Write Like a Tree
By Juliet Marillier | May 20, 2024 |
‘There were trees here once, in another age,’ Mother Rowan said. ‘Great, wonderful trees something like the one you called the Ancestor. Such things they witnessed in their long lives: the fall of kings, the deeds of heroes, the passing away of tribes and the grief of survivors. Courage and cowardice; justice and tyranny; love and hate. No wonder old trees are so full of wisdom.’
That’s a quote from my work in progress, folks. Odd way to start a WU post, you may think. How can the wisdom of trees shed light on the craft or business of writing? Well, this is a post about storytelling, and the protagonist of my novel is a storyteller who cares very much for the environment, and in particular, the preservation of forests. And it’s a post about writing in an age when trees are often not accorded their due respect. In some parts of the world, those in authority understand how vital the survival of trees is in the struggle to protect our planet. In other parts, tragically, those with the power to act don’t understand this—or don’t care—even when it’s playing out right before their eyes. Here in Western Australia we’ve had virtually no rain in the last 7 months (late spring until end of autumn.) This has been the hottest May since records began. And our trees are dying. Street trees in the cities and suburbs; forest trees further away. Not only young trees, but mature ones and ancient, celebrated ones. Habitat for wildlife. Shade for humans. Breath for the earth.
A step back into folklore, fairy tale and legend now. Trees have an important place in traditional storytelling. In the days of tales told around the fire, folk most likely understood the importance of forests without knowing the science behind it (I’ll refrain from a harsh judgement of today’s humans here.) People in those times knew trees offered shelter from the cold, shade from the heat, food, fuel, somewhere to hide from your enemies. No doubt tree deities or spirits were duly thanked for these gifts. As for storytelling, where would the Robin Hood legend be without Sherwood Forest, where you can still see Robin’s ancient oak? In Irish mythology, a lone hawthorn tree was believed to be a portal between the human world and the Otherworld, a place where a person might communicate with that realm of magic and seek wisdom. And there’s the Ogham alphabet, thought to have been used by Irish druids back in the day, in which each letter relates to a tree species with its associated symbolism. These signs were inscribed on stones or the trunks of trees, or sometimes, it’s said, shown subtly with the fingers as a means of covert communication – not so much spelling out words as using a coded sign language. Handy in an awkward business meeting between, say, druid advisers to warring kings.
Can a tree be wise? Can writers learn from that wisdom? I think so. Trees send their roots deep down. They grow tall. They spread their branches wide. Some can live for many, many times a human lifespan. Readers may remember my previous posts mentioning the ancient yews at Crom Estate in Northern Ireland, which date back to the time of Henry VIII and can still be visited today. We may have moved away from folklore and fairy tale, but anyone who visits these trees must surely feel the magic of their survival over so many years. That owes something to their location – the grounds of the estate are under the management of the National Trust. In many parts of the world substantial efforts are being made for the preservation of forests. In Finland, forestry is an important part of the economy, but forest protection and replanting is equally important. In Scotland various projects for reforestation are under way. The World Wildlife Fund oversees forest preservation in many parts of the world. But sadly, there are all too many places where forests continue to be laid waste in the interests of big business.
Back to writing. At one point my central character advises her distressed friend to ‘breathe like a tree.’ She means breathe slowly, deeply, calmly – in the manner of a being that has lived a long time, witnessed good and bad, and learned wisdom. I might say ‘Write like a tree.’ (By all means imagine a kindly oak figure with a pen held between its twiggy fingers, if you wish.) Writing can be more powerful, more thought-provoking, perhaps also more comforting, if it comes from deep roots, long memories, storm and calm, the passing of seasons. Writer, imagine yourself as a tree, whether it’s a towering larch, a stately oak or a compact hawthorn. Think about your roots: family, tribe, culture. Place of birth and growing up; places that are important in your life; place of the ancestors. Think about your branches, your leaves, your bark: experiences, growth, change; give and take. What have you learned over the years? Think about the passage of time. What have you witnessed? How have all those things shaped your creative efforts?
You might say this exercise is only relevant for fantasy writers like me; that it does not apply to those writing, say, horror, murder mysteries, romance, memoir. I believe there’s some wisdom in it for everyone. If nothing else, it’s good for your peace of mind. You might try using it as a meditation exercise before writing. Also, consider the plight of the world’s forests and what you might do to help. Plant a tree. Use your vote to support real action on climate change. Use your writer’s voice for change.
Readers, what are your favourite stories, traditional or more recent, featuring trees or forests? Why do you like them? Writers, try the ‘imagine yourself as a tree’ exercise (I’m serious!) See if it helps you dig deeper, stretch higher, add a new layer of wisdom to your writing. And let us know how it went!
Juliet Marillier has written twenty-four novels for adults and young adults and two collections of short fiction. Her works of historical fantasy have been published around the world and have won numerous awards. Juliet’s most recent series was Warrior Bards, of which the third and final book, A Song of Flight, was published in 2021. Her collection of reimagined fairy tales, Mother Thorn and Other Tales of Courage and Kindness, had its trade release in 2022. Mother Thorn is illustrated by Kathleen Jennings and published by Serenity Press.
Juliet is currently working on a two-book fantasy series. The first book in this duology, The Amber Owl, will be published by New Dawn in February 2025.
When not writing, Juliet looks after a small crew of rescue dogs.
Hey Juliet — Your essay really stirs deep feelings in me. We live in an oak-beech regression forest. It’s so beautiful, but every year I witness more falls or cuttings of my favorite giants. I’ve measured and done small ring count samples to estimate that many of the oaks that we’ve lost are over 150 yrs. old. Some of the beeches still wear the scars of 80+ year old graffiti. There’s such a deep sadness to the beauty that surrounds us. It reminds me of the somberness built into Tolkien’s legendarium. Best to continue to see the beauty in the descent, and to take inspiration from it to thread into our stories–memories that might sow beauty in the days beyond our own.
Thanks for getting me thinking and feeling, as usual. I hope things are cooling off for you and the doggos.
Vaughn, what is a regression forest? I don’t know the term and Google sent me off into software decision making programs — not helpful. I live in the woods and it seems like a term I might want to know! Thanks!
Hey Leslie — I’m not a forestry expert, but from what I understand, in the instance where a forest area was once dominated by a species or a pair–in this case beeches and oaks–and in which those dominant individuals die out and are unable to repopulate, other species are then allowed to take advantage of the space and new sunlight from the altered canopy. That makes for a forest in regression. In our case, unfortunately, the result is a bit of a mess in the unmanaged areas. It’s led to a lot of less desirable tree growth as the space is filled by fast-growers like sassafras, river birch, shagbark, sumac. The nature of our soil and nearness of the groundwater table makes for large swaths that are vulnerable to windfall (we live along the southern shores of Lake Michigan).
In other words, these young trees tend to tumble like jackstraws, including across roads and onto powerlines, etc. Not pretty (literally). Hope that helps! May our forests find their way to balance and beauty (sometimes with a little help).
Thanks, Vaughn — now I understand! (Though I was slow to see your note because of a power outage — a tree across a line! Life in the woods!)
The irony! Hope all is restored now or soon!
Thank you, Vaughn. On reading the comments on my post, I’m realising how deep the knowledge and feeling about trees are in this group. There’s a lot of wisdom in your comment. As for the temperature, today is the first day I’ve needed to put coats on the dogs for their early morning walk, so perhaps winter is coming … a tiny amount of rain forecast for later in the week.
I love this ode to trees, Juliet, and what we can learn from them. I wish you all the best with this new novel. Trees were key in my last novel attempt, and “they” even wrote letters to my female protagonist, who was an arborist. My agent loved it but publishers found it “too quiet.” Your piece made me think of all the value the story had for me, though, and after reading this post today, I thought about writing the story from a new protagonist—a secondary character that has more at stake. Am I throwing good time after bad, considering I’d already worked on the story for 5 years before setting it aside two years ago? Who knows. And in some ways, who cares—it’s my time to spend, right?
Hi Kathryn. I’ve just been working through my editor’s structural report on the novel, and some of the comments are definitely along ”too quiet” lines. Doing my best to reach a compromise on behalf of my (mostly) very quiet protagonist. I love the sound of your tree novel, and I’m intrigued that my post may have helped spark a new approach to that story. I hope you do decide to try that, and I send strength to your creative efforts.
Thanks so much!
I’ll never forget the first time I read Tolkien’s account of the trees getting up and going to war. The first time I met Treebeard. My first Ent Moot. I felt their rage (and still do) at the unthinking destruction wrought by war and greed. But my love of trees really started when I leaned to climb. I felt held and protected, not to mention well-hidden from parents and siblings. They are teachers in the truest sense. Thank you for this beautiful reminder. And I wish for you just the right amount of rain.
Thank you, Susan. Oh yes, the Ents! They were a memorable part of my reading as a younger person.
The comment on climbing strikes a chord for me – my father built me a tree house in our back garden when I was about five years old. The tree was a mature pear and I remember it as quite tall, though I guess I was small back then! That little house was full of magic, a place to read and talk and share stories. I still have an old black and white photo of me and my best friend climbing the ladder.
Nice to find another writer inspired by trees. I’ve attended writing retreats where I sat for hours surrounded by tree and felt so filled with calm that opened me up to ideas. Or I sort of absorbed some energy that detoxified my brain. Thank you for this post.
Yes, perfect for a writer’s retreat – our regular retreats in Ireland are held in an environment of wonderful trees, all with their own personalities. At last year’s retreat we spent a lot of time walking around, thinking, visiting our favourite trees and soaking up that calm you mention. And, of course, being inspired to write!
Juliet, this is so lovely, but also so true. I am now living back in the neighborhood where I was born and raised. Yes, I have lived in many other places within the U.S., but now I am just blocks (that’s a Chicago word) from the house where I was raised, the hospital where I was born. CHANGE? Yes. But the trees? No. They wave at me as I walk past, they are still the trees whose leaves I raked after getting”mother” instructions. And there are other trees where I have lived, the oaks in Iowa. I took care of the 17 oak trees we had on our property, took care of them as if they were my children. Thanks for connecting the spiritual with the real, the roots of our trees, the centuries they have stood to shade us and make homes for the birds.
Thank you for this beautiful comment, Elizabeth. 17 oak trees – what a magnificent responsibility! And how wonderful that the trees of your youth are still there.
Juliet, I just love reading your words! I was doubly excited to see a post about trees, whom I adore. There is something so deeply calming about being around and near trees. Our new home, we saw in old pictures, had a huge oak in the front yard that is no longer there. We are very sad to be one of the only tree-less yards in our 35 year old community. We are planning to plant several trees in our yard. And that energy is very important to me. Having a house surrounded by trees feels like home! A house is naked without them! Thank you for this post! ~Lara
I’m glad you enjoyed the post, Lara. I entirely agree about a house needing trees (even tiny trees in pots if that’s all there is room for.) I am happy that I share my tallest tree, located in a back corner of the yard, with three other households. I also share my neighbour’s avocado and mango trees that produce good crops when the season is right.May your new trees flourish!
Juliet, thank you for this post. I have a favorite tree in my neighborhood which is heavily inhabited by trees. Part of my writing practice is walking every day. And I make sure to touch my favorite tree, who is older than any of the houses. I look out the wide windows of my writing room and see the fresh green leaves of spring on all the trees, their branch structure resembling human lungs, and I am grateful.
Love this, Juliet! Trees deserve our kindness and respect. And I love the analogy to writing.
Juliet, hope you guys get some rain!
I love “write like a tree.” This weekend I hiked through a hilly, oak-filled preserve that had some fabulously gnarled oaks with twisting, writhing trunks and branches—my girlfriend and I stopped several times to exclaim over them. (They were well-written.)
We have a plum tree in our backyard that is likely 40-50 years old; half its trunk is hollow, with a jagged, open area. But year upon year, it’s produced rafts of delicious plums, and will do so again this year. Trees, we need them.
Trees all have their own stories. There are some very old eucalypts near where I live now, tall and grand, but also showing the ravages of time. Their hollows provide safe nesting places for many species of birds. I live on quite a small block but I have big trees, including a very tall native frangipani that towers over four houses. We wake to birdsong, and have a small flock of magpies that visit daily. Reminds me of a childhood book ”The Tall House” which was all about a great tree and the creatures it supported – I will have to search the shelves for the copy I think is still there somewhere …
I’ve not done the exercise yet, Juliet, but I remembered a lovely picture book: BE A TREE by Maria Gianferrari. Loved your tribute to trees. We have the Angel Oak in our neck of the woods: https://vijayabodach.blogspot.com/2012/08/of-tea-and-trees.html And on my daily walks I enjoy the beauty of the trees in my neighborhood–crepe myrtles, live oaks, maples, and many more…
What a wonderful old oak, Vijaya! I love those pictures on your blog. I might get a copy of BE A TREE for my younger grandchildren. They’re learning from their parents how to be responsible gardeners and environmentally aware.
I love trees. They’re one of my favorite things to draw/paint, and I often name them in my stories. Treebeard/Fanghorn comes to mind, an Ent who has seen many ages come and go. The Giving Tree, too, who gave everything.
Oh yes, The GIving Tree – a wonderful book. It made me sad, but the message is entirely true,
As I read your article, and all of the comments here, I realized that I could write a paper about all of the trees in my life from various places that are special to me. I love trees so much and I feel like they are part of my family. There is a large oak tree behind my Grannie’s house in the middle of Atlanta, Ga. Her house is still there and most likely 100+years old; the tree has to to be older if not the same age. We don’t own the property anymore unfortunately. As kids, me and my sister would play under the tree in her backyard and had many fantasy adventures. Her house and the tree still hold childhood magic for me. Trees hold stories and memories as well as being precious to our planet and all that live. Thank you for this writing inspiration!
You’re welcome, Michelle! I hope you do write that paper some time.
When I was writing my first published novel, I imagined scenes that could take place among the tall trees in the Welsh parkland I walked through every day on my way to work. And the trees did help me plot the book: I learned about the Welsh tradition of naming each monthly moon after a tree. The story began with the birch moon and came to its end under the oak moon. I learned about the Ogham letters and Druidic tradition. Your article brings back such good memories of writing with the help of the trees.
A wonderful memory, Frances. Wales is a place of such long traditions and such rich folklore. Welsh trees must be extra wise! I’m glad they helped you.
I love trees and I absolutely loved this post! Thank you for sharing these ideas with us. Trees remind us to keep branching out while remembering our roots and who we are. A forest can teach us many things about life, letting go and holding on, embracing a trail with new discoveries around each turn. When we write, we discover new things as well. And surely, we must hold on to some things on the writing trail, and leave some things behind…
Thank you Juliet for this beautiful and insightful post. In the Perth hills we are losing our trees, which breaks my heart. As a new writer your words are the wisdom I needed to hear. Thank you.
Hi Hayley. Yes, the tree loss around Perth is terrible. I live near the river in Guildford, and there are many dead and dying trees now on both sides of the Swan. I hope the forecast rain (if it actually happens) will help some of them, at least.
Such a grounded post, Juliet. Trees are our lungs, so perfectly gracious, deserving of respect. The Japanese shinrin-yoku came from the knowledge that forests and trees have so much to offer us if we choose to listen.
When you think of the roots lacing through the soil, under, over and through – there has to be some kind of intimate relationship between one tree and another. I read this:
https://www.nationalforests.org/blog/underground-mycorrhizal-network#:~:text=Taken%20together%2C%20myecelium%20composes%20what's,mycelium%20that%20trees%20%E2%80%9Ccommunicate.%E2%80%9D
and it’s quite an interesting piece of research. Maybe Tolkein wasn’t so out of left field after all.