About Me
Laura Munson
At the Intersection of Heart, Mind, and Craft
I have lived in close relationship with language for most of my life. Not as a product. Not as a performance. But as a way of paying attention—to myself, to others, and to what is true.
I call it “heart language.” I have written through grief, transition, anonymity, and acclaim. Through quiet decades and public ones. Through seasons when the work moved easily, and seasons when it asked everything of me and I could barely show up. But I did. In one way or another, I have never abandoned my writing. In many ways, it’s how I “breathe.”
Heart Language
What I have learned is simple, and exacting: Writing is not something we do to arrive somewhere. It is something we do to stay in relationship—with ourselves and with the world. I have said for years: “I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.” I have also said this: “Writing is my practice, my prayer, my way of life, and sometimes my way to life.”
Writer
I have been writing all my life. In 1988 I decided to devote my life to writing. It felt like a calling. Maybe grandiose, but all truth.
I have written novels, memoirs, short stories, personal essays, and screenplays. Some of my work has reached millions of readers. Some of it I have held quietly. Both matter to me. It has to be about loving the process more than anything.
My writer’s statement is this: “I write to shine a light on a dim or otherwise pitch-black corner to provide relief for myself and others.” I believe that we write first to bridge to ourselves, and through that bridge, to our shared human experience.
Whether a piece is widely read or never leaves a drawer, the task remains the same in any genre: to tell the truth.
Human
I care deeply about writing. But I care more deeply about writers.
I believe writing belongs alongside the practices that help us remain whole—like walking, resting, listening, and noticing what matters. Not as therapy. Not as self-help. But as a way of staying honest and alive.
As a human, I try to give myself permission to be exactly who I am—on the page and off. I extend that same permission to the people with whom I work.
Teacher
I became a teacher through listening and paying attention—both in my writing and through leading my Haven Writing Retreats.
I believe in teaching and writing from the inside out. I believe in experiencing your way through to your writerly wisdom. At my Haven Writing Retreats, we roll up our sleeves and experience the work.
I believe craft is a form of care. That structure can be a kindness. And that playfulness—especially with difficult material—is not optional, but necessary.
Why I Do This Work
I walk the same path I invite you to walk—one shaped by discernment, integrity, and respect for the long arc of the creative life. I do not promise outcomes I cannot control. I do not rush work that needs time. And I do not confuse success with completion. In fact, I don’t like the word “success” anywhere near the act of writing. Completion is what I’m after for myself, and my clients.
I do this work because I believe in what becomes possible when people are held in care while they discover what it is that they truly have to say in whatever genre—for their eyes only, or for the ultimate reader.
A Living Practice
My writing, teaching, and retreats are not separate endeavors. They are expressions of the same practice, lived in different forms.
Whether you encounter this work on the page, in conversation, or in the Montana woods, the invitation is the same:
To slow down.
To pay attention.
To stay in relationship with what matters.
To believe in what it is that you really have to say, what’s behind your words, what’s in-between them, and then what’s left in their wake.
Learn About Haven Writing Programs
Click below to learn more about the Haven Program that aligns with your writing journey. Please keep in mind that, except for the Haven Nest Online Community, each Haven Writing Retreat is a prerequisite to the next. All Haven Alumni start with Haven 1.
