Category: gardening

The Lost Land of Re-entry

DSC00073Coming home was wonderful. I had an amazing gift waiting. Mr. Petrol Head had dug and turned and weeded and prepped all the garden beds. It took him two weekends and most of a week of evenings to get them ready for me to seed and plant. I hadn’t expected it and I was incredibly grateful as I’d pretty much resigned myself to a smaller garden and a much later start this year. But before I could get outside, I had a few last minute copy edits to finish for Stepping Out, royalty statements to sort through, a number of business issues to deal with and critique pages to read for a writer’s retreat I attended the weekend after I got back.

Re-entry and getting back to the writing routine was taking longer than normal. I didn’t question it; I expected the first week back to be busy. But as I planted the garden, it occurred to me that my resistance was about more than having too much on my plate.

I had some heavily pot bound tomato plants to get into the ground. As I broke apart the root ball, set them into rich, loamy soil and watered them in, I thought about how much they’d appreciate their new digs. Once they got over the initial shock of being transplanted, they’d be quick to take advantage of the unlimited space to grow, sending out new shoots and eventually – hopefully – setting luscious tomatoes we’d gorge on all summer long. Being unconstrained would result in a significant transformation.

I realized I needed a transformation of my own. My trip away wasn’t a rest by any means, but it was enough of a break to point out that I was feeling pot bound too. Boxed in by the never-ending demands of the publishing industry . . . by demands I’d put on myself. I’ve been writing for two decades. My twentieth book will be published next year. The publishing landscape looked quite different when I started out. There was no twitter, Facebook, Instagram or LinkedIn. Blogs were a thing of the future. So were e books. Marketing and promotion was done, for the most part, by publishers. A book a year was considered a respectable output. These days it’s not unusual for writers to produce two, three, even four titles a year. Some of those might be shorter books but the goal is clear: get your name out and keep it there. While you’re at it, make sure you have a social media presence, engage with your readers, market and promote yourself. And make sure you’re reachable by email 24/7 too.

I love to write. It’s as necessary to me as breath. I appreciate email. It’s fun to share on social media. And the changing landscape of publishing is creating opportunities I couldn’t have dreamt up two decades ago. It’s all good.

Except when it isn’t.

Opportunity and possibility often bring growth. Slow, steady growth is a good thing. Wild, exuberant growth may be exciting to watch but it can lead to trouble. When potted plants grow too fast and their roots don’t have enough space, they become pot bound. Eventually the soil becomes so compacted that the roots can’t take up nourishment and they fail to thrive.

The market demands writers grow quickly these days: set daily word counts, produce more books, maintain a mailing list, attend conferences. Do, do, do. Go, go, go. And without enough down time or space in our days to fill the well or feed the muse or simply refuel, we risk getting pot bound ourselves. We risk burnout.

Root disturbance can be a good thing. It leads to change and growth. So now that my outside garden’s planted, it’s time for a little inner root disturbance. It’s time to regroup, rethink, reprioritize. To examine my boundaries and look at what’s important on both a personal and professional level. To incorporate a little more reading time, puttering time, beach time, alone time.

A plant needs space in which to grow. People do too. So this summer I’m giving myself the gift of space. I’ve always seen it as a bit of a luxury. But thanks to another lesson from the garden, I realize it’s a necessity.    root-bound-tomato-plant-224x300

 

My March Reads

tomato_seedling_lgIf you’re a little behind on your start to 2015, call yourself a Roman and don’t worry about it. The early Romans considered March 1st the first day of the New Year. It was only when things changed to the Gregorian calendar that January was given the honor. Personally, March feels like a fresh start given that I’m cleaning out the greenhouse, pulling out the seed flats, planting tomatoes and sweet peas and herbs.  I’m also mulling a new writing project since I’m in the final stages of a YA that’s been on my plate for quite a while. New beginnings are everywhere.

But when I’m not writing or seeding, I’m reading. Here’s what I’m dipping into this month:

At the gym: King Peggy, An American Secretary, Her Royal Destiny, and the Inspiring Story of How She Changed an African Nation by Peggielene Bartels

On the Kindle: A Cry From the Deep by Diana Stevan

By the bed: A Long Time Gone by Karen White

Books read to date 2015:   16

 

My February Reads

P1000911The snowdrops are up, my winter clematis is in bud, and the air carries hints of warm earth and flowers.  We’re walking around in hoodies enjoying the nearly spring-like conditions. Things could change – we’ve had snow flurries in February the last couple of years – but the temperatures are unseasonably mild, the hummingbirds are flitting from the pear trees to the kiwi vines, and I’m dreaming about what I’ll plant in the garden in a few months.

But for now, though, I’m staying indoors where I’m focusing on work, family, and books.

Here’s what I’m reading this month:

On the Kindle: Man Enough: A Return to Salt Spring Island by EC Sheedy

At the Gym: The Late, Lamented Molly Marx by Sally Koslow

In the Office:  We Killed – The Rise of Women in American Comedy by Yael Kohen

Books read to date in 2015:  12

 

 

In the Middle of a Muddle

frontgarden30I’m half way through the first draft of my next YA novel, One Good Deed.

It’s a lot like my garden. Crowded, colorful, and slightly out of control. Words and plot threads are popping up where I don’t necessarily expect them, much like the weeds and flower seedlings randomly sprouting in the garden.

Years ago, when I first started gardening, a friend who was a professional gardener told me I shouldn’t plant so heavily, that I would regret it, that it would lead to disaster as the strong, vigorous plants would crowd out the more fragile specimens.  I listened, I considered, and I planted. I planted heavily because while I admire the clean lines and austerity of, say, Japanese gardens (and I’m passionate about Bonsai) I gravitate to the lush, riotous color of a blousy and overplanted cottage-style garden.

In the garden, my mantra is ‘Look here. And here. And here.’

When I write, my mantra is: ‘Then this. And this. And this.’

My books tend to overflow with people and events and details, especially in the first draft stage. Though I always start with an outline or loose synopsis, at the same time I also like to follow my instincts and the plot threads that come from that.    One Good Deed has multiple plot threads. Some I conceived before I started and some are occurring to me as I write.  It’s exciting, but also somewhat nerve-wracking.

In the garden, I plant what I want where I think it will work. I put some thought into it, but I don’t overanalyze. Self-indulgent as it may sound, I’m creating the space for me. I know there’ll come a time – maybe in mid-summer when the rush of the garden season is over or in fall when I’m putting things to bed for the winter –when I’ll thin things out or reposition plants or dig up volunteers to share with friends.  If I don’t get to it, well there’s always next year.

I don’t feel that same sort of luxurious abandonment when I write. For one thing, writing comes with deadlines. For another, it’s not about self-indulgence, it’s about telling a story readers will love. So, even after 18 published books I fret about the tangents I’m creating, the various plot threads that may or may not weave together nicely. I’ll revise, I always do, but it’s not time effective to write so much that you need to dump a third of the manuscript in the rewriting process.

Writing a novel is a delicate balancing act. At times it’s a bit of a muddle. And I’m in the middle of it.  Wish me luck.

Rewards can be a Long Time Coming

DSC00518Years ago, a friend and I rescued dozens of plants from a city lot not far from where I live. The lot was being gutted in preparation for an apartment block. Over a period of weeks and with permission from the builders, we went in and dug up lilacs, hydrangeas, and reams of smaller things like California poppies and Shasta daisies. We also rescued a number of peony bushes. They were old and we weren’t sure they’d survive the move.  They did, though it took years to nurse them back to productivity.  But now, every spring, I’m rewarded with handfuls of blooms to bring inside.  Tangible evidence, as one friend said, of the reward of hard work.  Those peonies are also a reminder of my early gardening days, when I felt like anything was possible, slugs notwithstanding. Those days when the garden felt more like a blessing than a chore.

Coincidentally, I’ve spent the last few months revisiting and readying for publication an adult novel I wrote years ago.  Much of it was done when my daughter napped, and after I’d spent the morning writing magazine articles or assembling radio documentaries.  Back in the days when I felt like anything was possible, publishing climate notwithstanding.  Those days when the writing felt more like a reward instead of a responsibility.

At some point in the coming months I hope to have “What Lainey Sees” uploaded and for sale under my other writing name – Laura Tobias.  When it hits the Amazon shelf, it will be tangible evidence of the reward of hard work. And the pleasure of the journey itself.

ANDYRooney quoteveryone-wants-to-live-on-top-of-the-mountain-but-all-the-happiness-and-growth-occurs-while-youre-climbing-it-12

My June Reads

DSC00073The vegetable garden is planted and my chiropractor is several hundred dollars richer.  Between rain days and other commitments, I’d let the beds go a little too long this year. The weeds were tenacious, the soil still on the heavy side, and my back and hips didn’t appreciate it.  Needless to say, by the end of each day, I was ready for a hot bath, a cold drink and a good book. In fact, there were moments with the sweat rolling down my forehead that all I could think about was the book waiting for me inside.  It was a good reminder of the simple joy a book can bring.

Here’s what I’m reading these days:

On the Kindle:  The Misremembered Man by Christina McKenna

At the Gym: Unraveling Isobel by Eileen Cook

Beside the Bed: The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

Books read to date in 2014:  36