A lesson on newsletters that I HAD to share
Good morning on this brisk and breezy Friday. I hope this letter finds you well!
Unscheduled programming today - it's the first week of August and I'm not due back in your inbox until the end of September.
With a bit of luck, you'll forgive me the surprise visit. I hope you will, because I think you might find the lesson I learnt this week useful. I certainly did, and it was too good not to share.
So! Let's crack on.
Newsletters
Who's got one?
Who tries to deliver theirs with integrity...
...creativity...
...enthusiasm..?
You may disagree, though I can honestly say I try my best to fulfil all of the above. The thing is, when you write a newsletter with this approach, it takes time. Emotional energy. Care for the craft and the people that receive it. If you've been around here for a while, you'll know that I've spoken about this before. It was why, back in March of this year, I took the decision to change from a weekly newsletter to a quarterly one.
Don't get me wrong, it was the right decision. It's given me the opportunity to keep writing a newsletter that I love, while making a little more space for other things I want to work on.
The only problem? I find myself in the throes of guilt every time someone else sends out a beaut of a newsletter. Which, if you're connected with Feasts and Fables or Emma at BrazilArte, is often. I find myself wondering if I'm not some kind of truant shepherd, leaving their flock unwatched.
This week though, fresh perspective came from the inimitable David Hieatt at The DO Lectures/Hiut Denim.
Midweek, a newsletter from David landed in my inbox. It was promoting a course on newsletters, no less. The landing page included a short clip from the course, whereby David explained the theory that to write a newsletter is to think like a farmer. You have to give as much to the soil as you take. You even have to rest the soil occasionally.
Now, you may not be familiar with agricultural practices, but perhaps Glastonbury strikes a chord. You can't trample the earth year in, year out and expect it to serve up magic. No, not even when you're trampling those Somerset fields with music, dancing, joy, rhythm, art, and sequins. It needs a break.
What, then, did I take from David's words of wisdom?
It's OK. Taking a break is fine, changing the intensity of something can actually be beneficial. More than that, I learnt that I am a farmer. That in cranking down the gears of my newsletter I am thinking like someone who wants to preserve a good thing and ensure its longevity.
And the cool thing for you?
As I'm de-intensifying the work in this field, I can focus on tending to another. For now, you get a cheeky little rest period in a nice green paddock (or The Green Fields, The Park, or The Fields of Avalon for those Glasto-minded souls 😉 ) until the next field is prepared, ready for you to come a-grazing (or a-dancing) there.
Keep writing. Keep resting that soil. Keep dancing. And, if in doubt, know that MORE sequins are never a bad idea. ✨
Your words matter,
Laura
P.S. If you’re interested to see the clip I’m talking about you can check it out here.