Mountain love and the craft of writing
Poetry, photographs, writing lessons, and reflections on life in Skagit County
We’ve been having the most glorious crisp sunny days here in western Skagit County, WA. Temperatures hovering around freezing in the morning, rising to 5 or 6 degrees Celsius. I haven’t got the temperature conversion to Fahrenheit down just yet but I do know 32 degrees Fahrenheit is freezing. Anyone have a tip for getting on top of this? Other immigrants from countries that went metric have mentioned they still think in Celsius.
Yesterday I sat and gazed at the mountains from a different place and wrote this poem to try and capture something of the feeling I get living in this place.
MOUNTAIN LOVE I look at the mountains and catch my breath. How to describe the feeling inside? Snow capped, majestic, distant, mesmerising. Water and trees and mountains cradle this spot. Phone snaps try to capture their essence. They beckon, beguile and bewilder me. A kind of ecstatic ache fills me when I look at the mountains, the blinding light dazzles me, so I look away, sneak small peeks at the peaks. To gaze upon them is to lose myself. Today the shapes are distant and crisp, faces potent dark and brilliant white. High above dazzling blue sky Just above, a hint of yellow, a few faint wisps of cloud. The mountains still as time. The water below moves gently with the tide. Martha’s Bay filling relentlessly, effortlessly. Tall pine trees perch on the rocky outcrops perfect symmetry of water rock and trees. At the edge of the land our certainties give way the tide sweeps the old out to sea uncovering fresh ground each time What gets washed up? The flotsam and jetsam, habits and patterns, long past their sell by date. © Juliet Fay 2025
After four months of weekly posts here on Substack, I wanted to reflect on writing.
What I’ve learned about writing. How writing has changed for me and to express gratitude for this activity that has seen me through good times and bad.
What I’ve learned about writing over the last four months
It’s okay to break rules
Writing either feels alive or dull to me. That applies to reading too. Though I suspect it’s an inside job!
Writing helps me discover more about myself, the world and my relationship to my own mind.
To write when you’re unclear and unfocused is to be vulnerable. Some may not enjoy the ramble; others will recognise their own fuzzy minds and feel at home.
To meander and digress is not right or wrong. Some days that’s how my brain works.
To share how you actually write is more authentic than drilling yourself to write in a particular way that has been designated as concise, coherent or marketable.
That said, to practice and improve the craft of writing is deeply satisfying
To let posts marinate has been deeply satisfying.
I have been trained to write for different purposes and audiences over the years. Those trainings largely focused on mechanics but there has always been a magic to writing.
When I forget myself and let the words flow, there’s a harmony that I love.
How has writing changed for me?
These days writing is all about connection. Me with me. Me with readers. Me with my surroundings. Me with other people.
Writing is like eating for me. My soul gets hungry when I’m not writing.
In 2024 I began writing an epic fantasy novel. It got interrupted by emigrating but I am back to it now. This is a whole different form of writing. It feels naughty and delicious!
Gratitude
I’m so grateful for my love of writing. It has been with me since I was a teenager and goes hand in hand with my love of reading. I’m excited to lean deeper and deeper into that love, to revel in it, to explore it, to dedicate more time and attention to it, to learn. To lose myself in it. I realise the many threads that pull me, like walking in the forest, being near water, they feed my writing and my soul.
Is there something you love but don’t quite allow yourself to fully commit to? What would happen if you did? What if you let yourself feel what you imagine you would feel if you did?
Threads that pull me
Book: The Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters. I’ve just begun this debut novel set in Maine about loss and lies and redemption. It’s a tender exploration of the perils of silence. The author is of Mi’kmaq and settler ancestry, living in the Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia, Canada. I love the way stories help me understand what is new to me. In this case the land and people of this vast continent.
If you like what you read, do press the little heart. It gives my heart a little boost. Comments and messages (now and then) encourage me and feed the well, so don’t hesitate if you feel the urge. Thank you for reading. You can direct message if you’re not a group chat kinda person (me neither) and want to explore these themes further. I’d love to hear from you.
Beautiful, Juliet! Both the images, your poem, and your reflections on writing. And thank you for encouraging me in my writing. I am signed up for my seven week course coming up soon!
Beautiful poetry and photography.
An approximate calculation from Celsius to Fahrenheit, double the Celsius number and add 30 So eg 16 C. Is 62 degrees Fahrenheit approximately