My Art in a Book!

So, I am officially a published writer!

Yesterday, I attended the launch of a new community book filled with creative stories by citizens of Verdun. Among many other inspiring and talented writers of all ages, one of my pieces was published as well.

When the person in charge of this amazing community handed me a book and said, "Well, congrats, you are now an officially published writer," something in me couldn’t quite believe it was real.

It felt so strange to hear those words and to hold a book in my hands that contained my own creative work.

Honestly, I never thought I'd even be writing, let alone calling myself a "published writer."

So yes, I admit, it feels very special to me.

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What makes this even more special is that I managed to get my work into a book through a publishing process that truly resonated with me, making deep, personal sense.

I hadn’t published anything before, mostly because I had no idea how to do it while staying true to myself and my inner values.

But now, I’ve done it for real, and the way it was done feels perfectly aligned and meaningful to me.

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Nearly a year ago, I was walking down a street not far from where I live, and I saw this mysterious place. Since I’m way too curious, I stopped to take a closer look.

There was no name or sign on the door except for a handwritten note that said, "This is not a cat café." From the outside, you wouldn’t even be able to tell what the place was. There was a big fish drawn on the window, and an old typewriter was the only thing visible behind heavy, dark blue curtains that hid the interior from passersby.

Because I’m not only curious but also a bit of a creep, of course, I went in.

I couldn’t resist. I had to know what this place was all about, and why their approach to promotion and marketing was so bad—or perhaps, amazingly good and mysterious.

What I discovered was an art-based local community where people gather to write, share, and co-create. It felt like a big shared home, where neighbors could meet with their families for all sorts of social events and activities.

There was no pretension. No arrogance. No pressure.

It’s a real community in its purest, simplest, and most effective form.

I was mind-blown—especially on a professional level.

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I’ve traveled the world in search of answers. I’ve paid thousands of dollars for professional training and high-level mentors, and I’ve studied the entire history of management and its deep psychological nonsense.

And here I was, in a small community of my neighbors, standing in one of the best incarnations of a "business model" that truly makes sense to me. They don’t even realize that the community they’ve created is one of the most innovative examples of how to do business in a meaningful, resilient, and efficient way.

They’ve had a huge impact on the entire local community on many levels, but they do it all in the simplest, most coherent, and most human way possible.

Honestly, they could be giving innovative community management classes to local businesses. They already embody this process and have done so for many years. They know exactly how it works and understand the benefits.

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Anyway, last spring, Suspicious Fish (that’s the name of the organization) organized a creative writing workshop for adults.

A group of local writers met every week to write together, share our art, and discuss the uniqueness of our creative processes. I was one of those people, even though I didn’t yet consider myself a writer.

This workshop changed something deep within me, though I didn’t realize it at first.

Writing, as a creative process, can be very intimate. Most of the time, you’re alone when you write, which allows you to connect deeply with yourself and your soul. Because of this, writing can feel vulnerable and fragile.

That’s why we rarely share what we write from the heart. The more authentic and transparent we are, the more scared we are to show it to others.

Writing something on the spot with others and sharing it right afterward with your literal neighbors is a whole new level of vulnerability.

You’re baring your soul to people you barely know—people you might run into at the grocery store the next day.

The risk of vulnerability is real. But with it comes the opportunity for deeper connection and systemic healing.

For me, even though these workshops challenged my own fears and insecurities, they became my secret space. It was where I practiced how to "human" with other humans. I felt part of an authentic community that simply gathered to co-create, connect, and learn together. It nourished and healed my soul on so many levels.

I experienced what it’s like to create from the deepest parts of who we are, alongside other courageous and vulnerable beings—my own neighbors!

This showed me the mysteries of my own creative process even more clearly and profoundly. And it was fun. We cried together. We laughed until we cried. We criticized, and we inspired each other.

With astonishing simplicity, care, and humility, we all became writers without even realizing it. We learned from each other and shared the most fragile parts of ourselves, transforming them into art and writing.

Now, almost half a year after the workshops, I realize how this experience, this place, and my neighbors have transformed me on a deep level.

And today, I hold a real book in my hands, filled with stories from many others who went through the same experience as part of the incredible Suspicious Fish Community adventure in Verdun.

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It can be simple and easy. We can gather in places we already have and co-create what we truly want.

It might not look exactly how we imagined or planned, but who cares, when our dreams are manifesting into reality and bringing us pure joy, meaning, and satisfaction?

I may not be a New York Times Best-Seller, with my face and book in every airport, but at least I’m holding a book with my art and my name in it—a book that truly makes me proud.

It makes deep systemic sense to me and brings me genuine happiness.