8 Questions for... Chloe Hope
8 Questions for... Chloe Hope
Death & Birds
is an End-of-Life doula, baby bird carer, and writes about Death & Birds 🪶
1. Why Substack?
I knew people who were using it and, as a reader, I appreciated the quality of the interactions I’d seen on it. It seemed like a dreamy, mythical place where strangers on the internet gave their words genuine consideration before sharing them; even, and in fact especially, in the comment sections. I’d felt called for a while to share my experiences as an end-of-life doula and in caring for rescued baby birds. Both had given me new lenses on life—taking something which had typically felt laborious and overwhelming, and making it distinctly precious—but they’re both delicate subjects, to me at least, so I’d been wary to start. Substack was a perfect fit, though, as it mostly seems to attract people who possess the rare ability to, when faced with something that isn’t for them, simply leave it alone without first needing to express all the ways in which they dislike it—which is practically a Jedi skill, these days.
2. How long did it take you to find your groove?
My groove is a wily and elusive mistress. She lures me into thinking that I’ve come to know her, before quickly turning on her heel and sashaying off into the distant future.
3. How has it changed you?
Exponentially. I am, by nature, fiercely introverted. My natural state involves feeling a lot, thinking a lot, but sharing very little, so starting Death & Birds was a massive leap of faith that brought dizzying levels of discomfort. But it’s also created an environment where people who I don’t know and have never met share really meaningful snippets of themselves and their lives with me, and it’s extraordinary.
I love people, and I am terrified of people. I am deeply confused by people, as a whole, and historically that’s seen me lean towards observation as opposed to engagement—but Substack has started to shift that. I’ve learned that a lot of people are also deeply confused by people as a whole. I’ve also learned to treasure the way I see the world, rather than be troubled by it. And I’ve even met some people who I expect to be lifelong friends (what’s up, Ellie).
4. What mistakes have you made?
I think my main mistake, in Substack and perhaps in life, was in thinking that showing up as anything other than my truest self might work. I appreciate those who offer guidance in this space (when it comes from a genuine desire to help, and not in a 'Pay Me and I’ll Reveal Little Known Secrets' kind of way) and I also think there’s much to be said for showing up as authentically as one can; even, and perhaps especially, if one’s authentic self doesn’t fit whatever mould happens to popular on any given day.
Also, baring one’s soul on the internet is obviously insane, so that’s probably a mistake, too. But it’s apparently one I’m willing to make. Fortnightly.
5. To pay or not to pay?
I fundamentally believe that writers should be paid for their work, and yet my troublesome psyche struggles to extend that belief to include myself. To be honest I’m still struggling to label myself as ‘a writer’, but I’m getting there. To date, all my posts have been free with an option to upgrade to paid should anyone choose to support my work in that way—and the fact that many people have chosen to is wildly humbling and encouraging. I imagine that, in time, I’ll start employing a paywall every now and then, or at least offering the fine folks with a paid subscription something extra. Essentially, I think (or I hope) that Death & Birds lures people into remembering that they are a) alive and that b) they won’t always be—and even though that’s glaringly obvious, it also isn’t, much of the time. So I do believe that there’s some value in the message.
6. What artistic and technical choices have you made?
Very few, consciously. I made my little bird logo on day one and that’s about it. In my writing I’m quite self-revelatory, up to a point, but I’m careful to protect the identities and, most importantly, the journeys of the people I work with at the end of life. So, that side of things may come across as a little vague, but that’s intentional.
Also, someone once told me in a comment that I “MUST” change the name of my publication because she found it “repulsive”. It's fascinating to imagine what it must be like to occupy a consciousness where you believe that total strangers should alter their creations in order to suit your personal preferences. Do you just live in a permanent state of dissatisfaction? Anyway, since then I’ve made the technical choice to never change the name of my publication—even if I one day start writing exclusively about birth and cats.
7. What’s been the effect on your writing?
Death & Birds is my writing in its entirety, all I’d written before were college essays, so in that respect it’s been huge. I’ve been writing for nearly a year and a half now and I suppose I’m learning on the go. I’ve been lucky enough to have some champions from quite early on—
, in particular, who wrote a post about my writing which had a really profound effect. I think he saw something in me which I’d not seen in myself before then, and so to see what he saw—and then to recognise it—was a huge, life-changing deal and it gave me a sense of confidence and trust in myself and my writing which I’d not had before. I actually think you can see a marked difference in my writing before Adam wrote that post and after. Also, and I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this, but Nick bloody Hornby used his extraordinary voice to amplify mine, and also generously introduced me to her audience, so all that gave me a massive boost in subscribers, and an existential crisis to navigate! Obviously, I’m enormously grateful. I never imagined for a minute that Death & Birds would have the kind of readership that it does, and my sincere hope is that I can continue to lure people into becoming a little more familiar with their own mortality and with the miraculous nature of their, and all, existence, for many years to come.8. In it for the long haul?
Unless I or it, or both, go completely off the rails, then yes. Absolutely.
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“Even if I start writing exclusively about birth and cats.” I mean, to be fair, Death and Birds would still be a pretty perfect title.
Haha, just when I thought I couldn’t, this interview makes me love you even more, Chloe.
Thank you, Eleanor and Chloe. You are two of my faves here. 🐈🍼
We need to keep saying this: "I think my main mistake, in Substack and perhaps in life, was in thinking that showing up as anything other than my truest self might work. I appreciate those who offer guidance in this space (when it comes from a genuine desire to help, and not in a 'Pay Me and I’ll Reveal Little Known Secrets' kind of way) and I also think there’s much to be said for showing up as authentically as one can; even, and perhaps especially, if one’s authentic self doesn’t fit whatever mould happens to popular on any given day."
My authentic self is sometimes grumpy, sometimes fraught with whatever baggage I'm carrying, but I try to make sense of something every week, and many readers have been willing to go along for the ride. The few times I've tried to be a shinier happier person, it hasn't worked. So we do need to lean on authenticity even if it does not trend. I think about the obsession with growth as not much different from the popularity contests in high school. So many people who are really good at pulling those levers were already cool cats (female influencers largely hew to stereotypes, and it's always the lithe quarterback, not the hairy lineman, who is pulling down the big NIL deals). Some of us never were, will never be cool in that callow sense. So why keep chasing it at age 40, 50, or beyond?