You are allowed
On not waiting to be chosen or 'know enough'. My permission slip to write about nature.
Hello you,
How are you doing as we cross that threshold into a new season? Here in Lancashire, that ‘first-day-of-school’ smell arrived and then promptly flipped to blue skies and warm sunshine.
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
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?
“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 🌿🍃
I loved this and it was also so relatable. I’ve talked myself out of so many things that I’m not even able to count them. But I feel this throbbing in my chest lately, which I normally would take for the fear, but now I feel it’s the feeling of not wanting to wait anymore. Of not caring what will people say. Let them talk, let them think whatever they want to think. They would probably do that even when I was ready and ‘an expert’. That’s what people do.
You ARE a nature writer. You’re already writing about it! And beautifully too. Such a lovely read and reminder to just begin 🌱