The latest was one of five books rejected by publishers over the last three years, and with every rejection comes a creeping feeling that I’m not good enough. Then the inevitable thought: give up.

But why should I, if I love the art? To take stock, and for a wee bit of inspiration, I look to Donnchadh Bàn (Duncan Ban Macintyre, 1724–1812). A Gaelic poet of nature, born in Argyllshire, yet spent most of his life working as a gamekeeper, gillie, or labourer on various highland estates, where the illiterate bard composed and memorised Gaelic poems over 500 lines long, without putting a single word to paper.

Donnchadh Bàn was just a nipper when the Bonnie Prince Charlie retreat from red coats across his shire during the failed Jacobite rebellion of 1745 and while shepherding, learned to record the great changes that followed — the Highland Clearances and the early industrialisation of the Lowlands. Pained by these drastic changes, he put to memory a collection of laments in his native Gaelic tongue. Farewell to Ben Dorain was his most beloved, 500 nostalgic lines that, when sung, can still stir many a Scotsman’s heart for the lost wonders of their Gaelic past. That particular poem offers a rich and detailed celebration of Ben Dorain and its wildlife, describing the mountain’s deer, forests, and seasons with remarkable precision and affection. It reflects MacIntyre’s deep bond with nature, hunting, and Highland life, preserving the Gaelic oral tradition at a time of great cultural change.

Now, his verses are praised for their vivid imagery, musicality, and ecological sensitivity. Yet he didn’t give up — not widely known in his own time. So, what right have I to give up?

Luckily, his words were carefully translated from Gaelic in Edinburgh when Duncan moved there in his later years, by the diligent Dr Stewart of Luss, who had also translated the Bible into Gaelic some twenty years earlier.

Donnchadh Bàn didn’t give up or fixate on results beyond improving his ability — and produced his great work, celebrated or not. So, again, I ask, why should I give up?

Here’s a memorable excerpt from In Praise of Ben Dorain: ere’s Here

Original Gaelic:
'S binn leam fuaim na h-eilde
Ri ceilearadh sa mhaduinn;
'S binn leam smeòrach nan geugan
Gu seinn ann an coille.

Translation:
Sweet to me is the sound of the deer
Calling in the morning;
Sweet to me the thrush in the branches
Singing in the wood.