I didn’t expect my songwriting to change on day one. But it did.

I attended the Andrea Stolpe songwriting camp with 22 other souls in November 2024. Before I even picked up an instrument or met my co-writers, Andrea’s opening lecture hit me right in the gut.

She spoke about the power of free writing and the concept of “restraint”—the resistance to fill space and the quiet strength of repetition.

But my favorite insight was this: don’t panic when ideas slip away.

“New ideas will always come,” she said. “I know this from experience.”

That one thought was enough to loosen my grip on the creative process and help me settle into something deeper.

Andrea reminded us that songwriting isn’t something you need to master before you begin. It’s a way of being—not some abstract, academic puzzle, but a living part of how we express who we are.

That was a big shift for me—and a needed one at this point in my journey.

If you’d like to experience the power of Andrea’s teaching, check out this FREE TWO HOUR Class she put on Youtube. It is a rich group of lessons, many of which she covered at her camp.

A Shift in Taste and Trust

Later that day, I joined my first co-write of the camp and got a surprise lesson in my own musical identity. We were shaping a song, and I found myself instinctively steering us into a minor key. One of my co-writers pushed toward a more optimistic major-key vibe—but the third person and I wanted to keep it strange and shadowy. That’s when I realized: I like the darker stuff. I want edge and mood and tension.

Growing up in the Seattle area in the 90s I have always been drawn to music that carries weight, substance, and an edge —whether it’s emotional honesty, a subtle darkness, or a spiritual texture. But I hadn’t named that clearly before. This co-write helped me see it more clearly.

In co-writing, I learn more about what I truly care about. If something isn’t working for me, it is enlightening and helps me learn about my own tastes and preferences.

What Great Teaching Feels Like

Notebook that says Andrea Stolpe writer-to-writer from Stolpe's songwriting camp — Andrea gave us a cool lyric journal including lessons and prompts for new songs.

One of the most memorable parts of the camp happened when I shared a draft of a new song I was stuck on in front of the entire group. After I played it, Andrea didn’t offer a flood of critique. She simply asked:

“Where are you struggling? What do you need help with?”

What a breath of fresh air. In most songwriting feedback settings, I find that people (who are also artists!) offer free advice—usually about lyrics or "meaning." But often, that’s not where the issue lies. My challenges are usually structural: Is this chorus working musically? How do I transition to the bridge? Andrea has a gift for meeting you exactly where you are and helping you get unstuck.

She’s not just a brilliant songwriter—she’s a masterful teacher, listener, and coach. And for someone like me—who’s also a speaker on self-doubt—seeing her model that kind of presence and restraint gave me new tools I can bring to my own coaching and music practice.

It’s Only An Effin Song!

Andrea introduced us to the idea of “yes, and…”—borrowed from improv. Rather than shooting down someone’s idea or redirecting it, you build on it. That one rule shifted how I collaborate. It's a small thing, but it changes the room.

And perhaps my favorite quote from Andrea during camp:

“It’s just a f**ing song.”*

Not in a dismissive way—but in a freeing one. Let go. Stop treating the song like a sacred artifact. Collaborate, have fun, try things. It's not precious. It’s process.

That mindset is one of the creative confidence tools I’ve carried forward. It lets you be prolific without pressure.

Lyric Discovery Through Sound

One morning, Andrea guided us through a free-writing session with ambient music playing in the background. It sounds simple but I have always written lyrics while listening to the song I’m working on or in silence. Having some music without words playing the background was really helpful for me to explore new lyrical territory. I wasn’t thinking—I was feeling. The words came from a more emotional, dreamlike place.

We did this kind of writing daily—10 to 15 minutes with a specific prompt. Simple, powerful, and grounding. That practice was an unexpected gift.

My Camp C0-Write “St. Catastrophe”

St. Catastrophe album cover featuring a boat sailing by a cathedral — St. Catastrophe comes out on July 4. We wrote this song together at camp in just 3 hours!

At camp, I finished a song with two other songwriters called “St. Catastrophe”. It comes out July 4th, and it’s a piece I’m proud of—not just for how it sounds, but because it emerged from a space of deep listening, creative trust, and shared vulnerability. It was also a letting go process. I sang the bridge at camp but on the final recording defered to the wonderful talents of Chris Sahan to deliver the vocal. I found complete joy playing drums, organ and co-writing the song.

🎧 Listen here → (insert link when live)

You can check out a larger body of the work I’ve been creating at my Bandcamp page or on the streaming networks.

My first album, Meet Me In the Mourning was written to help me work with grief differently and to soothe the disorienting feeling of loss. In creating this music, I learned that I don’t need to fix the grief—I just need to write through it.

two men and two women sitting around a fire pit, one is playing acoustic guitar — In the evenings, we’d play our songs around the campfire.

The Value of Community

The relationships I formed at Andrea’s camp have lasted longer and gone deeper than any other camp I’ve attended. I’m still in touch with many of them and discussing ongoing collaborations. All levels of musicians and writers were kind, generous, and supportive. We weren’t competing. We were growing alongside each other.

I also received a ton of positive feedback on my voice and writing. It reminded me of what creative communities should be.

That realization bled into the rest of my life. I now see local opportunities like local music nights at Mosaic not just as gigs, but as spaces to connect, uplift, and belong. Communities of musicians can help prop each other up and stay inspired. It’s also deepened my work as a coach.

Songwriting After 50 (and Why Camp is Worth It)

If you're wondering if a songwriting camp is worth it—especially if you're later in life—here’s what I’ll say: Yes. A thousand times yes.

We’ll spend $1,500 on a beach weekend or a gear upgrade. But this? This is something you’ll remember forever. It fills the tank creatively, emotionally, and spiritually. Here’s a link to Andrea’s next retreats.

I’m in my 50s, and I’ve been releasing one song a month (most months, let’s be real). This experience helped me reframe what it means to commit to myself as an artist. I’ll keep songwriting after 50 and beyond. In fact, it’s the perfect time to reflect.

Emerging Musician Coalition

Andrea recently launched an online program called EMC that you can join at any time. This coalition is an incredible resource for around $100/month (current pricing, less if you sign up for a year). Weekly lessons, feedback sessions, music theory, lyric deep dives—all from people who know their craft. Compared to a college course, it’s a bargain. I signed up right away and plan to stay involved.

Re-Treat Yo Self!

Before I attended camp, I was a little intimidated. I’d seen Andrea’s videos online—she’s articulate, academic, and sharp. I thought, maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I’d be laughed out of the room.

But what I found was the opposite: encouragement, connection, and a deepening sense of self. Even when I sang off-key, people listened. Even when my ideas were rough, people leaned in.

That’s what this community gave me—and why I’m so grateful to Andrea, to the fellow campers, and to my wife Amber, who supports me in carving out time for this work. It's not just music. It's medicine.

If you’re a songwriter at any level, I encourage you to go to a camp, join EMC, or deepen your roots into your local songwriting community. Songs don’t come from precious perfectionism; they come from a supported presence and steady commitment to yourself.