Down? Go get dirty
Who’s up for playing in the dirt? It’s late April again and I’m thrilled to be back outside.
All winter long I’ve been in the throes of revising my novel. I started by making some changes of my own. Then I received some very helpful critiques from others that have resulted in … yet more revisions.
It’s all going to take longer than I thought. Writing is a lonely occupation. You’ve got to be self-motivated, and there’s no guarantee of success, no matter how hard you work. It’s the kind of thing that can bring you down.
Yet it is my great fortune that it’s also springtime, and so a source of comfort is near at hand – just beyond my front and back doors, in fact.
We’ve got nine acres, tons of planters and many overgrown bushes. We’ve got a diabolical sycamore tree that drops leaves, sticks, branches and bark everywhere each fall and winter. We’ve got flower beds that harbor more out-of-control grass, ivy and vinca than actual flowers.
Yeah, you could say there’s work to be done. But there are wonderful pleasures out there, too.
There’s the joy of working with your hands, and giving your back and legs a workout while you’re at it. (Thank the gods for Advil!)
There’s happiness in being tired (the good kind of tired) and in getting exercise that doesn’t involve a treadmill, spandex or anyone counting reps.
There is also the satisfaction of seeing the fruits of your labor. Don’t get me wrong – there aren’t many things I love in the world as much as writing. But when you revise a story, you’re often agonizing over small things and making the kinds of changes the casual reader wouldn’t necessarily notice or care about.
Not so in the yard – you plant a tree, you fill a container with flowering plants, you weed a bed, and you see the difference right away.
All through the growing season – if you can keep the deer at bay, and pay attention to your watering schedule – it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Need another reason? Well, if you’re like me and need a lot of time to think, there simply isn’t a better place for it than outside.
I go through my chapters in my head as I pull weeds. I think about my characters and the things that motivate them as I douse the containers. Even as I deadhead the petunias and trim back the greenery in front, I think about what I can trim away from the story, where I’m being too wordy, clouding the plot or hampering the action.
I know I will finish revising the book. I have confidence that I will whip each chapter into shape, cut out the dross and fill in the plot holes.
The perfect words are all waiting for me out there … in the yard.
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