Meet the Author

A one thousand subscriber special!

Somehow, somewhere between the first curious reader and the last who clicked ‘subscribe,’ this little newsletter has grown into a gathering of one thousand. A whole village! And in folklore, you always honour the village. So today, to mark this marvellous milestone, I’m taking a minute to properly introduce myself. Consider this a ‘meet the author’ tale, told in celebration and gratitude for everyone who has joined this circle around the digital hearth.

I realised recently that a lot of you don’t actually know who is behind these impassioned folkloristic rambles aside from a name and a (pretty old) profile picture. So here is a little bit about myself and my work for interested readers new and old!

This is me!

My name is Lizzie, I am a 22 year old folklorist currently working day and night on a PhD research proposal that brings together all the strands of my strange niche interests. Fairies keep stealing my sleep, Victorians keep leaving clues on my desk, folkloric fragments tumble out of my pockets, and feminist ghosts whisper edits over my shoulder. Occultists lurk in the margins, and orality insists on speaking for itself. These are the companions that have been following me, loudly and insistently, through the past few months. I proudly specialise in functionalist folkloristics and the social purpose folk tales served communities. I am particularly fascinated by the formalisation of the study in the early 1800s, following the industrial revolution in the UK. I am adamant that we are experiencing an uncannily similar upsurge in folk interest now as a reaction to the mammoth progressions being made currently in our technological world.

When I’m not at the kitchen table of my tiny flat, laptop open, head firmly in hands, I’m working at a local apothecary weighing herbs and mixing tinctures. Should I be absent from those haunts, then check the nearest village hall, where I can usually be found conducting folklore workshops for children, gesturing wildly amongst my small, delighted apprentices.

Over the five years I have spent living in the West of England, I have fallen head over heels for the beautiful rolling countryside on my doorstep. I spent my childhood roaming the far reaches of London suburbia and I’m sure my 16 year old self would be delighted to hear I now spend spare hours jumping on trains to enormous hills, windswept cliffs and ancient forests. I enjoy hiking, climbing and wild swimming and my poor battered brown walking boots are my most treasured possession.

That tiny figure knee-deep in snow is also me! (hiking edition)

I have forever been fascinated by the weird and wonderful histories of the United Kingdom, particularly those that only seem to circulate in the most insular of villages. My childhood was full of C.S Lewis, J.R.R Tolkien and T.H White—clearly I was raised on writers who preferred their first names as mysterious strings of initials. Though the worlds of these fellows are fantastical to the highest degree, I was always interested in the real inspirations at their foundations and further, the real resonance said inspirations held for the communities and cultures who nurtured them. Folklore, it seems, has always been the only path for me.

Expressing my gratitude to my wonderful parents would take millennia, and even that might not be enough; my number one supporters forever, I would not be in such a privileged position without their unwavering belief in all my nonsensical ramblings. Throughout my academic career, they have oftentimes been more excited than myself for every tiny triumph, always making themselves available so that I might present my findings to a captive audience of two and a very bored cat.

The cat in question, hitching a ride in my dungarees

I truly love all things folk: stories, craft, music and beyond, the word dominates my life from the papers I write to the stickers on my water bottle, I am well and truly obsessed. I adore 60s folk music and have devoted countless hours to the likes of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Vashti Bunyan, Labi Siffre, Fairport Convention, Tir Na Nog and Shirley Collins. My beloved banjo is in fact named after Shirley and I play every chance I get (much to the dismay of my downstairs neighbours!) I also play the tin whistle, guitar and harmonica.

My greatest dream is to disappear into some far off moorland and occupy a small tumble-down cottage with a big fireplace and a typewriter so I can write forever and ever more. Until then, I am constantly craving change: always moving, finding new hobbies, or editing something about my appearance. My hair has been fried, bleached and chopped within an inch of its life and I have run out of ear space (and nose space) to pierce. I also have two very special tattoos: an oak leaf from my childhood garden, and an ammonite shell to remind myself that change is never destruction.

My natural state

Anyway enough about me! I know you’re here for the strange tales and freaky creatures—believe me, so am I! I wanted to say thank you once more from the bottom of my heart for all your ongoing support. It has honestly been a dream to write for an audience as passionate as myself. What an absolute treat to find such a lovely community of storytellers and listeners.

I will leave you with some quick-fire trivia about the author:

• I collect vintage tea cups.

• I love corduroy.

• I have a special armchair in my flat from which I write all my articles and am 90 per cent sure it is haunted.

• My writing is often fuelled by Jacob’s cream crackers and fruit juice like a sticky child.

• I am learning Italian (badly) inspired by a recent trip to Florence, one of my favourite cities in the world.

• My favourite colour is green.

• I aim to read 50 books each year and have only failed once.

• I carry a big leather bound journal full of nonsense and a very fancy pen at all times.

• I had a very formative emo phase in the early 2010s that I have never quite shaken and still have a soft spot for a smoky eye and a multitude of whiny midwest emo bands.

• I am currently battling the worst head cold known to man and I fear the germs are winning.

Folk is for all—that is it’s very nature and the heart of what I do here. Preserving our weird histories is an absolute privilege and I am so beyond grateful for this brilliant platform.

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