Hattie, thank you so much for this. I'm really glad that stayed with you. I hope it's been a useful preoccupation. I think about these questions all the time. In a way, you, me, any writer can't help but write now about a summer that's framed by the Climate and Ecological Emergency. Even if you object to this, there's the strong likelihood that this is how your summer will be read in the future - perhaps the very near future. I believe writers using whatever platform they have to say this clearly (that this is the fight of our time), even when their fiction seems unrelated (say, it's set in 1493) is extremely important. Writers Rebel (thanks for the link) is organizing a slow walk in central London on October 29th as a way for all writers to show their support. Any of your readers would be very welcome to attend. It will be friendly, non-arrestable, non-scary and a great way to connect. Best way to learn more is subscribe to the Writers Rebel newsletter - https://writersrebel.com/
Your post really hit home for me. I'm constantly chewing over how the whole climate mess relates to my writing journey. With all the craziness going on, I've seriously wondered if I should ditch my current path for something that feels more hands-on and impactful.
Lately, my experiment has been trying to sneak climate reality into my stories without sounding too preachy.
It's comforting to know I'm not alone :p Thanks for the great food for thought.
Something I thought was quite interesting at the Edinburgh Fringe this year was that there seemed to be a few “near future” plays which were really set in the present— because the world now includes things that were in the category of “science fiction” or “things that will happen at some point far away,” and I’m not sure we know how to accommodate that? What you’re saying about climate reminds me of this; like a break between “the present” as it’s written about and “the present” as it really is
Thanks for this Hattie, thought provoking as always. I love your cousin’s comment! I reckon it sums up summer for us here in the UK to a tee (is that the right spelling? (tea/tee?)
I just read/audio listened to Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman, and one of the many things he talked about is picking one cause, rather than none, because there are so many causes to worry about. And I was thinking about the climate crisis and thinking perhaps that would be my “cause”, so this post feels very timely! Looking forward to Sunday! I always seem to be busy, but I am going to put this one in my diary! X
Funny to see your post now. I wrote a post about the climate the other day I’ll be posting in a couple of weeks. I’ve never written about it before and purposely shied away from it. Thinking I do t know enough to speak on the subject. But this summer that’s changed for me. So I’m dipping my pen in those climate waters.
I've just been grappling with this very issue in preparing my memoir submission for a competition for nature writers... as a life writer!
I think that what you say about ensuring that our imagined/desired/remembered weather doesn't appear on the page at the expense of our authentic experience.
I also think it's important to find ways to address the specifics of the climate emergency from our own pretty cossetted environment. In one scene from the memoir, I detail watching two diseased ash trees being felled in my front garden.
They'd stood over 160+ years of happenings in this house (of course, through a settled period in our climate) only for an invisible southern spore to infect them from the inside out in a way that wasn't apparent until it was too late. This chimes with what I explore in relation to my own experience of health anxiety (really!)
Also, growing up on my family's sawmill, I was brought up with the internalised belief that trees were for felling and burning so this incident allows for reflection on how, now, I'd had possibly a disproportionate reaction to the fate of the ash trees. Like I'd have done anything to atone for those 'sins' of the past.
I love your cousin’s wistful ‘I bet it’s lovely here in summer’ … spoken in summer! I’m writing from Santa Monica, California where we are lucky to have a sea breeze that usually keeps us cooler than our Los Angeles neighbors (Erm, neighbours) but even here we’ve been accumulating unexpected ‘weather’. And since my novel opens in a backyard in summer, your post is well timed. Have you read Ann Patchett’s glorious Tom Lake? Climate change isn’t the theme of the novel but it’s folded within its pages because, yes, the impact is being felt everywhere.
A lovely, provocative question, especially this week when we are having our first blissful weather where the air is not smoky from Canada wildfires or constant rain. I thought back to the novel just being published this fall and realized that my weather in it was definitely extreme but not unusually so for the northern mountains of New England in late autumn. Good reminder, though, to consider this when writing. Thank you for the post--and great photos, btw. I had to get some professionally taken for my book launch and I know it can be harrowing.
Hattie, thanks for sharing what stayed with you about writing about the climate crisis even when we're not writing about the climate crisis. Like some other readers mentioned, I have felt unqualified to address it, if that makes any sense. But your post showed me that I am writing about it, for example when situating characters within California's new season of fire season, but I haven't been doing it on purpose. I've been ruminating on your question since you posed it, and perhaps I will write about our climate on purpose now, especially when I am writing about something else. Thank you for opening the aperture on writing about climate and allowing me to see it in different light.
Hattie, thank you so much for this. I'm really glad that stayed with you. I hope it's been a useful preoccupation. I think about these questions all the time. In a way, you, me, any writer can't help but write now about a summer that's framed by the Climate and Ecological Emergency. Even if you object to this, there's the strong likelihood that this is how your summer will be read in the future - perhaps the very near future. I believe writers using whatever platform they have to say this clearly (that this is the fight of our time), even when their fiction seems unrelated (say, it's set in 1493) is extremely important. Writers Rebel (thanks for the link) is organizing a slow walk in central London on October 29th as a way for all writers to show their support. Any of your readers would be very welcome to attend. It will be friendly, non-arrestable, non-scary and a great way to connect. Best way to learn more is subscribe to the Writers Rebel newsletter - https://writersrebel.com/
Your post really hit home for me. I'm constantly chewing over how the whole climate mess relates to my writing journey. With all the craziness going on, I've seriously wondered if I should ditch my current path for something that feels more hands-on and impactful.
Lately, my experiment has been trying to sneak climate reality into my stories without sounding too preachy.
It's comforting to know I'm not alone :p Thanks for the great food for thought.
Something I thought was quite interesting at the Edinburgh Fringe this year was that there seemed to be a few “near future” plays which were really set in the present— because the world now includes things that were in the category of “science fiction” or “things that will happen at some point far away,” and I’m not sure we know how to accommodate that? What you’re saying about climate reminds me of this; like a break between “the present” as it’s written about and “the present” as it really is
Thanks for this Hattie, thought provoking as always. I love your cousin’s comment! I reckon it sums up summer for us here in the UK to a tee (is that the right spelling? (tea/tee?)
I just read/audio listened to Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman, and one of the many things he talked about is picking one cause, rather than none, because there are so many causes to worry about. And I was thinking about the climate crisis and thinking perhaps that would be my “cause”, so this post feels very timely! Looking forward to Sunday! I always seem to be busy, but I am going to put this one in my diary! X
Funny to see your post now. I wrote a post about the climate the other day I’ll be posting in a couple of weeks. I’ve never written about it before and purposely shied away from it. Thinking I do t know enough to speak on the subject. But this summer that’s changed for me. So I’m dipping my pen in those climate waters.
I've just been grappling with this very issue in preparing my memoir submission for a competition for nature writers... as a life writer!
I think that what you say about ensuring that our imagined/desired/remembered weather doesn't appear on the page at the expense of our authentic experience.
I also think it's important to find ways to address the specifics of the climate emergency from our own pretty cossetted environment. In one scene from the memoir, I detail watching two diseased ash trees being felled in my front garden.
They'd stood over 160+ years of happenings in this house (of course, through a settled period in our climate) only for an invisible southern spore to infect them from the inside out in a way that wasn't apparent until it was too late. This chimes with what I explore in relation to my own experience of health anxiety (really!)
Also, growing up on my family's sawmill, I was brought up with the internalised belief that trees were for felling and burning so this incident allows for reflection on how, now, I'd had possibly a disproportionate reaction to the fate of the ash trees. Like I'd have done anything to atone for those 'sins' of the past.
Helpful perspective about writing about the climate emergency even if your area of focus is something different!
I love your cousin’s wistful ‘I bet it’s lovely here in summer’ … spoken in summer! I’m writing from Santa Monica, California where we are lucky to have a sea breeze that usually keeps us cooler than our Los Angeles neighbors (Erm, neighbours) but even here we’ve been accumulating unexpected ‘weather’. And since my novel opens in a backyard in summer, your post is well timed. Have you read Ann Patchett’s glorious Tom Lake? Climate change isn’t the theme of the novel but it’s folded within its pages because, yes, the impact is being felt everywhere.
THANK YOU FOR THIS. This is so relevant right now. I just happen to be teaching a fiction workshop this fall on climate change fiction. sliding-fee scale! https://www.jeannineouellette.com/generative-climate-fiction
Also saw and signed up for this fun one-day workshop on weaving the climate theme into fiction: https://www2.societyofauthors.org/event/professional-development-weaving-climate-change-themes-into-fiction/
A lovely, provocative question, especially this week when we are having our first blissful weather where the air is not smoky from Canada wildfires or constant rain. I thought back to the novel just being published this fall and realized that my weather in it was definitely extreme but not unusually so for the northern mountains of New England in late autumn. Good reminder, though, to consider this when writing. Thank you for the post--and great photos, btw. I had to get some professionally taken for my book launch and I know it can be harrowing.
Hello. Yes, it has been postponed until the New Year. If you'd like to be in touch about it, email me directly - t.litt@soton.ac.uk.
Hattie, thanks for sharing what stayed with you about writing about the climate crisis even when we're not writing about the climate crisis. Like some other readers mentioned, I have felt unqualified to address it, if that makes any sense. But your post showed me that I am writing about it, for example when situating characters within California's new season of fire season, but I haven't been doing it on purpose. I've been ruminating on your question since you posed it, and perhaps I will write about our climate on purpose now, especially when I am writing about something else. Thank you for opening the aperture on writing about climate and allowing me to see it in different light.