Small Town Dispatches: Nanna Storr-Hansen

Welcome to Small Town Dispatches, a new feature on The Peak that recognizes the efforts of sustaining a writing practice in places with unconventional resources. Writing can be deeply isolating, especially when you live outside of cities that are seen as cultural epicenters. So here, Special Features Editor Nadeen Kharputly interviews Shenandoah contributors to gain insights about what it’s like to live in small towns (and towns that feel small): rural areas, college towns, islands, hamlets, and more.

Town: Located on the island of Fyn, Denmark

Bio: Nanna Storr-Hansen, born 1991, is a Danish poet. Her debut Spektakel (Spectacle) was published in 2017, one year after her graduation from the Royal Danish Academy of Creative Writing. In 2018, her second book Mimosa followed. Mimosa was short-listed for the Danish Literary Award (Danish Critics Prize for Literature), the 2018 Montana Prize for Fiction. In 2022 her third book “Bøgetid” (Beech time) was published. The book subsequently won the Montana Prize for Fiction as well as the award for Poem of the year at the 2023 Blixen Prize. Additionally, she was granted the Three Year Grant from the Danish Arts Foundation in 2023. Her poems appear in several contemporary Danish literary magazines, and explore themes of the female body, nature, and ecofeminism.

Tell us about your small town – how small is it?

My town is on the Danish island of Fyn. We’ve got bridges on each side connecting us to the rest of the country, and all around us are smaller islands that can be accessed by boat. When we first moved here our daughter was very young, still sitting on my arm at every new encounter, so people kept starting conversations by telling us the town had about 18 kids in total. I think this fact says it all in regards to the size of my town. I remember standing by the road in a small group of our new neighbors on a summer evening, one of them pointing towards all the houses visible from this spot, counting the kids for each family. It felt very reassuring, though, the thought of our daughter growing up here with multiple kids around. The town consists of only houses, there are no stores, except for a small organic farm, a mill, where you can buy lots of local flour, nuts, and seeds. This place is probably what puts our town on the map, apart from the nearby towns with schools and supermarkets and so on. However, I find our town has many characteristics when it comes to the landscape—a small creek runs through, goes under the main road, even through some of the gardens. This creek sets the mood of the whole place and sort of connects every lot in town, even those further away. In the fall and winter, it swells and the nearby meadow turns into a lake. Even parts of the road might turn into a lake. My house has a view of the creek. Every morning I wake up and check on it. I can hear its chuckles through an open window, I can see the progressions of the water, its rise and fall. This was what truly made me fall in love with our house and this town.

What makes your town a unique place for your writing practice?

When I lived in bigger cities I would constantly meet people, which on the one hand was somewhat reassuring especially when you’re alone with kids for many hours of the day. On the other hand, my creative space often opens when the feeling of sociality, a sense of availability, vanishes. Having moved to the countryside, I definitely experience much fewer interactions with people, unless I actively seek them by attending playgroups or meeting up with friends or family. My thought process is less likely to be interrupted; not seeing a lot of people for longer periods of time makes it easier for me to stay in my head, which is necessary when I write. Also the creek and the landscapes, that secluded feeling of being witnessed only by birds some days, shows up a lot in my writing. There is a sense of enchantment, of wholeness with my surroundings that I enjoy very much, and it is absolutely needed for creating the mental space in which my writing can take place.

Do you have a favorite writing spot?

I love my home office. Getting to places from our house takes a while, so it’s nice to have an accessible writing space that I can just enter and leave as I need. I guess having life and work blend together this way is both a blessing and a curse for me. Editing, emails and vice versa can happen anywhere. But that deep engulfment in creating new material definitely also brings the need for a completely safe space. From my desk I can see the creek, I monitor every bird, every tree top. I have the books I need at hand, I have pictures and paintings, different objects that serve as paths back to myself. I love being a mom, and it often takes up all my time. I find it very effective to surround myself with stuff that triggers a certain mood or world in me, something strange and unknown, something opposite to the routines of motherhood.

How do you build community with other writers or creatives in your town?

More writers and artists are moving to my area. Right now a few people are getting together for readings and feedback. I really want to join, but I’m not there yet; I need a bit more time with my current manuscript. My next step is having one-on-one readings with my friend. I also have a big network and an active connection to the literary scene in Copenhagen, where we used to live.

What do you appreciate most about where you live?

The total absorption in nonhuman life. A lot of the time I feel like a stranger. The animals, the insects, the plants, and various other beings outnumber me everyday. On a daily basis I am humbled, thankful to have a place on this earth. I see so much life and so much capability, every species having their own set of expectations, their own daily chores, I am just one of those species. And the border between inside and outside, between house and nature, is constantly disrupted, expanded, changing. We have mice living in our 19th century house, we have bees and wasps, butterflies and dirt from my kids’ shoes constantly finding a way inside. In the summer all doors are open, in the winter the sky feels mysteriously round above us, stars shining clearly. I feel the icy breeze from the wooden walls upstairs in my sleep.

What sort of rituals have you cultivated in your town?

I don’t think we have any particular rituals. But a few things say a lot about the town’s culture. People are always ready to help each other. One neighbor even brought my husband pain meds one time he had a bad fever, as we had just run out. When we go away for work or on vacation, the neighbor’s son takes care of our chickens. He feeds them and checks on them, which we appreciate very much. And when a flood hit our other neighbor’s garden this winter, people left them several messages, and called them at work. Someone’s always looking out, even for the cats. And there’s a hole in our backyard hedge that no one touches because the deer walks through it every morning.

Can you share any writing advice that’s inspired by your living situation?

Let it rest. There is always something to do in an old house with a garden. And sometimes I’ve got to let my writing rest, I’ve got to let the words calm. Usually I’ll do the laundry, clean the kitchen, or work in the garden—I like to use my hands. And sometimes that’s just what I need to ”untie the knot” in a piece or in a poem. My thoughts begin to flow, new ideas come to life.