One Year of The Book of Alchemy

I remain in awe

The Alchemy Tour (April 2025)

Exactly one year ago, The Book of Alchemy made its way into the world.

Writing it, I spent long hours alone—at my desk, in my journals—circling the big questions, following threads that didn’t always resolve, trying to stay with what felt difficult to name. It was hard work. Sometimes lonely work. I hoped that once the book found its way to you, it might become something else in your hands—and it has.

Over the past year, I’ve watched as some of you returned to journaling after years away. Some of you committed to your own 100-day projects. Some of you began in the middle of something—grief, illness, uncertainty—and found a way to keep going. That never stops feeling a little miraculous to me.

Journaling, for me, had always been a private ritual—a way of making sense of things, a way of surviving them. What I didn’t anticipate—what I couldn’t have imagined—was how that solitary practice would become something shared. In living rooms, cafés, libraries, schools, parks, hospitals, you began gathering to write together, to listen, to tell the truth about your lived experience.

Over time, it became something with a name: Journaling Club.

Recently, we had the chance to highlight a Journaling Club led by Sheri Campbell, who started a group in Minneapolis. She had just moved there to be closer to her son and didn’t know anyone. When she saw my announcement about how journaling clubs were becoming a thing, she thought: I hope someone starts one. That would be so perfect for me.

When one didn’t materialize, it occurred to her: Maybe I should do it. She printed out the Journaling Club Guide and got to work—finding a coffee shop, putting up flyers, posting in local groups. She arrived at that first meeting prepared to sit and journal alone if no one came. (I love this detail. It feels like the willingness to begin without witnesses, the devotion to the practice, not the outcome.)

Instead, fourteen people showed up—many of them with The Book of Alchemy in hand.

What surprised Sheri most wasn’t the turnout. It was what happened in the room: people in their twenties sitting alongside people in their sixties, seventies, even eighties, writing about their lives, their futures, their fears. No one was there to perform or get it “right.” They were there to see what might surface if they gave it a little time and attention.

“People send me emails afterward,” she said. “They say, ‘Thanks—I didn’t know I was feeling that.’”

Hosting required Sheri to step outside her comfort zone. “I’m not a gatherer of people,” she said. “I would prefer to attend. But I wanted this. And this is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in a long time.”

What moves me most is how she describes her role in it: “I’m not the moderator. I’m not the therapist. The group takes care of itself.”

I keep thinking about that. The group takes care of itself.

Over the past year, I’ve seen versions of this happen again and again—online, in person, in ways both small and expansive. People showing up for one another, listening closely, making space. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes awkwardly. Sometimes in ways that don’t look like much from the outside.

It may seem like a small thing—a group of people journaling together—and yet it feels, to me, like the beginning of something much bigger.

I wrote a book. You made a practice. Thank you for that—for the ways you’ve used this book, quietly and privately, and also out loud, in community with strangers and friends. Thank you for the risk of it, for the honesty, for the willingness to begin—and to begin again.

With love,
Suleika

If you’re interested in starting a Journaling Club:

We’re beginning to offer more ways to support those of you who want to gather others around this practice.

Join our focus group by adding your email here. We’ll be sharing workshops and trainings in the coming months.

First up: A seminar with gathering expert, Priya Parker, where we’ll explore what it takes to host a meaningful gathering—and how to translate that into a Journaling Club of your own. Join us on May 20, 2026, at 12pm ET on Substack Live. Anyone can join; paid subscribers will receive the recording. Save the date!

Sheri’s tips for Journaling Club:

1. Follow the guide

“I can’t tell you how heavily I leaned on the journaling guide. I didn’t make it up. I didn’t alter it in any way.”

2. Choose a location

“I found a little café where they hosted other groups and asked if we could meet there.” Other options: bookstores, libraries, parks, community centers.

3. Put out the word

“I posted in local groups, shared it in a newsletter, put up flyers. Fourteen people showed up.” You can also start with spaces where people are already gathering—or longing to: coworking spaces, faith communities, grief or support groups, college or high school campuses, new parent circles. (Bulletin boards are underrated!)

4. Have people RSVP

“I use an app so people can commit—not for me, but for themselves.” Some free ones include Luma, Eventbrite, and Partiful.

5. Choose prompts you love

“I keep a running list of prompts and choose what feels right that day. I like having options—and surprising people a little.”

Some favorites from Sheri’s group—all from The Book of Alchemy:

• “I Have Been Eating Figs” by Annie Campbell

• “The Shape of Goodbye” by LaTonya Yvette

• “Darling, I Am Here for You” by Elizabeth Lesser

• “Brazenface” by Tatiana Gallardo

• “A Day in the Life of My Dreams” by Hollye Jacobs

You can also browse the Isolation Journals archive for more prompt ideas.

6. Let go of expectations

“It doesn’t have to get bigger. Whoever shows up is meant to be there. That’s enough.”

Want to share this practice? You can gift The Book of Alchemy and its companion journal to a friend.

Hosting a Journaling Club at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden

And if you’ve been part of a Journaling Club—hosting or attending—I’d love to hear about it.