Freelance Writing
I have been writing professionally for nearly four decades – as a press officer, marketing head, magazine editor, communications consultant, and copywriter, and now as a nature writer and the author of Wild Art Letters.
The through line across all of it has been the same: finding the words that make people feel something, understand something, or want something they didn’t know they wanted before they read the page.
What I write now
My current writing lives at the intersection of the natural world, ecological grief, creativity, and the question of how we carry the weight of loving a planet in crisis without being crushed by it.
I write Wild Art Letters – a Substack newsletter with a growing international readership – twice a week, every week. It is the best demonstration of my current voice and what I am capable of. You are welcome to read it before you get in touch.
I am available for:
Nature writing and literary non-fiction
Essays, features, and long-form pieces for publications whose readers love the natural world and are paying attention to what is happening to it.
Brand and content writing for values-led organisations
Copy that informs and copy that moves people, for organisations rooted in ecological values, sustainability, creativity, or human wellbeing.
Essays and personal narrative
Writing that begins with one specific dandelion in a pavement crack and ends somewhere the reader didn’t expect to arrive.
Retreats and Wild Art
Alongside my writing, I run Wild Art – seasonal workshops, weekends, and online gatherings rooted in a rewilded garden on the edge of the ancient forest of Huelgoat, Brittany. Participants forage natural pigments, twist plant fibre into cord, press silver clay with leaves gathered from the forest floor, and mark the turning of the seasons through ritual and making.
This dual life – as a writer and as someone who designs and leads retreat experiences – means I can write about retreats, wellness, and meaningful gathering from the inside, not just as an observer.
Selected work
- Wild Art Letters – Substack newsletter, 2023 to present https://moonoverwillow.substack.com/
- On grief, and the life we almost miss — Wild Art Letters, June 2026 read here
- On belonging to the living world — Wild Art Letters, June 2026 read here
- Living with the Heat — Wild Art digital guide, 2026 [link to product page]
Earlier career
Before Wild Art Letters I spent the better part of three decades as a professional writer and communications specialist.
I was Head of Marketing and previously Press Officer at Birmingham Repertory Theatre — one of the UK’s leading producing theatres.
I edited MultiChannel Marketing, a trade magazine for marketing professionals, during the 1990s.
I held a communications contract with the International Water Management Institute (IWMI) in 2011–12.
I have written for PR and design agencies across a wide range of sectors.
What I bring
A voice that is warm, precise, and unhurried. The ability to find the universal in the particular — to begin with one specific thing and arrive somewhere that feels true for everyone. Several decades of writing under pressure, to deadline, to brief, and to purpose.
And a genuine, lived, daily relationship with the natural world that means when I write about the earth, I am not performing a connection. I am reporting from inside one.
Get in touch
If you are commissioning, editing, or looking for a writer who understands the ecological moment we are living through and can write about it in a way that makes people feel rather than just know — I would love to hear from you.
wendy@wendymalpass.com
My substacks
Follow Along
I write two Substack publications:
one is for all things short story - Short Story Press
and the other is where I write about slowing down, the natural world, and finding your way back to yourself - Wild Art Letters
On belonging to the living world
I am standing at the kitchen window looking out into the garden. A red admiral is opening and closing its wings on the head of a thistle. Two jackdaws are arguing on the roof overhead. A pigeon is doing what pigeons do - moving across the grass with that...
On grief, and the life we almost miss
The horse chestnut at the edge of the lane is shedding its conkers early. I photographed them the other morning - small, unripe, jettisoned by a tree under stress from the heat - and felt the familiar tightening in my chest. The grief that comes when the natural world...
Dan
The first drag tasted like ashes, but Dan held on to his cigarette nevertheless. He leant against the wall next to M&S, feeling the heat in the bricks. He should probably call her. Send a message or a text. But what could he possibly say? "Good luck" "Hope it all...
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