leading that follows the phase of the moon as we inquire about the voices that speak when we really listen. It combines Jungian symbolism and family systems work to help participants resource themselves and inquire about their poetry. I’m not sure if I’ll repeat this offering, but if I do, it will be during the darker days. This feels like one of the most aligned group offerings that I’ve ever done. We go deep in one-on-one coaching and this offering is a way to explore some of what comes up whether or not it belongs in the book’s manuscript.

In the coming seasons, I hope to offer more group experiences. There is so much to learn through reflection, listening, and connection. While I’m working hard behind the scenes to build out another wing of The Storybreath School, I’m also resting a lot in the questions of what writers need given the current external circumstances. I think inner resourcing is at the top of that list as a means both to write better and do life with more grace.

Hopefully, my next missive won’t be so far in the future. I’m finally exiting the IVF tunnel, but with our impending nuptials at the end of June and my body’s need for rest, who knows when I’ll write another postcard!

Be well,

Ash Wylder
(5/15/2025)

L and I are finally back from our Midwest road trip. Was there humidity? Yes. Mosquitos? Plenty. Fireflies? Never enough. After six days at home, we’ve been busy nesting—cleaning out old closets, organizing bins, and spending hours pulling weeds in the overgrown garden.

Today, while walking Roxie (our neighbor’s burly brown dog), I realized. I often treat self-growth as if I’m heading toward a fixed point, even though I know “growth isn’t linear.” Some part of me still believes that one day, I’ll arrive at a place where I’ll “be” patient, understand the moods of my body, and have all the things a self-actualized person is supposed to have.

But when I think about growth, I realize I’m mostly thinking about all the tools I’ve collected along the way, like that summer when I was really into the Enneagram. While I still remember much about that personal development lens, most of my insights have faded. At first, I felt disappointed in myself. What was the point of learning all that if I wouldn’t carry it forever? Shouldn’t things last? What if I get into my 80s and suddenly need that knowledge?

But then it hit me—maybe I don’t need to carry every tool I’ve ever picked up. That backpack would be unbearably heavy and probably not very useful. I’d spend so much time digging through it that I might end up using the wrong tool anyway. Instead, I think I’m meant to carry only what’s helpful for me at this stage of my journey. Everything else? I can let it go. If I ever need it again, I can borrow it from a friend, pick it up at a second-hand bookstore, or find it along the road ahead. And if I’ve forgotten something important, I can always rely on a tool I’ve kept in my backpack—like asking for help—to relearn it.

In our capitalist society, we’re often chasing “the peak.” We don’t want to waste time; we want to learn something once and never forget it. We want to accumulate the best coffee machine, blender, and kitchen shears so we never have to make those purchasing decisions again. We stuff all that stuff in our backpack, but that’s not what the backpack is for. The backpack is there to make decisions—a thousand different ones—a little easier. It’s there to help us approach them with intentionality, kindness, and patience. And if our backpacks are filled with those qualities, who needs a fixed destination anyway?

Perhaps I don’t need to be the singular person in my head, all of the nouns accompanying that version of Ash. Instead, I need to give life more room to breathe and fill my backpack with patience, curiosity, and self-acceptance (and just one more pair of gardening gloves). It’s okay that I’ve forgotten and become a different person. It’s okay that we all do. That is what growth is, and nothing stays the same anyway, so why fight it?

Okay, enough rambling.

Be well,

Ash Wylder

Today, I’ve had slightly too much coffee. By which I mean, I had a half-calf Americano. I’ve been giggly and hyper-productive and slightly (okay—very) hungry. It’s a back-office work day, which looks like networking calls and answering emails, client work edits, and continuing education.

This season has been a busy one—I’ve traveled to San Antonio, visited the Oregon Coast twice, and gone to Bend for a weekend of ultimate frisbee. In the midst of these trips, I’ve celebrated my birthday, soaked in some hot springs, gone camping, planted a wild flower garden for the bees, and honored my cousin’s deathiversary. A jeweler turned friend helped me mark the year by designing and making an urn necklace with a stone from the shores of the White Salmon River. If you’ve lost a loved-one, I encourage you to find a way to honor them that speaks to you. This necklace brings me solace and I can finally feel the depression from my grief clearing. Summer is here—I can feel it.

Upcoming trips include mountain biking in the Methow Valley, a roadtrip to the Midwest to visit family, and perhaps a visit to the Alvord Desert. It’s a busy life, but a good one. Every couple of months, one of my clients finishes a draft of their book. This month, my client S finished her rough draft! All of the chapters in roughly the best order with the most important scenes are all there in that messy, tangled manuscript. She is taking a short break with her children while they are on summer vacation and stacking her sessions so that, in the fall, she can hit the ground running with support.

With my new offering, I’m able to offer support to people who aren’t ready to dive fully into support. The Memoir Incubator is three sessions used over 90 days with a bonus Holistic Writing Plan delivered at the end. My hope is that this will make writing that first draft accessible to more writers.

Blame the caffeine for my rambling. Wherever you are reading this, I hope you are receiving support in the ways that you need it.

Be well,

-Ash Wylder
(6/11/2024)

Whoa. Has it really been two months since my last postcard? Like most people, my holiday season was a mixture of confusion (what should I focus on in my work?) and bustling from one thing to the next (seeing family, tending to house plants, caring for my mental well-being). Honestly, I feel relieved to be on the other side of it, although I wonder what “the other side” really means. I think, partly, it means choosing my own sense of chaos and relation with the world outside of my home instead of feeling responsible for keeping up with so many people in group settings that leave me feeling exhausted. Yesterday, L and I returned home and, after a long shower and a quick snuggle, were in bed by 8:45 pm. My social battery is depleted, and while I love the friends we are scheduled to see tonight, I may cancel to give myself time to catch up.

Each year, I block my call calendar from December 23rd to the second week of January. Two full weeks of no calls! Partly, I do this because I know I will need to “dry out” from the holiday bustlings. I also do this because I need unscheduled time to consider all of the aspects of my life, business, and dreams. It’s easy to get lost in the day-to-day and forget, for example, that I really want to plan a sabbatical with my sweetie to visit our families in the Midwest or spend more time dancing and laughing in the winter darkness.

As you may know, 2023 was a year of deep grief for me and my family. While I don’t expect the arbitrary changing of the calendar year to dictate a deep personal change or reset, I have been leaning into the collective energy of hopeful new beginnings. I was surprised how much peace I felt in the first midnight moments of 2024. “I’m no longer in the year that the terrible things happened,” I thought. “It’s not the now anymore. Nothing is lighter, but I am stronger.”

I don’t normally do New Years Resolutions because fuck forcing a bunch of springtime energy into the beginning of winter, but yesterday I found myself with two intentions:

1 - do one thing at a time
2 - practice patience

Today, I’m adding a third: find joy like a hummingbird.

Be well,

-Ash Wylder
(1/2/2024)

I love costumes. I love dressing silly and playing sports in tutus and gold leggings. I thoroughly enjoy board games in the early evening darkness with friends. Tis the season for colder mornings and longer nights, and I’m here for it.

L & I have a couple of carved pumpkins out front. We carved them with friends and power tools, because, why not? And it was one thousand percent fun. As a wordsmith, not necessarily an accomplished visual artist, I loved the shortcut to getting my design out. I loved watching the pumpkin shavings dance through the room. (This is a messy endeavor. Be warned.)

My paid newsletter, Driftwood Brine, is mid-launch right now, and I’m thoroughly enjoying digesting the maelstrom of advice given to writers and responding to it in kind with what I’ve found works for neurodivergent minds. As a writer, I’ve pushed against blogging partly because I am a painfully private person and don’t like the deadline of constant submission. The Professional Perspective Essays have been a wonderful outlet for pent-up creative energy (and some angst against the literary system). The first essay will be published for Driftwood Brine subscribers to read in mid-November.

Well, I think that’s it for now. Drink some hot cocoa for me.

Warmly,

-Ash Wylder

Are we really already a week into October? Woof. I don’t have any clue how that happened. What I do know is that I am here with L in our home, my office is set up, and there is a giant structure that is beginning to look like a house in our backyard. And I’ve been writing a lot both with my clients and for myself. At the time of writing this, I have finished the first draft of a book and am beginning slowly to edit it. Of course, we writers love some procrastination, and I’m doing other writing instead of editing. I’m writing this. Tomorrow, I will meet with a writing group and get back to it.

As is true for most, when the first draft was finished, I just had to put it down for a while and let things unravel. So here I am, unraveling and, in the absence of social media, letting you know that I am alive. Alive, and have space in my roster for another very special memoir project this year. Is it yours?

I’ve been taking my own advice lately and writing my heart out. L & I are doing well, despite the unexpected distance while I stay close to family during this season of grief. His dad is in town and the building project in our backyard is coming along with about as many delays and hiccups as I’ve come to expect from deeply meaningful writing projects. As all of us who live with neurodivergence and high sensitivity know, we can rest now or get sick later. I’ve been choosing to mountain bike with friends and nap a lot between one-on-one client sessions. The theme this month seems to be “difficult relationships with mothers” as more than one of the writers meeting with me inside of Submergence: A Memoir Writer’s Chamber tackle complicated, loving, impossible, devastating, and beautiful bonds with their mothers. Each sentence written is a group of words closer to memoir completion.

Summer months seem to go one of two ways for highly sensitive memoir writers – they either use it as an excuse to take breaks from the bright sun and fast activity of summer, or they put it down and don’t touch it until life settles a bit in the fall. I tend to spend my mornings and evenings outside and my afternoons working with clients, on my own writing project, and napping. As for grief, well – it’s only been three months. Right now, there isn’t much else to say.

If you’re working on a memoir or personal essay project and want some individual support, I encourage you to book now during Summer Pricing. (If you purchase now, you’ll be grandfathered into that price model even when my rates go up again.)

Let’s breathe life into your story,

-Ash Wylder

These past couple of months have been full of love and grief as I navigate the sudden loss of a close family member. This note is simply to say, “I’m still here. I’m still working. I am still accepting new clients. Things look a little different, but the heart of this work is still the same. Write your heart out.”

Drink lots of water. Take many breaks. Be gentle with yourself.

Warmly,

-Ash Wylder(6/9/2023)

Just like that, I’m in my last week of living at the cottage. This weekend L & I are going to paint and prepare. Next weekend, I’ll unload my bits, bobs, plants, and prayers into a space that will be ours. I’ve been more social than usual, connecting with friends and wandering familiar places with pre-nostalgic longing. I believe that the Gorge will always, in some ways at least, be my soul’s home.

On my birthday last month, L & I planted a wildflower garden and showed an old friend a favorite hike where Mt Hood and Mt Adams are both visible when the clouds are high. Birds have been busily flying overhead with bits of twigs building homes in nearby trees. Soon, the balsamroot will turn the hills yellow.

L & I have an agreement that I can’t have more houseplants than there are cards in a deck, so I’ve been giving pathos away as gifts and trading African violets for low-light alternatives. Do you have any favorites? I would love to know– email ash@storybreathschool.com subject line plants.

How are you doing? Are you writing? Getting words on the page? Next time I send a virtual postcard, I’ll be in a new home. Once we’re settled in, perhaps I’ll include a photo.

With love,

-Ash Wylder

Spring is springing!

I’m reading “What Works” by Tara McMullin with a group of entrepreneurs, and it’s shifting the way I think and structure goal setting in every area of my life including how I motivate and finish projects with my Deep Sea Writing Clients.

Sunrise subverted grey skies for an entire 15 minutes of orange and pink promises. I wrote poetry and prose and filled the dishwasher. Spread across the floor, my novel pages caught light.

These “Personal Postcards” are my way of telling the world that The Storybreath School is alive and breathing in the absence of social media. They are ways of telling people what has been up in my life, so let me give you a three-month update.

- As those of you on my newsletter Driftwood Brine know, I lost someone I loved dearly in late January. - In May, I will be moving to the city. I love cleaning away the debris and the bittersweet farewells. - This month, I’ll celebrate my birthday in some sweet and quiet way–probably a long hike and planting a wildflower garden for whoever comes to the cottage next. - My novel is coming along page by page, as well as a couple of my clients. One is working on a chapbook of poetry, another a fiction novel, and another has submitted 15 pieces of poetry, personal essay, and fiction for publication. We can all feel the renewed energy of this season. Do you?

With love,

-Ash Wylder

This time of year feels particularly juicy for me–there is something in the water that lights up the magic inside, and all I want to do is write. As my personal projects are forming a delicious mist around my days, I’m excited to see the same thing happening for many clients and friends. I’ve started referring to the acute phase of the pandemic as the cocoon. We thought that was the entire transformation, but it was consumption, disintegration, and reorganization. And now, we’re digging out after this huge shift, standing in the wind and flapping our... What are these? Are these wings? Big things are being released, big things are percolating, and we are learning to fly in our new bodies. How we will learn to live in the world with these unique gifts is entirely up to us. They have been hard-earned; if you’re still waiting on yours, they’re coming. Don’t be afraid to pivot. It’s all part of the magical chaos of this world.

Wherever you are, I wish you some rejuvenating slowness to joyfully practice using your new wings.

-Ash Wylder
(12/27/2022)