Explore 🍃 Nature Writing
April 13, 2018
In graduate school, I took a literature class with John Hales called Nature & Spiritual Essays. While Connie Hales was my thesis chair, and undoubtedly the writer who most affected my aesthetic, John Hales’ class truly helped me reframe the world, at a microbiological to astronomical scale.
I’ve been meaning to explore nature writing again, especially now that I’m writing science fiction. I think it’s important to remember nature is what gives us our wondrous truths; we must not only look at the stars, but at the fish, forests, and cellular kingdoms within our bodies.
Listing 💖 7 Places to Find Nature Writing
- Nature Writing, an online magazine
- Poetry, particularly my of The Collected Poems of Denise Levertov
- Also, Gregory Orr’s Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved
- Emerson, Thoreau, and Muir are still in my bookshelves
- Nature-man stories buried within myself, leaning on Writing Wild as my spiritual guide
- The Best Science & Nature Writing 2018
If I could have a do-over on my MFA, I’d specialize in nonfiction instead of fiction, then I’d pick John Hales’ brain for nature writing technique. But I’m confident I can still walk that path, on my own; I know more than enough about writing to self-improve indefinitely.
Target Words 😍 Wedding Registry 😘 Zen Artist Board
I just like the ephemeral nature of drawing nature with ink; the relaxation of bonding with nature through line and form; the idea of erasing the image, once I’m done with the meditation, sounds like a true joy, and could also save on paper; regardless, I’d like to practice this ink meditation more often, and maybe even create a fictional character out of the experience.
I’ve already been splattering neon-colored acrylic inks into a handmade book, then trying to interpret the lines, as a meditation every day; it helps me reconnect with Oneness.
½ Fiction 🐔 Our Menagerie
I wake up with my fiance, with the sun. Our chickens cluck eagerly in the cooler shade of their pen; later, the heat will move in. For now, I want the chickens to run around, trailing 💩 fertilizer across the garden.
We grow tomatoes, strawberries, cucumbers, peppers, and loofah. I worry about our blood orange tree. Since I’m using grow bags, we let the weeds take over the earth beneath. The compost heap is frighteningly full of chicken grub. Our drip system is plugged into a timer, so watering is easy.
Our six cats all have access to the catio, where they can watch me garden, meow-chirp at the chickens, and lose their feline minds. DeeJAY, our youngest, can taste bird just looking at them. Tom Selleck and Gregg Allman are also fairly young, while Buttercup is middle-aged, and Philosopher Jones and Phoebe are our seniors.
Inside, we have Meeper and Bozo, our Meyer’s parrot and painted conure, who keep me company while I’m typing throughout the day. Then there are the three aquariums in the living room, each occupied by a betta fish, as well as an assortment of magical crawdads, livebearers, snails, neon tetras, and an albino bristlenose pleco.
Someday, we’ll have more plants. We’re beyond our mammal capacity, though; that’s why we can’t have a dog. And our bird slash reptile capacity is maxed by feathered friends.
The first child who asks for their own pet is getting a chinchilla.
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