The Wandering Kind

A special 3-part report from the collective road

What they don’t tell you about the wandering life is that you’re never really alone.

You’ll pull up to a circle of vans and campers in a sprawling lot, or wrap your arms around your knees in the dancing shadows of an intimate fire, or linger at the frayed edges of a group of people who’ve paused to listen to someone singing on the boardwalk of a beach, or scramble up the last long stretch of rock scrabble on your way to the peak, you’ll be hungry and thirsty, your muscles will sting with the work of it, your skin will be slick with sunscreen and sweat, your hair will be dirty, your feet will be sore and your heart might be too, for any number of reasons, who knows, and you’ll pull yourself up and over the ledge, and there they’ll be - the rest of them, your people, the ones you’ve never met and might not ever see again, the ones who’ll walk on with you in some ways forever: the wandering kind.

Out here on the road, we think and talk a lot about a couple of things - showers and toilets, dry weights and drop hitches, mystery bugs and black mold, camp chairs and subfloors and build-outs and types of tarps - and solitude, and society, and isolation and collaboration, loneliness and liberation, kindness and community, collective work and concentric circles of care, letting go and getting laid and the myriad ways and means of loving and the infinite kinds of love.

We talk about what it is to be human, what it is to be humane.

We write in notebooks and sketchbooks, on laptops and phones.

We offer food and water, reach out a hand to pull one another up, lift and carry each other when we have to.

Men who had no money for gas have fashioned seals for my door to keep out the cold from seals they stripped from their own.

Women who could not have brought themselves to ask for help have accepted it from a woman who knew well enough not to ask permission to give.

We do what we need to do to keep ourselves alive.

We do what we can to connect.

We give what we have.

I’ll be writing more about all of that in the coming weeks. This week, I’ve got a couple of things I’ve been dying to share with you.

The first two things are below—the third will pop up in your inbox in a few hours.

It’s an embarrassment of riches, a wealth of what we’ve reaped by wandering, and a warm hello from me, Luna, and our community to you. Happy Friday!

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First — an announcement about an incredibly exciting new venture: the Caravan Writers Collective.

The Caravan offers a year-round curriculum of courses, workshops, events, and opportunities to work 1:1 with members of the Caravan Crew.

Read on for more!

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Second — You MUST order this incredible book that’s dropping in just a few weeks: The Allure of Elsewhere: A Memoir of Going Solo, by two-time Minnesota Book Award winner, award-winning professor, my dear friend and colleague, and the inspiration for my solo adventures in the Scamp, Karen Babine.

Read on for more about Karen’s adventures, the book launch on May 21 (6pm, Open Book, Minneapolis) where Karen and I will be mouthing off in person, together, at the same time (omg you guys it’s going to be amazing), and a fantastic 2-for-1 deal if you pre-order directly from Milkweed Books.

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And third — in a separate email shortly headed your way — an absolutely breathtaking post by my friend, fellow nomad, co-founder of the Caravan Writers Collective, and creator of Holly Starley’s Rolling Desk here on Substack, Holly Starley.

In this essay, “Lucky,” Holly captures the inherent tensions that inform life on the road—between risk and reward, care and caution, freedom and fear.

The text of “Lucky,” which Holly published last week, is reprinted with permission in the email that’s right on this one’s heels. You’ll also find an audio version of the essay voiced by me. Lean back and have a listen to the music—Holly's a master of the lyrical line—of her words.

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The Caravan Writers Collective, Karen Babine’s brilliant new book, and Holly Starley’s essay have a lot in common.

But beyond great writing, beyond their focus on literary craft, beyond even their subject matter - solo travel and life on the road - what they share is the impulse I believe drives these apparently solitary quests, whether the writer’s quest, the traveler’s journey, or both: curiosity.

Curiosity is fundamentally the spirit of generosity. To exist in the world in ways that are curious is to reach out, to ask questions, to listen, to communicate, and to connect.

That’s it. That’s the whole point. Even wanderers know that; maybe especially, wanderers know.

As E.M. Forster wrote, “Only connect.” That’s what we’re trying to do - and this week, I’m excited to share three ways we’re trying to do it.

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The Caravan is Coming!

In the next few days, you’re going to receive an email from the Caravan Writers Collective.

We’re four writers and editors—Marya, Holly, Paul, and Matt—with a combined century making our careers in the writing world. We want to share what we’ve learned with you. Whether you’re starting fresh or a salty vet, we’re here for you. From practice to process, idea to outline, first draft to final edit, pitch to submission, we’ll be diving into all the aspects of being a working writer.

This project arises from our shared love of and experience with both writing and teaching, as well as our shared conviction that good writing has the power to change the world.

Our work as a collective is rooted in the desire to provide high quality courses, coaching, and events that explore the art, craft, and business of writing in a collaborative, community-oriented way, and to make those things accessible, affordable, and enjoyable for you.

Because we’re not just experienced teachers with deep publishing portfolios—we’re each other’s supporters, fans, and friends, and we’d like to be yours too.

We’re kicking this thing off in June with the Caravan Summer School, a three-month road trip through genres, subjects, matters of writing business and creative process, and more.

Classes range from weekend bootcamps to six-week intensives, covering nonfiction, fiction, poetry, writing practice, and more; events include the Weekly Write-In (first Saturdays always free!), monthly Lit Labs with incredible guest speakers, Ask A Working Writer panels, the first round of the Build-a-Work series—a four-session class where we’ll take you from generating ideas to a finished piece—with a Build-an-Essay session in August, and an end-of-summer virtual student reading.

The first Caravan newsletter will land in your inboxes in the next few days. Subscribe to the Caravan Substack to stay on top of upcoming events, classes, and opportunities; become a paying or founding subscriber for a heap of great deals; and please, share our invitation to join the Caravan with the writers, educators, students, and readers in your lives.

“Having hitched our writing wagons together, we have no plans to turn back.

And we want to write alongside you too.”

We really do.

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The Allure of Elsewhere: A Memoir of Going Solo

Ok. I admit that Karen is one of my favorite people on the planet. She’s brilliant. She’s a Scorpio. She’s slightly evil. She’s funny as hell. She sent me a whole Costco shipment of groceries once when I was broke and when I got sappy about it she said, “Oh, shut up and eat.” My entire Scamp scheme was hatched with her knowledge and devious encouragement. Once I pulled over and FaceTimed her because the Scamp’s hitch was making a funny clunking noise and I showed her. She, calm and Lutheran as ever, said, “Well, I’m glad you called, because that isn’t hitched.”

IG & Threads: @karenbabine / Bluesky: karenbabine.bsky.social

The Allure of Elsewhere speaks to the balance of solitude and community, setting out and coming home, more accurately and poignantly than anything I’ve read.

Karen will be guest-posting here in the coming weeks—keep an eye out for that, as well as our upcoming collaborative piece “A Tale of Two Scamps,” in which we discuss the fundamental differences between our Scamping styles (in a nutshell, she nests, I perch) and discuss a recent meme in which the astrological signs are assigned national parks and Scorpio is Yellowstone and Aries is the Grand Canyon and the accuracy is appalling.

We’ll also be reporting in person, together, at the same time (and when I tell you that is a serious matter and will be dangerously funny, I mean it—take cover) from the May 21 launch of The Allure of Elsewhere, the international NonfictionNow conference at Notre Dame where we’ll be trying to pass as serious people and scholars, and, I shit you not, the Scamp Homecoming, an actual convention of thousands of these weird little campers, in late June.

But first, register for the FREE May 21 book launch event at Open Book in Minneapolis, where—if you’re lucky—we might tell you the story of why Karen asks, now and then, if I’m wearing lipstick and flannel.

THE ALLURE OF ELSEWHERE: A MEMOIR OF GOING SOLO by Karen Babine shares one woman’s cross-country journey to explore the hold family history has on our lives, and the power of new stories to shape what lies ahead.

Publishing May 20, preorder your copy via milkweed.org before May 19, and use code ALLURE at checkout to receive a free copy of Babine's essay collection ALL THE WILD HUNGERS: A SEASON OF COOKING AND CANCER with your purchase of ALLURE OF ELSEWHERE. (Offer valid through May 19, 2025)⁠

Pre-order here! (And don’t forget to use the code ALLURE.)

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And another thing…

Watch your inbox for a portal to the magical world of Holly Starley’s writing, which I’m honored she allowed me to read aloud. Read her essay “Lucky” and lend it an ear—it’s on its way, and it’s one you don’t want to miss.

Here’s the calculation now: What will it take to be each others’ “luck”? What do we risk to intervene on behalf of those with less inherited luck? To show those who keep taking, with way too little pushback, they will be held to account? To tell all the parts? To not be silenced?

—Holly Starley, “Lucky”

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