Category Archives: Writing about the Environment

WRITING ABOUT TREES

Posted on by Posted in Anecdote, Personal Writing, Setting as Character, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing about the Environment, Writing about the natural world, Writing about Young Children, Writing Inspiration 2 Comments

Writing Practice and Meeting up with Your Muse

Writing Leap #76

Writing About Trees

Hi Writers,
 
My writing muse, the dancer Isadora Duncan, continues to twirl softly in my imagination. I’m thrilled by her passion to stay true to her own “Isadora” song, to nurture it, to love it, and then express it in dance.
 
Isadora now keeps company, however, with more of my muses: everything that lives and grows and coexists outside, sheltered by the sky. I have always been in awe of the natural world and now I seek out trees, flowers, shorelines and woodland paths to inspire me. They speak a non-human language. Sometimes I draw them first before writing.
 
Do you love farmlands, leopards, hummingbirds? A fleeting feeling of recognition and connection can morph into a page or pages of writing. For a writer there is nothing more soul-satisfying, right?

I sat for a long time in front of a very old scraggly beech tree in the hush of a grassy glen. The scene and the moment were protected by a low stone wall that looked more ancient than the tree. After awhile a little girl popped into my imagination. Here she is.

         Annie ran and ran deeper into the woods, letting the tears fall that she had scrunched behind her eyes all morning. It was her ninth birthday and Mama was in the hospital.

         She found her tree, so, so tall. She looked up and felt the comfort of the sunlight peeking through its leaves and branches. Her tree must have been here a long, long time, she thought. It was a grandpa tree—bark peeling off, branches that hugged each other, as if they were holding each other up.

         A little beetle landed on Annie’s arm ever so gently. She looked into its tiny eyes. “I love you, little beetle.” She couldn’t help herself.

         A rustle of the wind brought the beetle’s words to Annie. “I know you are sad,” he seemed to say. “I’m sad sometimes too. But you know what I do?”

         “What?” Maggie whispered. She didn’t think it at all strange that the beetle was talking to her. Or that she understood him.

         “I climb on the old stone wall over there, clear to the top,” he said. “And I feel better. The wall cradles me in a kind way.” The beetle shifted positions on Annie’s arm and went on. “Then I climb up the stem of that yellow buttercup by your tree and rest in the middle of its petals. I can tell the buttercup loves that I’m there.” He paused. “Then I look around and notice all the different shades of green leaves that I see in this clearing—bright green, yellow-green, dark, dark green almost black, and I feel the leaves, big ones, pointy ones, raggedy ones, all sending me comfort. They like me.” The beetle turned its eyes towards Annie’s face. “And most important of all I beam love back to them.” The beetle showed his wings and started to fly away. “And when I go back to my home under the tree roots I may still have some sadness but I know I’m not alone.”

         Annie watched the beetle land on a bent blade of grass. Right next to her worries about Mama, she made room in her heart for the comfort of the grandpa beech tree, the protection of the old stone wall, and the friendliness of the butterflies dancing around the soft-colored wildflowers.

Happy Writing Outdoors Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Annie’s Grandpa Tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A sweet book for children and grown-ups

WRITERS AND THE ENVIRONMENT

Posted on by Posted in Anecdote, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing about the Environment, Writing Emotional Moments, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Vignette 1 Comment

Writing Practice and Meeting up with your Muse

Writing Leap #68

Hi Writers,

Delve into how your character relates to the natural world and see how you can evoke deeper aspects of his personality. Maybe he’s an obsessive recycler, a passion that comes from his relationship with his mother who refused to recycle anything. Or maybe your character scoffs at the idea of global warming because she’s a very conservative thinker. As with other grand issues like religion, love relationships, power struggles, your character’s take on the environment can reveal much about how he maneuvers through your story.

Here’s mine.

Gilly was happy to be an assistant counselor at Junior Environmentalists Camp for a hundred reasons. She loved that the campers and staff picked their way through the woods like she did, breathing in the oxygen offered by the trees, breathing out carbon dioxide to send back to them. She loved using electric lights and computers sparingly. She loved teaching her little campers not to pick the wildflowers. “Enjoy them where they grow! Aren’t they beautiful?” She was part of a huge commitment to revere the environment and the feeling of belonging to this little community assured her that she measured up, that she was on the right side of things and that consequently she was an appealing person.

Gilly also loved Jake, a fellow counselor. They shared the same birthday, July 29, when they both turned fifteen. They gave each other “Surviving in the Wilderness” manuals for presents. They had both read The Legacy of Luna, The Story of a Tree, a Woman and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods.

But Gilly had a shameful secret that burned in her stomach and chest. She was terrified of bugs. She couldn’t help it and she was in constant fear that some one would find out. One day in the woods with Jake and their campers she felt something crawling up her leg. Ugh! Involuntarily she slapped off a large, green, pokey thing, Ugh, and then squished it with her sneaker. She looked down. It squirmed. Then it didn’t. Dead.

“Oh,” she said. She felt her mortification pop out all over her. “I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“That was bad, Gilly,” Jake said backing away from her. “What did that bug ever do to you?”

He turned his back and walked away. The campers followed him. First they looked at Gilly in disbelief, then, Gilly could sense it, with disdain.

She was a fraud. For sure Jake thought so now. She had no business being in this camp. She was shallow compared to every other person here. Gilly flushed red and wished she could melt right into the leafy path and disappear.

End

Note: I could never just leave this story here. I would have Gilly find her gumption and most of all her sense of self-worth some other way and she would triumph inside herself!

Happy summer writing everyone. A perfect time to find your muse outdoors somewhere.

Autograph

LINKING THE ARTS

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Julia Butterfly Hill lived on a platform in a redwood tree for 738 days to protest the clearcutting of a grove of giant redwood trees in California. And then she wrote about it.