Tuesday, June 18
Usually our porch is covered in planters filled with all the summer basics--Petunias, Pansies, Marigolds...
This summer, the desire for pot and pots filled with flowers seemed like more work that fun. The desire was there--sort of. I kept checking out the plants at the farm and ranch store where my daughter works, Wal-Mart and the nursery. But I didn't buy any. Not one. The two big planters in front of the steps looked especially barren.
Finally, I filled those two with basic Petunias.
My perennial gardens are flourishing. But they're minimal work. Weeding? Sure, a little. Fertilizing and watering. Easy. They're beautiful, they're permanent.
All this is a little like my writing this summer. I
love writing. Still do. But lately, it seems exactly like my gardening. It seems easier to leave the planters empty and tend to the perennial gardens. In other words, it seems easier to tend to the published work, than plant something new. The planting, (new story), weeding (editing) and fertilizing (marketing) all seem like just too much.
I gotta get out of this slump.
I need my flowers. I need to write.