Coming Home to Idyllwild
Some places feel like they’ve always been waiting for you. For me, that place is Idyllwild Arts. High in the San Jacinto Mountains, 5,000 feet above sea level, it’s a sanctuary of creativity where time slows just enough to let stories catch up with you.
I first found my way here as a child, bouncing between schools but returning each summer for the Children’s and Youth Programs. Back then, it was called ISOMATA—Idyllwild School of Music and the Arts—and I still keep a couple of those old name badges tucked away, little souvenirs of my youth from the summers that shaped me.
I studied Native American Hopi silversmithing with Michael Kaboti, black-and-white photography with Erik Metzler, theatre, drawing, painting… Idyllwild Arts was my paradise– the only place that felt like it truly understood me.
This summer, I returned- not as a kid trying to find her place, but as a writer trying to find the right words.
The Artist Awakens
I arrived on campus carrying the bones of a novel-in-progress and the weight of a creative silence I hadn’t yet learned how to break. I hoped to learn about structure. But what I found was far more powerful—an unshakable reminder that voice comes not from the rules of craft, but from the courage to feel and write with truth.
From the moment I stepped back onto campus, something clicked. I arrived in time to catch the Welcoming Home of the Birds ceremony on the field behind Husch Hall, an evening of bird singing and traditional dance with hands-on activities, sponsored by FNX and KVCR Public Media, and Native Arts Executive Director Shaliyah Ben. There, beneath the pines, I met filmmaker Blossom Maciel, director of Pá’Čapa: A Mt Rubidoux Story, a documentary told through Native voices. She taught me how to handcraft Apache walnut dice and point sticks. Sanding with care, then filling them with clay and abalone shells. When they were done, we played together— two grown women laughing like kids, it was such a blast.
That’s how my time unfolded: with moments that felt ceremonial, and a sense of purpose in every step. Whether I was weaving a Danish cord stool with David Johnson or sitting in the workshop with novelist Alex Espinoza, every moment felt sacred.
Joining the Writers’ Workshop
I’d wanted to take a writing course for years. As a photographer, I’ve always felt that words and images go together like milk and cookies. When I started in photojournalism more than 30 years ago, I learned that editors were more likely to publish my work if it came with a story.
So I wrote—out of necessity— and struggled with it.
Looking back, I see how far I’ve come. Now that I’m writing books, it felt like the right time to finally invest in the voice behind the visuals. This workshop wasn’t just something I wanted. It was long overdue.
With photography, there’s a saying: a picture is worth a thousand words. You’re playing with angles and light, waiting for that one perfect moment to capture- it’s like instinct, almost like hunting. Writing, on the other hand, is a completely different beast. Both forms are creative, yet they’re entirely different galaxies apart. One captures a moment, the other builds one.
Alex Espinoza led the Fiction Workshop, with support from Sergio Lima and Leonora Simonovis. I brought with me the bones of a manuscript I’d started two springs ago- Tales from the Crematory— a novel about my time working in a crematory, helping guide those who once had beating hearts into the afterlife.
Even before class began, Alex reached out to each of us personally, asking what we hoped to gain and what we were struggling with. I told him: structure. I submitted what I thought were the beginning and ending of my book. After all, the beginning is supposed to hook you, and the ending has to make it all matter.
Finding My Voice: Mentors, and Moments That Mattered
Each day, our mornings were spent in workshop. In the afternoons, we gathered for lectures and readings by guest authors. Among them: poet and novelist Kazim Ali, and Brendan Constantine, who didn’t just read his poems—he conducted them.
Also reading that week were Craig Santos Perez, who led the Environmental Fiction workshop, and Susan Rich, who guided the poetry group. Susan’s reading in the Ataloa gallery caught me off guard. Her words carried such clarity and truth. That night, poetry poured out of me, entirely unexpected and without any filters.
On the final morning, Susan asked over breakfast, “Did you get what you were looking for in the workshop?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
What I had found wasn’t just structure, it was voice– and the courage to trust it.
On my drive home down the mountain, I listened to the audiobook A Blessing on the Moon by Joseph Skibel, a haunting fable rooted in the history of the Holocaust, told from the view of a ghost. This echoed so much of what I had just discovered about my own work, and was the perfect companion for the journey home.
Reflecting on the grace of my professor, I’m reminded how rare it is to have a teacher who can recognize the spark in their students—and who knows how to nurture it with care and insight. That’s exactly what Alex Espinoza did. The Writers Workshop at Idyllwild Arts wasn’t just about craft- it was a kind of alchemy of the soul. I left those pines not only a better writer, but more connected with my voice and purpose, and the stories that need to be told.
As Leonora Simonovis, poet, profesor, and one of our workshop leaders, beautifully put it:
“Writers Week brings the magic of community, friendships, and deep conversations about craft and the writing process. There’s something about being in the mountains that engages our sense of connection to one another and to the natural world around us. It invites us to enter portals for creativity and play.”
I wanted to share a piece of that magic- for anyone who’s ever dreamed of writing a book, taking a summer course in the arts, or for parents raising creative kids. Founded in 1946, Idyllwild Arts has offered world-class summer programs since 1950, and since 1986, stands as one of the most inspiring artistic academies in the world.
This wasn’t just my story— it was ours. Idyllwild gave us more than tools; it gave us each other. And that kind of creative kinship is the rarest kind of art. From the morning workshops to the late-night readings, a collective voice formed, shaped by honesty, vulnerability, and Alex’s gift for creating brave spaces. Together, we wrote, listened, laughed, and grew. I asked a few of my fellow writers to reflect on the experience in their own words.
What Stayed With Us: Reflections from the Writers’ Circle
“I learned so much from Alex, but the biggest takeaway was the way he spoke about the emotional engine. Emotions drive everything—what characters do or don’t do, what stays and doesn’t stay in revision, and the key to connecting with the readership. Once you have them emotionally, you can do or say anything, and they’ll be with you for the ride.”
— Courtney Seiberling, writer and yoga teacher in Los Angeles, author of Five Leaves Left and Yoga’s Yamas and Niyamas
“Attending the Idyllwild Writing Retreat with Alex Espinoza was a gift I’ll carry for a long time. Alex’s inclusive, welcoming presence helped me trust the space he created. We left a connected, inspired community, ready to continue our work with renewed care for our voices.”
— Afsaneh Boutorabi, Elementary School Theatre Teacher
“Being in a classroom again, and being so powerfully guided by a teacher like Alex—who is not only accomplished, but stands for so much that matters—created something special. He’s real, humble, open. I’m sitting with the power of story, of diverse perspectives, and stepping out of comfort zones in great company.”
— Libby Stockstill, writer, speaker, and founder of Some Days
“What a wonderful group. We literally fell in love with one another as the week grew. Alex set the tone, qand we ran with it. He was insightful and generous with our work—never condescending, always collaborative. The support and push from everyone brought it to the next level. It is an experience I won’t soon forget.”
— Nancy Kissam, playwright, screenwriter, and director of Drool
“I gained a lot from Alex’s class, including how to make an ending more emotional, a reminder to always think about what my character’s motivations are, and a bigger appreciation for novelists. I usually write in a dialogue script format, so it was a fun experience for me to try something different.”
—Eva Gracious, comic artist and illustrator
Inspired by these reflections, I spoke to Alex Espinoza to learn more about the philosophy that shaped our experience.
A conversation with Alex Espinoza
You studied with Susan Straight, who was taught by James Baldwin, one of the most powerful voices in literature of the 20th century. What lessons from Susan do you carry into your teaching?
Every character in a story deserves to arrive on the page fully realized. Even the most minor characters, those who appear only in passing, should have weight, history, desire, and contradictions. There is no room for stereotypes or shortcuts. Nothing should be wasted: if a character steps into a scene, they should carry the sense of a full life beyond those few lines of dialogue or gesture.
What helps you find focus when writing?
Quiet space, maybe soft music in the background. I’m more focused on quality than quantity these days. A well-crafted scene often matters more than a whole chapter of “okay” prose.
Tell us about the cover art for The Sons of El Rey.
The artist is David Litman, an incredibly talented painter whose work I encourage everyone to check out. Originally, the structure of The Sons of El Rey was inspired by Titian’s An Allegory of Prudence, which depicts three human heads representing the past, present, and future — an idea that deeply resonated with the multi-generational and cyclical themes in my novel. When I saw the final book cover design featuring Litman’s painting, I was struck by how it subtly echoed the same structural layers I had drawn from Titian. Of course, I reached out to David Litman to make sure he knew how much I admired and respected his work, and to share how meaningful it was to see that visual connection come full circle on my book’s cover!
How do you move through the nerves and find comfort in public speaking, especially when sharing such personal work?
I’m always a bit awkward at first when I step up to the podium, no matter how many times I’ve done it before. What helps me most is trying to channel the energy of the audience, to remind myself that what I want is for my words to resonate and reach people. That mindset shifts the focus away from my own nerves and toward a sense of shared connection. It’s a joy (and truly an honor) to be able to offer something meaningful to strangers through language.
What do you love about teaching at UCR?
The incredible diversity— so many first-generation students, and students of color whose voices enrich the classroom every day. It’s especially meaningful to serve as the Tomás Rivera Endowed Chair in the very program where I earned my own BA. Giving back to a community that gave me so much is the greatest honor I could imagine.
What makes a story compelling?
Complex, multi-layered characters, people who feel real, contradictory, and alive on the page. I’m drawn to voices that have rarely been heard before, voices that challenge or expand our understanding of the world. The willingness to explore unmapped geographies, whether those are literal places or emotional and cultural territories that are too often overlooked. And above all, don’t be afraid to confront the hard truths. That’s where the heart of your story will always be, in the courage to look at what is difficult and still find the humanity within it.
What advice could you offer to new writers?
Trust that your story matters, even if the world hasn’t told you this yet. Read widely! Read books and stories that move you, that shake you, that make you see the world differently. And then, when you write, be brave enough to be vulnerable on the page. That vulnerability is what makes writing come alive, what lets it reach another human being. Finally, be open to feedback. Listen to it, weigh it carefully, but don’t let it steal your voice. Storytelling is a conversation between you and the world. Let yourself be changed by it, but never silenced!
What makes Idyllwild Arts so magical?
The generosity and compassion of Sergio and Leonora, whose commitment to nurturing writers and artists is inspiring. The work they and everyone at the school are doing is so important, especially in these divisive times, when building bridges through art feels more necessary than ever. I also loved meeting my fellow faculty, Craig Santos Perez and Susan Rich, and feeling that sense of collective purpose among people who believe that stories can change the world.
Final Thoughts: Begin Again
Hearing from my classmates only deepened my appreciation for what Alex gave us. Not just guidance on the page, but a sense of belonging in a world full of words.
For me, Idyllwild Arts isn’t just a school or a summer program. It’s home. It’s the place that reminded me that stories don’t expire— and neither does voice. Whether you’re a poet, painter, parent, or someone carrying a story deep inside, know this: There’s still time to begin. Again.