A tale of two Inkhavens
Back in my day, everything was magical and perfect and better
The inaugural cohort
We were Inkhaven in the same way that World War I was The Great War — we did not know there would be another. Whatever Inkhaven turned out to be, we were creating it together.
Inkhaven 2 has always existed with the awareness of what came before. You all came in knowing that you were attending An Inkhaven. You had your expectations; the land had been charted. You knew that no one had ever failed to post.
The infrastructure
You kids don’t know how good you have it. An actually appealing winner’s lounge, instead of a sad, cold, starkly lit room that no one wants to be in? A shiny web portal instead of an Airtable form?? A ball pit nearly big enough for an adult??? We had none of that!
On the other hand, this makes you coddled. It makes you weak. In the first Inkhaven opening session, there was a section on the founding of Johns Hopkins University, where the first class of students showed up to an unfinished campus and planted all the trees themselves. That is what we were asked to do. We were explicitly handed ownership over our experience.
The people
We were just a ragtag group of kids. Only one of us was a parent. A couple people were in their mid-forties, but even they seemed to exist in a sort of tetherless in-between state that reads to many as youthful. I guess those are the people who come to the first instantiation of an event — the untethered. Those not afraid of devoting a month of their life to something unproven.
The people in the second cohort are, like the event itself, more established. More parents, more older people, less wildly unconventional overall. I like this in many ways — the mix of perspectives, the kids, the theater people, the women, thank god. And you guys are way better standup comedians.
The writing
The original Inkhaven was full of weirdos. We published fewer diaries and memoirs, and more fever dreams and depraved fiction. One resident’s entire opus for the month appeared to be performance art of the ravings of a madman. Many of the residents’ output was often incomprehensible to me, like word salad, but others would look at it and find something beautiful, and that was beautiful to me.
This time, people are writing words in English that I understand. They tell stories that are coherent and comprehensible, alas. I haven’t seen people experimenting as much — writing in other languages, writing songs, pushing themselves outside of their comfort zones.
The mission
At the first Inkhaven, we all owned the fact that we were the ones who had strapped ourselves into this ride. One person accidentally made a 480-word post in the first week, was tasked with double posting later that week, and never did it again. On the 25th day, someone forgot to submit the Airtable form, despite having posted at 8:30 PM. That was the only submission error.
This cohort seems to behave more as if someone is forcing you to post every day. There have already been so many slip-ups. And using LLMs to write your posts? It feels like you are fighting the project. It feels demoralizing.
The social graph
The first Inkhaven was intimate, forced inside as we were by the November cold and rain. It got dark early — we’d watch the sun set at 4:30pm, and after, we’d huddle around the fire pits. People hosted authentic relating games and circling and open mics; we got comfortable being vulnerable with each other.
This cohort feels more atomized, maybe more cliquey. More people brought their partners, and I think more people came in already having close friends in the cohort. There are people who I never see, which was less the case last time. I wouldn’t know if there’s the same night-time intimacy, since I never stay late, but I’ve heard people report they haven’t developed a real sense of closeness with anyone.
The magic
In November, no one got sick — a miracle for those of us with weak or suppressed immune systems.1 People met and sparked new friendships that quickly became beautiful and deep. There was a sense that we were building something together, forging a new path, and we never failed to post. It felt almost sacred.
By contrast, Inkhaven 2 feels like a writing retreat with a lot of cool, smart people. I know that’s partially due to my different perspectives — outside of this cohort looking in, where I was at the heart of the first. But I don’t think that fully accounts for the differences.
We’re only halfway through, though, and you’re about to be forced into proximity with each other for the next four days. Go make your own magic.
A few people arrived sick, but no one came down with anything bad during Inkhaven.
> And using LLMs to write your posts?
Somewhere in the middle of inkhaven 1 I spent a few hours attempting to write a small book-length fiction story with LLMs (but ultimately failed. it was fun, but the results were not good enough)
I salute you for your brave first-ness. Thank you for this tale, Inaugurator.