NY Writers Coalition ending after nearly a quarter of a century of programming

After an incredible 22-year run, NY Writers Coalition will wind down operations and cease all programming by Fall 2024. In an announcement recently shared with members and supporters, Aaron Zimmerman, NYWC’s founder and executive director shared, “Like many small nonprofits, NYWC has been struggling to raise enough money to support all of the work we do for some time. While we did successfully pivot and transform our programming online during the pandemic, the current state of arts funding has not matched this growth and, instead, has plummeted. We’ve therefore spent the last few years trying to remake our funding streams, revamp our mission, and reduce our budget, but the challenges of the current philanthropic climate have made many of these options either impossible (operating with a skeleton staff too small to do our work well) or unsustainable (existing in a perpetual state of financial uncertainty while also running virtual and in-person programming).”

New York Nonprofit Media caught up with Zimmerman to discuss this decision, transition, and the impact this one-of-a-kind organization has had over two decades.  

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Starting at the beginning – how long have you considered yourself a writer? When did you know it was what you wanted to do/be professionally? 

I think I was always drawn to creativity in some form. My childhood is a bit of a blur, but at a certain point, I knew I had the ability to be kind of entertaining. In high school, even though I was a teen punk rocker and being in school plays was the least punk thing I could do, I started acting. I am a terrible singer and dancer, so I wound up only in speaking parts with no music involved. The pinnacle of my acting career was probably starring in a community theater show in Randolph, New Jersey.  

I tried out for New York University’s acting program, but I didn’t make it in. Only later did I realize that I self-sabotaged by not preparing at all for my audition. After a dismal bout of freshman year depression, I dropped out and eventually found my way to Hunter College and became a film major. I threw myself into learning all the aspects of film, and because actually making a film is expensive and involves a ton of people, I decided to write a feature length screenplay. I pounded it out on an electric typewriter in the kitchen of my small apartment. I think then is when I had a glimpse that I might be a writer. 

Nothing came of my screenplay, and I was kind of adrift and discouraged about writing for a few years. In my early 30’s I decided I needed some sort of structure and support to make myself write. I hadn’t written much fiction but applied to grad school for creative writing and enrolled at the City College of New York. 

The summer before I started at CCNY, in 1994, I joined a private writing workshop that used the Amherst Writers and Artists method, which changed not just my writing life, but everything else. I’ll never forget the first time I wrote a piece in the workshop and read it aloud. The others reflected back what they heard and liked and I was in shock that they seemed to get what I was trying to do. I felt seen in my writing, and knew instantly that this model was for me. The more I wrote in community, the more I felt like a writer. In 1997, I started leading my own workshops, and found my calling. 

What inspired and prompted you to start a nonprofit? 

There were a few things. In 1999, I left a corporate job to finish writing my first novel.  My plan was to take a year off from working. I had saved some money and supplemented my income by leading writing workshops. I’d built up somewhat of a steady group of people who took workshops with me, which was becoming a writing community. 

Around that same time, I got a call from staff at a then soon-to-open supportive housing residence, The Prince George. They were looking for a one-time workshop for National Poetry Month for their residents, who are formerly homeless, have HIV/AIDS, or are low-income working people. I proposed an ongoing weekly workshop, and they were open to it. 

I’d never done anything quite like this and it’s clichéd perhaps, but it was life-changing. The writers in my group included people who had never written before as well as people who had written their whole lives. Some had interrupted educations and some had had incredible schooling. It confirmed something I knew I believed: that everyone has a unique voice and stories worth telling and hearing. 

A big role model and mentor for me was Pat Schneider, creator of the Amherst Writers workshop method that had opened up my writing in powerful ways. For many years, Pat led workshops for women in low-income housing in Chicopee, Massachusetts. The workshop was the subject of a great documentary, “Tell Me Something I Can’t Forget.” The stories the women in the workshop told about how writing and being part of the group had transformed them were profound. When I trained to lead workshops with Pat in 1997, I got to meet some of these writers. 

These factors all started percolating into a vague vision. There was unfortunately no shortage of people and places in New York City from what we then called “historically marginalized groups.” And there were also countless writers in the city who might want to bring their love of writing to those who never would be able to attend a writing workshop. So I thought, what if there were a nonprofit that sent writers into spaces like shelters, residences, youth programs, senior centers, and the like, to bring the power of an ongoing weekly writing workshop to those that weren’t typically seen as writers. 

I had been a paralegal, so in April 2000, I researched how to form a nonprofit and went through the steps: incorporating, forming a board, applying to the IRS for 501(c)(3) status and so on. It was still just a vague idea, but as I led workshops at The Prince George, the basic program model came into focus. In addition to weekly workshops, we’d publish chapbooks of writing by our workshop members and hold public readings. We would bring together people from diverse communities and form one big writing community. 

After filing all the paperwork, I still wasn’t sure if this would be viable. I spent time thinking about it. It would be a huge financial risk personally. I knew absolutely nothing about the nonprofit field.  I’d never raised funds for anything nor did program evaluation. Or anything else, besides leading writing workshops. So I was sort of stuck with my fears and worries about my own security and stability. Then 9/11 happened. I noticed the way everyone in the city told their story of that day. The stories had common components: where you were and what you saw, how did you get home, who did you know in the building, and who did you lose? And we all needed to tell others about our experience. It  became even clearer to me that storytelling and self-expression were basic human needs. 

It also put into stark relief that if I wanted to do something, I should do it, and not wait for some sort of perfect clarity. I thought about all the people who went to work in “secure” jobs and never came home that day. So soon after, I decided to go for it. I called a meeting of people who had been taking workshops with me, and we collectively made a plan. That group of first workshop leaders already knew the workshop model and after some training planning, and outreach, we launched our first set of workshops in May 2002. And there was no turning back. 

How did NYWC evolve over the years? 

We started out as a grassroots, all-volunteer non-profit run out of our homes. We rented space for training and readings as needed. Our initial funding was $3,000 that we raised at a kick-off party. 

As you’re starting to look back over its 22 years, what are you most proud of, in terms of NYWC’s reach and depth of impact, unique approach etc? 

(The response to this question came from a letter announcing that NYWC was winding down.)

• Offering more than 20,000 free workshops in hundreds of locations and programs including Rikers Island, senior centers, LGBTQ communities, youth programs, programs for people with disabilities, the unhoused, residents of supportive housing, hospitals, schools and many more, serving more than 25,000 people.
• Providing space for more than 400,000 new pieces of writing that have been created in our generative workshops. 
• Publishing more than 50 chapbooks and 5 book-length anthologies of writing in our workshops.
• Financially supporting writers and teaching artists through salaries and leader stipends amounting to nearly $5 million.
• Producing the Fort Greene Summer Literary Festival for 15 years, in which  hundreds of young writers read alongside literary icons such as  Amiri Baraka, Jennifer Egan, Jhumpa Lahiri,  Sonia Sanchez, Colson Whitehead,and many others.
• Presenting hundreds of readings and other literary events at venues all over NYC including Greenlight Bookstore, Barnes & Noble, Nuyorican Poets Cafe, Pen + Brush Gallery, Brooklyn Public Library, Roulette, BRIC, and many more spaces. 
• Stepping up during the pandemic and serving people all over the world at a time of great distress. We offered virtual workshops, programs, and events—even hosting our trademark free workshops six days a week, three times a day for more than a year. Many of our workshop participants told us that our work was “lifesaving.” 
• Launching our Black Writers Program, which provided hundreds of free workshops, panels, and events for hundreds of Black writers across the United States, and even the world. This program was designed and supervised exclusively by NYWC’s Black program staff and Teaching Artists. Since its 8-week pilot cycle beginning in October 2020, BWP has hosted nearly 400 overall workshop sessions and 25 panels, book talks, and special events. Across all workshops and events, close to 50% of virtual attendees lived outside the state of New York–including international attendees. 

What are your hopes for the legacy and lasting impact of NYWC in people’s lives?

(The response to this question also came from the letter announcing NYWC was winding down)

Our organization will continue to have impact – just not in its current form. We have already seen new writing groups starting with our mission, format, and/or general spirit at their core, and we’re so excited to see what grows from the roots of our community. 

None of what we’re seeing transpire in our current arts field is easy to digest. It is natural to begin to feel discouraged or powerless in the face of what feels like an all-out assault on artistry. However, NYWC was originally created to be a safe-space in the midst of tragedy. We ask that as we as an organization wind down, you all remain true to the word “coalition” that has anchored our name. We still remain in this together. Pen to page. Shoulder to shoulder. Relentlessly writing into existence the world we all wish to see. As Toni Morrison said, "This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal."