For this edition of the Papier Book Club, we’re honoured to be joined by Suleika Jaouad—Emmy Award–winning journalist, bestselling author of Between Two Kingdoms, and now, the creator of The Book of Alchemy. A luminous guide to journaling and a meditation on life’s most pressing questions, Suleika’s new book brings together the voices of over one hundred artists, writers, and visionaries to help readers navigate the messy, beautiful work of self-discovery.
Much like her writing – vulnerable, courageous, and deeply wise – Suleika’s answers offer a glimpse into the rituals, inspirations, and quiet revelations that shape her creative life.
How would you describe your writing process in five words?
Daydreaming, terror, journaling, writing, revising.
How much of your writing process happens with pen and paper?
All my first drafts happen in my journal. It’s where I can show up as my most unedited, unvarnished self and follow my intuition or a train of thought through to the end, without worrying about the outcome.
Do you have any rituals or routines that help you get into a reflective mindset?
I really love the early morning, when the world is still asleep and no one is emailing or texting or calling. That’s my most reflective, creative time. I usually start by lighting a candle, making a cup of coffee, and cracking the spine of my journal. I keep a book at hand for when I inevitably get caught in the same repetitive thoughts and need some inspiration, or I go for a walk in nature with my pups and use voice dictation to capture new ideas or insights as they come.
I also love to create a playlist of the mood I want to inhabit for whatever creative project I’m pursuing at that moment.
If you could journal from anywhere in the world, where would it be?
On the couch with a cozy blanket and my three dogs curled around me.
Are there particular writers, poets, or artists who inspire your reflective practice?
Susan Sontag, Audre Lorde, Virginia Woolf, Isabelle Eberhardt, Sylvia Plath, and Frida Kahlo. I’m drawn to their polished work but even more so to their journals because I can see them grappling with the body and its limitations and desires and consciously reflecting both on their lives and their creative processes.
Which book have you reread the most?
There are books I’ve reread in different seasons of my life—like when I was writing my memoir Between Two Kingdoms, I kept returning to Maggie Nelson’s Bluets and Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Chronology of Water because their experimentation with form and structure gave me permission to be more daring and playful with my own. But for pure reading pleasure, I have most often returned to Steinbeck’s East of Eden. It’s a book one can’t help but devour.
What advice would you give to someone who’s never journaled before but wants to start?
There’s no wrong way to journal. You can do it in lists, in sentence fragments, or in doodles. To me, it’s less important what you put on the page than building the muscle of consistency—because it’s through consistency that you start to move through the fog of your mind and quiet the inner censor and the inner critic. It’s how you get to that deeper layer: that rich fertile loam of your intuition.
How has your journaling practice evolved over the years?
I used to think of journaling only in a conventional and pretty narrow sense—writing in a pretty leatherbound notebook with a fountain pen. That practice had its own variety and evolution—for example, there were times where each morning I would jot down my daily to-do list, along with my feelings about it. (I just found an old journal like that—and wow, it contains a lot of information.) Another time, I wrote daily letters to my husband, which not only allowed us to stay connected when he was on the road playing shows (he’s a musician), but also helped me get out of my own head.
Now I’m much freer in terms of medium. I still journal with paper and pen, but I’ve also added a visual journaling component with watercolors. That’s my favorite thing about the journal: it’s capacious, it defies genre, and there are no rules. This practice is meant to serve you, so make it your own.
With over 100 contributors, what was the most surprising or powerful piece of wisdom shared with you during the process?
The Book of Alchemy has so many kernels of insight—the 100 contributors are some of the most creative people I know, not just award-winning writers and musicians, but also people who infuse creativity into every aspect of their lives. But more than one piece of wisdom, I think the most surprising and powerful takeaway for me is the value of a prompt. For a long time, I was someone who turned up my nose at the idea of journaling or writing to a prompt—because it felt prescriptive, like homework. But when you’re feeling stuck in your life, you can get stuck in the same mental ruts. To read the words of another—which in the case of The Book of Alchemy is a short essay coupled with a prompt—it always ignites something new, interesting, and unexpected, even if I don’t like that particular prompt. (I can always write about why I don’t like it, and that’s fruitful in its own way.) Being prompted is a wonderful way to twist your mind out of its usual patterns.
What’s something surprising you’ve learned about yourself through journaling?
While the particulars I write about in my journal may look different in the changing landscape that is life, I’m often wrestling with the same questions over and over again. But it’s not some Groundhog Day-esque repetition. The experience instead feels like a spiral, where I’m burrowing deeper and circling closer to some essential truth. Rather than seeking a sense of certainty, I’m living the questions, as the poet Rilke advised—and maybe someday, I’ll live my way into the answers.
What’s your most treasured piece of stationery?
I’m obsessed with office supplies and stationery, so this feels a little like picking a favorite child. But at the moment, the standout is a set of handmade cards I was gifted with an illustration of my senior hairless rescue pup Lentil on them. I could not love them more!
What do you listen to while writing?
Beethoven Blues by my husband Jon Batiste. I know I’m a bit biased, but it’s the best soundtrack for writing and life.
Want to follow Suleika’s journey—creative prompts, book updates, and glimpses into her reflective world? Find her on Instagram here.
