My poor yard. I feel bad as I look out into the backyard and see the dandelions that need to be cut, the drooping daisies, the piles of debris waiting to be put on the composte pile...and that's just to begin with. I can't even tell you how many bushes in the front need to be trimmed back.
My yard is the victim of my writing frenzy this summer.
I think I need a self-sustaining yard. And maybe some yard gnomes. I'll even give them step stools to reach the high branches.
I would never consider giving up my flower garden. I really do love it when it's in bloom. I love it when spring arrives and the plants start poking through the earth and its all alive with possibility.
It's a lot like writing that first chapter, when everything is all new and you're discovering your characters for the first time. Everything is ripe with possibility. You're falling in love with your new characters and they can go anywhere from that first chapter. Anywhere your imagination can drive them
Unfortunately for me and my garden, the novel and the garden are on parallel planes. The toughest time in a book is steering it through the murky middle and onto the end. I'm at that point right now and at the same time, the yard is deadheading/trimming/pruning stage--the hard work stage.
Guess who's losing the tug-of-war? My sad little garden. This week I reached 52,000 words and the end is coming into view. And as long as I keep my plants alive, there's always next year.