My friend, greetings to you on this early fall day in the pine flatwoods. Where I live in the south of Georgia, red maples have started to blush the swamp edges, and goldenrods are burning up the yellow in the world. Blue curls and meadow-beauty are in bloom.
I am pressing forward with an email newsletter so that there’s a pipeline straight from my home to yours, and I’m glad to have a direct path between us. I will only send out notices occasionally. This is my first letter.
25% off for one week
You know by now that I have a new book coming out in one month. The pub date for Wild Spectacle is Oct. 26 and the book is available to preorder now. Trinity Press is offering a 25% discount just for you, reader of this newsletter, for one week only. Here’s a link for purchases—the code is Janisse25. This offer has begun and ends at midnight Oct. 9. The place to order is here.
Virtual book launch
For the official book launch, I’ll be in conversation with the writer Kathryn Aalto. She compiled the book Writing Wild that looks deeply at nature writing by women. You may also remember a piece she did for Outside Magazine called “Women Writing about the Wild: 25 Essential Writers.” I do not know Kathryn personally yet. I think, however, given her careful scholarship and fascinating background, that she will make a fascinating partner for a conversation. She is from the US but lives in England, and I’m happy to make connections across the salt sea. If you have any questions that you’d like me to ask Kathryn, or that you want her to ask me, send them along. This event is free, although you’ll need to register in order to get the link.
I’m going overboard on this book for a few reasons.
I don't take a new book lightly. First off, books are made of trees, which (along with people) are my favorite things on earth, and a tree has to die to make a book. A book takes an incredible chunk of the earth's flesh—not simply trees but also fossil fuels to move it around, electricity at every turn, and lots of human energy and time. As much as my calling and my art is writing, I feel some shame about that. Sometimes I think we don't need any new books, no more talking, no more entertainment. We need to get busy doing what we know we have to do.
Yet I know the power of stories to transform a person, having myself been transformed by them repeatedly, and the importance of stories to changing society. Stories can make us into worse people and they can make us better. I'm all about the last half of that sentence.
This is my first nonfiction book in almost a decade. I have been writing during that time, of course, but also doing a lot of other important (to me) things. My last book was The Seed Underground in 2012, almost a decade ago, the year we adopted our daughter.
This is a book of essays written over a number of decades, a slow book, and hopefully it has mellowed and ripened enough to earn its keep. If I'm lucky it will comfort you, thrill you, hold you, inspire you, change you.
I don't take this new book lightly not only because it has been a long time coming, but because it may be my last. I hope not, but there are lots of walls & hoops & clamors & disappearances in the publishing world these days, and they seem ever thicker/higher/noisier/hungrier.
If you want your own copy, I would be honored. It's available now for preorder. I hope you have a favorite bookshop you'd like to support, and if not, you can click on one of the indie links in my Linktree, below. I hope I get to sign it for you one fine day. If you can't afford a copy or want to support a literary commons, it's very possible that your library will bring it in. If you'd like a review copy, I can arrange that.
Please know how grateful I am for it.
book tour
Please see janisseray.com for specific places and times.
Journaling Grief
During November I’ll be holding the space for you to work with the narrative of your grief. Sorrow is always a part of human existence, but we’re reckoning in this moment with the many sorrows of the pandemic as well as a frightening new level of environmental destruction. This is the place to bring those emotions. The course will run on Sunday evenings from 8-9 pm Eastern Time on Nov. 7, Nov. 14, Nov. 21, and Nov. 28. I chose this time because Sunday evenings in my home are less busy, and I hope the same is true for you, and that you can make a space for grief work and ritual. I will record the sessions in case you have to miss one, and the recording will be made available to you. We will not be discussing writing for publication. We will shining our lights on the creative power of narrative work for processing, self-care, and healing. This is a place to witness, to acknowledge, to respond, and to work on your grief. The course will cost $40, scholarships are available, and contact me if you are interested.
And a Creative Nonfiction Writing Workshop—Wilding Our Stories, Wilding Ourselves
I am offering a creative nonfiction writing class that will be conducted via Zoom on six Monday evenings in a row, Nov. 8 to Dec. 13, 7-9 pm Eastern Time. It is a blend of two essential parts of becoming a powerful writer—the practical and the mystical. Most writing classes focus on craft. We’ll dive into craft, yes, including one crazily effective and never-published schema for the narrative essay. In addition, we’ll explore the magic (there is no other word for it) that good writing requires. We’ll look at the deeper sources of our power, how to tap that power, and how to transfer it to the page. In short, we willbe wilding our stories and wilding ourselves. Most course readings will be emailed to you. You will bmme encouraged and helped to complete a longform essay during this workshop. The cost is $350. Scholarships are available--simply inquire. Spaces are not limited. Registration is happening on my website, here.