Stranger in Sedona

These days, no two days are the same  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ Stranger in Sedona These days, no two days are the same ​ --------------------------------------------------------------- If you find yourself with some down time over the holidays, you should consider enrolling in [One True Sentence](=), a free 7-day writing course taught entirely via email. --------------------------------------------------------------- These days, no two days are the same. Late last week, my father and I found ourselves in Sedona, Arizona in conversation with a bartender named Bre. She peppered us with questions as she buzzed around the bar––not unlike a bee in a bed of flowers––with a pair of faded black wings tattooed to the back of her neck. Bre told us she had three kids––or has three kids. Her oldest son is named Johnny after Johnny Cash, her daughter is named Whitney––but everybody calls her June because she and Johnny are as thick as thieves––and her youngest son is named Jackson, after the famous tune the pair once sung. It's strange when you find yourself in a meaningful conversation with a stranger and you become aware of the reality that you will likely never see them again. I remember purchasing gelato from this wonderful older woman in Antibes a few summers back. We made the warmest of small talk as she smeared a heap of ice-cold gelato into an empty waffle cone. After she handed it to me she said, "Thank you and have a wonderful life!" That killed me. It still kills me. My father and I eventually bid our friend Bre farewell, climbed into my FJ and left Sedona for San Diego where we holed up in an artist loft that had been converted into an Airbnb. My brother, Conner, joined us from Riverside, California. He and I worked and took several meetings for [Honey Copy](=) while my father watched after June and rested up after the 30-hour cross-country roadtrip. With time, I'm sure I will pen a few thoughts surrounding my days in San Diego but for now I'm following the writing advice that John Steinbeck shared in [Travels With Charley](... “I also knew from thirty years of my profession that I cannot write hot on an event. It has to ferment. I must do what a friend calls “mule it over” for a time before it goes down." I will be in Riverside, California through Christmas drinking too much at a cocktail bar I've taken a liking to called Wolfskill. After Christmas, I will either return to San Diego for a time or journey up north via Highway 1. Admittedly, I wish I had a bit more clarity two weeks out from 30th birthday. But, as I've mentioned previously: these days, no two days are the same. By [Cole Schafer](=)​ P.S. For more pretty words, follow along on [Instagram](. --------------------------------------------------------------- One true sentence A mini-course on simple, concise writing ​ The past few weeks I've been hard at work on [One True Sentence](=), a mini writing course comprised of seven lessons parsed out over seven consecutive days. It's entirely free––all you need to take the course is a solid email address, a can-do attitude and 10-minutes of uninterrupted quiet time each day. [Enroll now](=) --------------------------------------------------------------- This week on [Dreamland](​ Honey Nut Cheerios with independent artist, Vwillz. Vwillz is a burgeoning independent artist coalescing Hip-Hop, Pop, Country and Alternative Rock to birth a truly original sound that's garnered millions of streams across Spotify and TikTok. Over a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, we talk about the relationship between boredom and creativity, hypochondria, the nuances of language, the spiritual genius of Mike Stud, why you should never attempt to wrestle the mind, grade-school freestyles and how to think about your art like stocks. [Listen here]( Now streaming... [[youtube]​]([[spotify]​]([[apple]​]( --------------------------------------------------------------- Career advice from Leonard Cohen I was always working steady but I never called it art ​ In the poem turned song [Happens To The Heart](=), Leonard Cohen writes... "I was always working steady but I never called it art." Creatives can build a career following the advice in that line. It's especially important to treat a creative profession like manual labor or a physical trade of some kind, that requires you to show up each day, at a specific time you've promised yourself––and get to work. The moment we start calling ourselves writers, artists, painters and musicians, we risk falling victim to the false assumption that great creative work is a side-effect of inspiration rather than commitment––it's not. We pen poems, paint canvases and write songs in much the same way that a plumber fixes a broken commode or a carpenter lays down a hardwood floor. We show up. We try like hell to be on time. And, we get to work. [Never call it art]( --------------------------------------------------------------- A beautiful, drug-infused friendship Johnny Depp and Hunter S. Thompson walk into a bar ​ --------------------------------------------------------------- This newsletter––and the batshit crazy story you're about to read––is brought to you by [Schedule35,]() a trust psilocybin brand that makes micro-dosing magic mushrooms easy. [Schedule35]() is gifting The Process readers 15% off their first order with code “dreamland” at checkout. --------------------------------------------------------------- The first time Johnny Depp met Hunter S. Thompson was at the Woody Creek Tavern in Aspen, Colorado. Depp was seated at the back of the crowded pub when he suddenly heard a terrible ruckus as the sea of drunkards parted and in walked Thompson wielding a taser and screaming, "Out of my way, you bastards!" Thompson then walked up to Depp and said, "My name is Hunter, how do you do?" An hour or so later the two were back at Thompson's house aiming a 12-gauge shotgun at a propane tank filled with nitro-glycerine. After the explosion, the two became fast friends. Over a multi-decade long friendship the pair pissed on Depp's star in West Hollywood, interviewed Fidel Castro, partied with sex dolls and consumed just about every drug imaginable. When it came time for Johnny Depp to play the role of Hunter S. Thompson in the film-adaption of [Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas](, the actor moved into the legendary writer's basement and shaved the crown of his head. Years later, after Thompson took his own life, Depp celebrated his friend by fulfilling his lifelong wish of being shot out of a 150-foot cannon to the soundtrack of Bob Dylan's [Mr. Tambourine Man](=). [Stop trippin']() --------------------------------------------------------------- [[twitter]​]()[[instagram]​]([[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2023 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205