This is a beautifully written piece and neatly captures both the slightly disconcerting way beaches never quite the same from day to day (or tide to tide) as well as one the reasons I left academia almost as soon as I was qualified to enter it.
This is such a beautiful essay! I loved it! The bit about leaving academia hit home pretty hard for me right now with my role in academia having just had a bit of a migraine swarm and experienced all the other things you refer to.
Thank you, Jonathan! I'm so glad it resonated with you, although also sorry to hear that academic life is not treating you well at the moment. I'm excited to read your work - your substack looks very much up my street! Thanks so much for the recommendation 🙏
It can be difficult not to over commit. And yes I think for some it can be a wonderful career, depending on personality and institution and research area and a thousand different factors out of our control! I'm glad it's working out for you despite the challenges.
Absolutely! To be fair, the fact we take on too much is due to the incentive structure. There are SO many balls to juggle these days and so many requirements on our time. I think that’s pretty consistent across all of academia and to me it’s a major issue. My motto is “simplify simplify simplify” but it’s a slow process. I’m glad you’ve found the transition so meaningful. Your writing is wonderful.
A very wise motto! And probably the only way not to burn out in a career with so many demands. Thank you Jonathan! Looking forward to reading your pieces.
This is your second post running that has resonated with me far more than I would have imagined possible considering our very different backgrounds and locations. Your writing is a wonder to behold and I look forward to the hat trick post! 😀 P.S. Thank you for the Angie McMahon tip, really enjoying her work too.
Oh Dave this is wonderful to hear, thank you so much for the kind comment, and also for supporting me through your subscription, it's hugely appreciated! I hope you enjoy my future pieces, and so happy to have found someone my words resonate with 😊
That crab shedding is in a liminal form, and the tideline is a liminal place. In-betweens. I say the rocky shore is my natural habitat: the stone bones that change only at geological timescales, interacting with the fluxy sea that rises and falls twice a day. It's that changeability that I love so much; the tension between pattern and chaos.
resonate so strongly with much of what you have written here. I even used to live on Dartmoor before moving to the forests of Germany after a series of losses.
its very exciting to know we are only a walk way from wolf territory! ive been up close and personal with some wonderful beasts here, but not a wolf….yet! I miss Dartmoor so much, and England really, the landscape there is really very special.
'I am learning that writing is how I understand myself, and that it is also how I will find my tribe of fellow soft-skinned creatures.' I love this image, Rebecca – and your description of the crab shedding its exoskeleton. Beautiful essay, thank you.
I think it's grief that has sparked me to write again after a lapse of too many years. The feeling that life is short. That we can't take our health – and our voice – for granted. (I think of my late aunt, who was so active and capable, then felled by a stroke that literally robbed her of her voice for the last two years of her life.) We need to tell our stories while we can.
Thank you for these lovely words, Wendy, and I couldn't agree more. For those of us who feel the tug to write, I think we have to give ourselves up to it while we can. I always feel an urgency when I am writing, I think probably because of that awareness of time and endings. Grief is hard but has gifts, too x
You have upsized through the scales of elementalism, from the mid-range of Dartmoor to the Orkneys. The islands have yielded a formidable crop of writers and artists, who have delivered to those who have not ventured so far north, a sense of the weather as it wreaks sudden change upon the landscape.
Like you, I also wrote an accidental novel. During quarantine. I dug out a half-finished short story, over a decade old, and saved as an archaic WORD document, to see whether anything could be made of it. 10,000 words or thereabouts. I ended up gutting it, with the exception of the concept and one of the scenes that became a chapter in its own right. It got to a point where the text was 38,000 words. No choice other than to push on with it. Sunk cost and all that.
Predictably, the end result of me prattling across my injured computer keyboard was a novel with a peculiar structure. There is some laboured prose that I regret, but it's too late to do anything about it now. It worried me that, when people asked me what the book was about, and I couldn't tell them, until one day when I realised that it's the spiritual journey of an atheist.
When you write everyday, you realise that it changes you. The process becomes as important, if not more important than the output. It gives me a firmer footing on the world. I notice and appreciate more in life and I want for less.
In November, 2022, I wrote a 60,000 word thriller set in the Soviet Union during the 1980s. I have no knowledge of the era and, apart from acquiring a PDF of Soviet job titles, I deliberately did no research. I wanted to see what I would write at speed. The end result had a distinct three-act structure. Perhaps such a thing is embedded in our genetic memories – beginning, middle, and end.
Now I am more deliberate in my intent. I have my psychedelic pirate novel, which in a prolonged moment of hubris, I imagined I could finish inside a month, but no, not a chance. The book will be 200,000 – 250,000 words and penned in the third-person present, because I had been reading Updike, and because the story is violent in places and there is an immediacy to violence when it is framed in a present tense, as opposed to as a relic of the past.
Your novel sounds fascinating!! I hope to read it one day 😊 and you are so right. Writing every day does change you. It's such an interesting process, especially when it sneaks up on you...
Beki this piece was so beautifully written. I have been wondering about your move so far north, and i'm beginning to understand it now. And i'm proud of you for stepping out of the 'formal' world of work because it wasn't working for you. We have to do a lot of stuff we don't like or feel happy doing just to get to the good stuff and sometimes the balance is out. I know you will succeed in whatever you do - and i cant wait to read your book x x
Beautiful writing Rebecca, thank you for sharing your journey, reflections, and the reasons you write. Good luck with the next stage for your novel. Loved the image of writers and creatives as soft skinned.
Excellent!!
What happened after everything became formless without shape?
Thank you! Oh that's a big question. New things, new paths, new ways to wander, to write, to see...
This is a beautifully written piece and neatly captures both the slightly disconcerting way beaches never quite the same from day to day (or tide to tide) as well as one the reasons I left academia almost as soon as I was qualified to enter it.
I'm so glad it resonated with you, Ellen - and it's great to connect with someone who's been on a similar journey.
I’m always fascinated by peoples stories of why they left academia, and how they feel about it.
This is beautifully written, with much that I recognise. I look forward to more.
Thank you, Helen!
This is such a beautiful essay! I loved it! The bit about leaving academia hit home pretty hard for me right now with my role in academia having just had a bit of a migraine swarm and experienced all the other things you refer to.
PS. You’ll be receiving my recommendation. :)
Thank you, Jonathan! I'm so glad it resonated with you, although also sorry to hear that academic life is not treating you well at the moment. I'm excited to read your work - your substack looks very much up my street! Thanks so much for the recommendation 🙏
Honestly, I shouldn’t complain. Most of my issues with it are due to overcommitting. It’s a great career if you can manage it right.
It can be difficult not to over commit. And yes I think for some it can be a wonderful career, depending on personality and institution and research area and a thousand different factors out of our control! I'm glad it's working out for you despite the challenges.
Absolutely! To be fair, the fact we take on too much is due to the incentive structure. There are SO many balls to juggle these days and so many requirements on our time. I think that’s pretty consistent across all of academia and to me it’s a major issue. My motto is “simplify simplify simplify” but it’s a slow process. I’m glad you’ve found the transition so meaningful. Your writing is wonderful.
A very wise motto! And probably the only way not to burn out in a career with so many demands. Thank you Jonathan! Looking forward to reading your pieces.
Another former academic here (entered late, left early), much that I can relate to. Overall a beautifully written piece. Looking forward to more.
So glad it resonated with you, Margaret, and thank you for the kind words!
This is your second post running that has resonated with me far more than I would have imagined possible considering our very different backgrounds and locations. Your writing is a wonder to behold and I look forward to the hat trick post! 😀 P.S. Thank you for the Angie McMahon tip, really enjoying her work too.
Oh Dave this is wonderful to hear, thank you so much for the kind comment, and also for supporting me through your subscription, it's hugely appreciated! I hope you enjoy my future pieces, and so happy to have found someone my words resonate with 😊
That crab shedding is in a liminal form, and the tideline is a liminal place. In-betweens. I say the rocky shore is my natural habitat: the stone bones that change only at geological timescales, interacting with the fluxy sea that rises and falls twice a day. It's that changeability that I love so much; the tension between pattern and chaos.
Yes!! You put it beautifully. I feel at home between the pattern and chaos too, embracing all that liminal space.
'I am learning that writing is how I understand myself, and that it is also how I will find my tribe of fellow soft-skinned creatures' . ⚡
Snap! Lovely prose and expression in this.
Yes this was my favourite part too!
Hello fellow soft-skinned creature! Thank you for this lovely comment x
resonate so strongly with much of what you have written here. I even used to live on Dartmoor before moving to the forests of Germany after a series of losses.
So glad it resonated with you, Susannah. Dartmoor is a wonderful place, isn't it? I haven't visited German forests but they look wild and stunning.
its very exciting to know we are only a walk way from wolf territory! ive been up close and personal with some wonderful beasts here, but not a wolf….yet! I miss Dartmoor so much, and England really, the landscape there is really very special.
Your writing is really beautiful and profound. I love the ever changing nature of beaches.
Your work reminds me a lot of Ruth Allen.
Thank you so much Hayley! I've just started following Ruth and absolutely love her writing, so what a compliment that is!
Wonderful, moving read as always! And thanks for the intro to Angie McMahon 💛
Thank you Beth! And isn't she amazing! One of my favourite musicians x
'I am learning that writing is how I understand myself, and that it is also how I will find my tribe of fellow soft-skinned creatures.' I love this image, Rebecca – and your description of the crab shedding its exoskeleton. Beautiful essay, thank you.
I think it's grief that has sparked me to write again after a lapse of too many years. The feeling that life is short. That we can't take our health – and our voice – for granted. (I think of my late aunt, who was so active and capable, then felled by a stroke that literally robbed her of her voice for the last two years of her life.) We need to tell our stories while we can.
Thank you for these lovely words, Wendy, and I couldn't agree more. For those of us who feel the tug to write, I think we have to give ourselves up to it while we can. I always feel an urgency when I am writing, I think probably because of that awareness of time and endings. Grief is hard but has gifts, too x
You have upsized through the scales of elementalism, from the mid-range of Dartmoor to the Orkneys. The islands have yielded a formidable crop of writers and artists, who have delivered to those who have not ventured so far north, a sense of the weather as it wreaks sudden change upon the landscape.
Like you, I also wrote an accidental novel. During quarantine. I dug out a half-finished short story, over a decade old, and saved as an archaic WORD document, to see whether anything could be made of it. 10,000 words or thereabouts. I ended up gutting it, with the exception of the concept and one of the scenes that became a chapter in its own right. It got to a point where the text was 38,000 words. No choice other than to push on with it. Sunk cost and all that.
Predictably, the end result of me prattling across my injured computer keyboard was a novel with a peculiar structure. There is some laboured prose that I regret, but it's too late to do anything about it now. It worried me that, when people asked me what the book was about, and I couldn't tell them, until one day when I realised that it's the spiritual journey of an atheist.
When you write everyday, you realise that it changes you. The process becomes as important, if not more important than the output. It gives me a firmer footing on the world. I notice and appreciate more in life and I want for less.
In November, 2022, I wrote a 60,000 word thriller set in the Soviet Union during the 1980s. I have no knowledge of the era and, apart from acquiring a PDF of Soviet job titles, I deliberately did no research. I wanted to see what I would write at speed. The end result had a distinct three-act structure. Perhaps such a thing is embedded in our genetic memories – beginning, middle, and end.
Now I am more deliberate in my intent. I have my psychedelic pirate novel, which in a prolonged moment of hubris, I imagined I could finish inside a month, but no, not a chance. The book will be 200,000 – 250,000 words and penned in the third-person present, because I had been reading Updike, and because the story is violent in places and there is an immediacy to violence when it is framed in a present tense, as opposed to as a relic of the past.
Your novel sounds fascinating!! I hope to read it one day 😊 and you are so right. Writing every day does change you. It's such an interesting process, especially when it sneaks up on you...
Beki this piece was so beautifully written. I have been wondering about your move so far north, and i'm beginning to understand it now. And i'm proud of you for stepping out of the 'formal' world of work because it wasn't working for you. We have to do a lot of stuff we don't like or feel happy doing just to get to the good stuff and sometimes the balance is out. I know you will succeed in whatever you do - and i cant wait to read your book x x
Ahh thank you Ju this means the world! 🩵🩵🩵 it was a big leap to take but it feels so right already (the career change and the move!) xxx
What a lovely piece, especially this sentence:
Somewhere we could be swallowed by blue in every direction, where humans would be outnumbered by winged things, where we could slow down...
I admire you for actually doing that.
Thank you Rosalind 🤍
Beautiful writing Rebecca, thank you for sharing your journey, reflections, and the reasons you write. Good luck with the next stage for your novel. Loved the image of writers and creatives as soft skinned.
Thank you Kate!!