Welcome to the Treehouse.
Come on up! We have juice boxes.
I built Treehouse Literary Arts Studio…
because I needed somewhere to belong.
We all do, some in our own quiet ways, others crying out for it. We spend our lives searching for someplace we can call home, not just a place to live but a place to breathe - places where we can drop the armor, the expectations, places we can just exist. For me, writing has always been that place. The place inside my head, or maybe my heart, wherever it is we go when we build a home inside of ourselves. But the cold truth is that writing is lonely. It’s you and the page, and sometimes you don’t know if the page is your medium or your friend or your enemy. You wrestle with thoughts too big for your head and too heavy for your heart, and sometimes you wonder if you’re really saying anything at all. We do it because we have to, but so often we would just rather…not.
But there’s something I know to be true. It’s not the act of writing that I love. It’s the people I have found through writing - the ones who let me be messy and unhinged and still made me feel like I belonged. The ones who saw me, even in all my chaos, and said “Stay.”
That’s why I planted the seed that grew into Treehouse. Because we all need a space to feel safe. To feel seen. To feel like we all belong, even when our words feel jagged and unfinished. Especially then.
The dream came to me like a whisper: What if there was a space that felt like a treehouse? Not a real one, I lack the carpentry skills and I’m a little weird about heights, but the idea of it – the freedom, the fun, the invitation to come as you are, hang out, and create something wild and true. A place where you don’t have to be the best, or even good, to be welcome. Where you can just be.
Treehouse Literary Arts Studio is a space that feels human – mad and glorious and beautiful in the way that only true creativity can be. Not a stuffy workshop or MFA classroom where everyone’s trying to write the Great American Novel, but a sanctuary where we can gather together to experiment and fail and laugh our asses about it on the way. Somewhere we could write and rewrite, unafraid to get it wrong, knowing we were safe to try again.
It’s funny, though. In teaching writing workshops, I learned that the real secret to helping people fall back in love with writing wasn’t about the prompts or exercises or some magical technique. It wasn’t about crafting the perfect first sentence or shaping that elusive second act. No, it was about people. The real magic happened when writers found a community of like-minded souls who made them feel welcome, seen, and safe.
And that’s what it’s all about. Kurt Vonnegut, that saint of understanding the human condition in all its sacred silliness, said it much better than I can do:
“Hello babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies-"God damn it, you've got to be kind.”
This whole Treehouse thing – it’s built on that idea. Kindness. And not the kind that comes with recognition or a gold star, but the quiet, everyday kind. The kind that says, “You belong here, no matter what.” The kind that shows up, day after day.
Which brings me to the people who showed up with hammers and nails and made this dream real. My partners, my friends, Cillian and Dave, they’re the ones who made Treehouse possible. They believed in a wild idea and they gave it life because they saw the magic in writing, the truth in people coming together to create deep, lasting goodness in the world. I owe them more than I can say.
Cillian– you divine weirdo, with your wild creativity and endless stream of ideas. You make words and images sing in ways I didn’t even know were possible. And Dave– the poet of spreadsheets, the wizard of wringing beauty from numbers, you’re the reason this ship (treehouse) stays afloat (stuck in a tree). Together, you two have turned this idea into something far more elegant and real than I ever could have imagined.
Of course, none of this could have happened without the writers who believed in this space and its magic and meaning from the start. You showed up with your stories, your vulnerabilities, your laughter, and your courage. You are the heart of this place. You’ve turned it into a living, breathing community where creativity is celebrated for its raw truth and its joy. We built this for you, because of you, and I hope you know that the Treehouse will always be your sacred space–a cozy corner to decorate however you like, a place where you can write, dream, or just be still for a while.
And if you're reading this, wondering if there’s a place for you here–I promise: there is. We’ve saved you a seat. We’ve built this space for writers and creatives just like you, whether you’ve been writing for years or you’re just now paying heed to the whisper of a new world asking you to build its cities and forests. Come in, hang out, get cozy, let’s see how weird we can get. You belong here.
We can’t promise you’ll finish your novel or secure a publishing deal, but we can promise kindness, and laughter, and fun. I know I need it, and I think you do, too.
If this sounds like the kind of place you’d like to call your own, head on over to our Treehouse now and find a space to cozy up.
The Treehouse sent me back to "Stand By Me" , one of my favorite movies, this week. Can we ever have friends like we did when we were twelve?
I think we can.