Hello you,
I’m writing to you full of a cold with a candle flickering. Autumn is autumning here in Lancashire, UK. How are you?
I am hungry for nature writing at the moment. I’m currently having a lovely time flicking through poetry books and reading Late Light by Michael Malay (I never knew I could find eels so interesting), Bird Boy by Catherine Bruton and Radical Rest by Evie Muir.1
I also feel drawn to write about nature myself and I remembered this letter I wrote previously. Funnily enough it was almost exactly this time last year.
The season has come back around to share these words again.
September 2023
I’ve been thinking about that sensation of a new idea taking root, of feeling drawn to explore through creativity.
But how often do we slap an idea away before it’s even had a chance to land? How often do we talk ourselves out of it before we’ve even allowed a dot of ink onto the page?
This is exactly what I’ve been doing.
There is a giant theme I’m longing to dig into through my writing. But I’ve realised, I’ve not been letting myself.
Insidious stories have been whispering beneath the surface.
“You don’t know enough to write about that”
“You’re not qualified”
“You have nothing to add”
“You haven’t read enough of the key texts”
You know what I’d love to write about?
Nature.
There.
I want to write about;
The quickening of my heartbeat when I see huge russet-brown wings swoop out of the corner of my eye.
The salmon-dawn sky when I sit outside drinking my morning Yorkshire Tea serenaded by robins, wrens, great tits and a distant peacock. How the chorus crescendos and quietens throughout the year.
The fellsides, woods and marshlands that, as of a year ago, are my neighbourhood.
I want to write about truly seeing wildlife for the very first time. About starting from page one in the field guides and finally connecting names with what I’m looking at.
But there are specific people who write about these things aren’t there? They are called Nature Writers.
Google ‘what is a nature writer?’ and an intimidating mosaic of names and portraits appears on your screen.
I’ve barely heard of most of them, never mind read their seminal works.
I can only assume that they all have credentials, that they’ve been immersed in nature since childhood. Their parents were probably naturalists, too. Their collective minds are an encyclopaedia of species and seasons and trends. Added to this, they are lyrical, poetic, profound writers. They know the conventions of the genre. Their stories and calls to action are rooted in the land they write about.
And then here’s me, sitting at the window with my children’s guide to British birds.
Who the flip do I think I am to write about the natural world?
A fair-weather friend who has let birds, trees and animals smudge insignificantly into the background of life for thirty-odd years, that’s who.
No, this isn’t for you, love.
But hark! Pause. Stay still for a moment.
Do you hear that? Tune in.
It’s the same old inner critic and the same old stories. It’s the same fear trying to protect you from the pain of rejection, getting it wrong or being found out.
Ha. I hear you!
That was a close one. I almost didn’t notice the whispers. I almost went back to postponing.
SO, this is my plan moving forward.
The thoughts are inevitable. When they flit in, I’ll notice them. I’ll say hello, maybe write about them in my journal and then I’ll go ahead and clomp through the mud regardless.
This is my permission slip:
I can write about nature.
In fact, no one else in the world has the precise experiences, ideas and thoughts about the natural world as me. There is a Janelle shaped gap in the nature writing canon.
In a serendipitous moment, one of the aforementioned nature writers of our time appeared on my Spotify homepage this week in a special episode of her podcast; The Stubborn Light of Things. (I was late to the party, but Melissa Harrison delighted thousands during 2020’s lockdown with her narrated walks around her local area describing the changing seasons and sharing the sounds of her wildlife neighbours).
Was there a more perfect time to hear these words in my ears? (You can find the episode here)
“A lot of nature writing and nature TV – it makes people seem like experts because they’ve been able to go and look something up.
“When I write my column…what I’ve actually done is gone ‘oh my god there’s a bird and I don’t know what it is!’. I’ve managed to take a photo or ask someone else… And all of that gets left out. You get the feeling that everyone who knows about nature is an expert…and I think that becomes a barrier for other people…I try to let it be as messy as I can.”
Melissa Harrison
Thanks, Melissa!
Now that I’ve got my permission slip, I’m excited to get going. That seedling of inspiration is growing roots, leaves and branches. There are infinite directions I could go in. It’s time to discover my own wild stories.
What about you?
Have you unwittingly talked yourself out of that thing? Are you waiting until you ‘know enough’?
It’s time to write your permission slip. What will yours say?
If you fancy sharing it below I’d be honoured to see it.
Janelle x
P.S Here are some nature-y Substacks which I really appreciate 🌿🍃
The Nature Notice Board Newsletter
These are bookshop.org affiliate links. If you happened to purchase via this link I’d get a few pence at no extra cost to you
Thank you Janelle. All it takes to be qualified to write about nature is wanting to, doing it, and paying attention. Nature is a common denominator we all have access to; we create meaning from experiencing it in ways unique to each of us. As you write: “no one else in the world has the precise experiences, ideas and thoughts about the natural world as me.”
Thanks for such a great reminder Janelle. I felt the same caution when I started my Substack recently. Not so much about the topic, but rather having the “audacity” to think that I could WRITE.
But after lurking as a reader for a few months, I realised Substack was the perfect place for making the leap given the amazingly supportive community of creators who all encourage each other. It’s been such a great place to experiment and grow! 💕