If you plant seeds—

—be sure to water them.

I declared my intention to grow flowers in memory of my husband. He was a much better gardener than I. Of course, I had to weed first. Winter brought us a lot of rain, which resulted in an extra large crop of weeds (still undefeated). Many I can’t name, but my focus has been on wild mustard and fox tails. 

So I cleared a small area in front of our porch which unfortunately is protected by the eaves from rain. I then planted a mix of penstemon and bachelor buttons, hoping they’d not be in conflict. I did water initially, before getting distracted. A few seedlings are coming up.

The second and third beds, unfortunately, suffered from my distractions. I can’t identify anything as a purposeful seedling. However, the xeric plants are benefiting from my more frequent—if rather late to the party—waterings. There’s some comfort in that. Plus volunteer violas are popping up in all the beds. Those seeds must be opportunists, waiting for the water. Welcome, violas! 

In the backyard, I planted six tomato plants in two raised beds, and surrounded each batch of three with bachelor button seeds. Happily, those seeds have responded to daily watering. Someday they will shine!

Other plantings—

In writing, you have to plant words. Yes, you might face the task of weeding out misplaced or intrusive ones, but sowing all possible seeds is the only way of arriving—eventually—with a book.

Words that pop into my head, but don’t get written down are lost, usually forever. Ideas as well. 

This morning in the pre-dawn, the idea popped into my head that I needed to look into other points of view as I resume the struggle to achieve the climax to Quantum Quest, which will complete my sci-fi trilogy. I jotted down a new point of view, and felt like I might actually—someday— reach my goal. But it will require daily waterings and probably a dose of fertilizer as well.

What have you planted lately?

In-Between Season

With apologies to my readers, lately I’ve been in stasis. Essentially, my world has stood still.

When I began this blog, we were between cold and warm, with more of each to follow. My apricot tree had already opened its first blossoms, which bodes poorly for the survival of any apricots. Bumper crops happen rarely. Fortunately, it is a wise-enough tree that it doesn’t display all its blossoms at one time.

When I began this blog, the elms at the park were bare, waiting. Now they’ve sprouted a fine green mist on those previously brown branches.

When I began this blog, only two spring crocuses had bloomed. Now the narcissus is out, daffodils show bright touches of yellow, and tulips are pushing up.

But my own life is split, between endings and a vague future. Sophie and I face an emptier home than the one we had through most of February. It’s a loss I’ve mourned for a long time, like watching a drama play out that you know must end sadly, though its scenes are full of love. But now the final curtain has descended. And Sophie and I both mourn the hole in our lives.

I have already planted one little plot with flower seeds, with plans for several more. My personal memorial to my love will be to grow as many flowers this year as I can encourage out of the earth.

Until those flowers sprout, I’ll continue feeling between seasons. And who knows how long after that? But there is a future to be lived as well. 

Stay mindful everyone. Enjoy every moment that’s given you.

Rules

Love rules. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.

Characters rule. I’m still struggling with the climax to Quantum Quest (the first draft of which was scheduled to be completed in 2023). But, as I’ve been saying for months, it is inching forward.

My latest discovery is 1) I’ve got lots of characters to settle; 2) I’ve failed to address all of them; 3) the actions of some are going to spur reactions in others, which of course, 4) will drive them all to the climax. I hope.

My little book rules. A few weeks ago, I titled a little notebook: 2024 Journal of Writing Progress, and began making notes. Every day since January 2nd contains at least one and usually multiple entries. Admittedly on lazy Sundays, I do very little work, but by the end of the day I’m considering what needs doing next. 

This past Sunday’s entry includes  “QQ night pondering.” I set an intention for my mind to work on the next step, and any time I woke, I directed my thoughts there. In the morning, I wrote out a page of character talk and action which I hope will edge me ever nearer the end.

As noted above, Characters rule. They know much more about the story than I do.

People rule. On Monday, I attended a retirement party for a librarian I once worked with, and there made contact with children’s librarians I hadn’t seen in years. 

Driving home from the library, I was reminded of my first encounter with classmates when embarked on my MLS degree. That was when I discovered: Librarians are my people.

I feel the same about writers, though as a whole they tend to be an eclectic bunch. Children’s writers are my people. 

Trickster Door addendum.

After posting last week’s blog, I had an aha moment. The garage door reversed itself and opened again. I went for a broom and swept the underside of the door. Surely that would cure the problem.

It didn’t. For whatever reason, it happened again. But I’m pretty sure (now that it has trained me to be extra mindful) that it will act much more dependably.

Trickster Tales

First of all, what are tricksters? Their purpose is to remind us to be real. When we put up barriers to hide (often from ourselves), they delight in tearing down those walls. Only when we are real do they lose their power.

I’ll keep my eyes open, except for those drops.

This past week, I became nursemaid to Sophie. A trip to the vet established a problem in her left eye that needed antibiotics, and an overall problem of dry eyes that will need treatment for the rest of her life. And my husband got sick for the second time this year. Another cough and cold.

A couple weeks back, I blogged about our trickster garage door. It doesn’t always close when directed. The same thing has happened when I enter the house. (Just FYI, my theory is that sometimes a leaf blows in, breaking the light beam between sensors, redirecting the door up again.)

I wrote about my epiphany that when leaving home I needed to be where I was, i.e. in the driveway watching the door come down, rather than letting my mind move ahead to my destination.

Tale Number One

Having an epiphany doesn’t always make it so

A week ago I headed out for an appointment, intending to mail a couple letters on the way. As I pulled out of the garage, instead of being in the driveway, my mind flew to choosing between the nearest post office or the one halfway to my destination. I chose the halfway-there P.O. 

Leaving that post office lot, I realized I hadn’t consciously watched the garage door close. Aargh! And I didn’t have time to go back. Arriving home, I found the door had closed, but the reminder was a wake-up call for —

Tale Number Two

One of the highlights of my week is our Saturday morning breakfast with friends before grocery shopping. This past Saturday though, I worried that  my husband with his cold wasn’t well enough to go. He thought he was up to it., so we got into the car.

But then I had to get out again to attend to something. And when I got back into the car, I couldn’t find my keys. Were they in my hand or pocket when I first got into the car? I couldn’t remember.

Back into the house I went. Then back out to the car, looking, looking, looking. Time was slipping away. It was a sign we weren’t meant to go. I texted our friends that my husband was sick.

Then he pointed out that the garage door was still open.

Be where you are. Okay, but where was I? 

Where I was, was chock full of bottled up feelings. I didn’t want to yell at a sick husband. But there I was, the nurse in charge of a gummy-eyed dog and a sick man. And I couldn’t go to breakfast. The best part of my week!

I had a right to be disappointed. I proceeded to indulge in a tantrum. (At least that’s what I called it.) I acknowledged my feelings with some rare tears.

After that indulgence, I calmly located the fallen keys, prepared breakfast at home (though not our traditional Breakfast Burrito with green chile, split between us) and went off to do the shopping on my own. 

Telling my sister about it later, we both laughed. She commented that as seniors, we rarely allow ourselves such luxuries. I’m lucky to have a trickster garage door reminding me to be mindful. 

Be where you are. Feel what you feel.

What kind of tricksters do you find in your life?

Muse, where are you?

The things I’ll do to avoid finishing my trilogy:

Write a blog.

Knit a cap and immediately begin another, hoping to avoid the mistakes made in the previous one.

Introduce Sophie to a new mode of transport for family walks (because she’s so pokey the rest of us don’t really even get our legs stretched). Unfortunately, she was terrified on her first ride. Maybe treats would help?

Work on income taxes.

Resume research for a partially written fairytale retelling.

Work on a Christmas jigsaw puzzle.

Yes, I do keep inching closer to the end of Quantum Quest. The problem is, I know what happens but can’t quite see how it happens. And the showing is what convinces the reader, not the telling.

We’re already one-twelfth of the way through this new year. I think it’s time I had a long talk with my muse . . . 

Paying Attention

Some time ago, I discovered that most of my (rare) falls happen when I’m ungrounded. I can walk and think, but only by keeping one piece of my mind sensing the ground beneath my feet. It was when I fell and broke my little finger that that lesson came clear. Every subsequent fall comes as a reminder.

So now let’s move on to the garage door. I believe, the garage door has been trying to catch my attention for several months. After thirty-odd years in this house, when backing the car out into the driveway, the impulse to hit the garage door gadget is automatic.

So I couldn’t understand how I might drive off, only to find the door wide open on my return. That first time came when I was eager to walk the two miles around the university golf course.

It happened again when I drove to the gym (again for exercise). Since then, there have been a couple more incidents. Had I forgotten to hit the control each time? 

Then one day, I actually glimpsed it reversing course just before it reached the ground. I hit the control again, it closed completely, and I was on my way. 

The Lesson

The last straw—the day I realized there was a lesson to be learned—happened last week. 

I drove out of the garage with my husband, my mind full of the four stops I intended to make. Almost to our first stop, my phone rang. I ignored it. 

Once parked, I discovered it was the neighbor across the street. He didn’t answer when I called back. Worried, my second stop was on my way home, so arrived at the library, I called again. This time I got through and learned our garage door was open—again!

I rushed home. Once the car was parked and the garage door closed, I realized my last two errands were nearby. Enough of this! The door being now closed, I was going to walk.

Walking is good for thought. I realized the garage door had a message. This time, the lesson is to be aware of where I am at all times, rather than letting my mind fly to the next stop on my agenda.

1) Back out of the garage.

2) Realize I’m in the driveway watching the door close.

3) Continue to be aware of where I am while driving in city traffic.

Amazing, how the universe works.

Counting Days

The best laid plans . . . , Robert Burns said.

In our case, a cold Monday and fresh snow on the streets upended my to-do list. No gym. No errands—which seemed so important to make note of on Sunday. Everything’s on hiatus.

Meanwhile, I’ve work to be done, this second week of the new year. In fact, I’ve been unusually enthusiastic (see previous blog) about work. 

Other writers have spoken of keeping writing logs. I tried doing the same, but crash landed very quickly. I think it’s because my thinking was trying for big chunks of labor.

But my current enthusiasms need to be praised and petted and attended to. Having been gifted with a small notebook about a year ago, I decided its time has come to be of use. I will keep track of each project I tackle.

Beginning January 2nd, I’ve managed to note any and all writing-related tasks performed—in brief. And color-coded. The colors are to help maintain some sense of balance. So far, I have multiple entries for every day other than New Year’s Day itself.

This year, I’m not going to complain about the days slipping by so fast. (Never say never! I still might complain.) However by keeping tabs on what is accomplished, I’ll have something to look back on. This year, I want to make every day count.

Looking back on the Old Year

Generally, the only yearly resolutions I make relate to writing.

The second item on my 2023 list states: “Complete Quantum Quest draft.” I certainly drew near to its climax but must confess, the draft remains incomplete. It has now moved to my 2024 list.

Neither did I complete the first item on the list: “Hidden Tower, review in Feb., send out queries.” I did receive a reading and consultation from Cordelia Jensen on the manuscript in February. And gave some thought to what needs revising, but am nowhere near sending out queries. That manuscript, too, has moved to 2024.

All well and good. Much more time was spent on an item not listed at all. That happened when I kept thinking about, and finally followed, my enthusiasm for reworking Sky’s Daughter into a verse-vignette novel. My pleasure in the result leads me to believe that above all else, one’s foremost resolution should be:

Pay attention. Follow your enthusiasm.

And now for the New

Sophie, following her enthusiasm for a long winter’s nap.

We rang in the New Year with a gathering of thirteen for coffee at 7 am on January first. My friend Rachel, who helped me prepare, told someone else, “These aren’t people who stay up late drinking.”

As one who rarely entertains, I had a great time. I’ll consider doing it again on a holiday, but not too soon. I had no energy, nor enthusiasm, for any other endeavors for the rest of the day. But after all, it was a holiday!

To all of my readers out there: 

May you have a fulfilling New Year

and may you follow your enthusiasms!

Taking Stock

December is almost half gone. The question of whether I’ll succeed in my deadline to complete a rough—very, very rough—draft of a novel this year remains in limbo. Will I or won’t I? 

I’ve done a lot of soul searching. How have I written novels in the past? How can I change my methods? My previous works all happened over time. This is the first novel I’ve tried to shove into a deadline. 

I thought, maybe I should create an outline. Except that didn’t happen. I am a pantser. To outline is not even possible for me. Why? Because my stories only move forward by my getting inside my characters. 

Although—many times what comes out first from my pen is dialogue. Often I don’t even knowing who is speaking. Could I outline using dialogue alone? N-o-o-o, I don’t think so. There needs to be action, not simply talk.

Anyway, today I am taking stock. Of the 56,000 words in my file, I’ve printed out the last 15,000, which have not been neatly (or even roughly) slotted into chapters. My characters and their time lines need to be sorted out.

Sophie in her new pink collar; including an ID tag in case she gets lost.

I’ll report back again to tell you of my progress. Meanwhile, I have 15,000 bits to sort and piece together. Speaking of which, I once told an agent at a writing conference that I don’t do short pieces. I told her I’m a quilter, meaning—it takes a book for me to figure out what is going on. 

So consider this a very intricate quilt I’m piecing in these last weeks of 2023. And the climax is still to come!

Ambiguous Grief

The crows are back, with their raucous calls, dropping signs of their pecan foraging. We’ve had some rainfall, dampening the falling leaves. It’s been a beautiful autumn, as the year rounds another corner, nearing its end.

This past week has been an exhausting one of minor and major upheavals, which put a temporary stop to my very slow writing momentum. Have you noticed (or is it just me) that the major upheavals seem to follow the fatigue of the minor?

Monday morning usually brings new beginnings, and so I sat in a brief meditation to discover where to put my energies. A poem (written a few weeks ago, needing some revision) rose to the surface. As you’ll see, it describes my own life’s ambiguities.

Ambiguous endings are so different from the sudden shock I experienced when facing the loss of a youngest brother some years ago.

There’s a book whose title says it all: Ambiguous Loss; learning to live with unresolved grief, by Pauline Boss. That term describes a place many of us share, whether mourning the state of our planet, or a failing parent, grandparent, child, sibling, partner, patient . . . 

Treading Water	

A college requirement——
tread water to graduate——
prove you won’t drown when tossed into life.

School offers wide lanes for laps,
teaches the many strokes
that keep body and mind in motion.

You find a life’s partner, 
together you stretch your limits
in deeper, more vigorous waters.

While babies grow you might tread in place,
but soon you’re paddling out again
into more expansive crossings.

The years bring hard kicks, 
uncertain seas, breathtaking sparkles——
until in retirement you swim relaxed——

with time to explore new oceans
new lakes	 new streams
unless—		all too soon . . .

your partner fails——stranding you both 
in uncharted waters——where you fight 
to stay afloat among storm-tossed waves.

You know you must keep your head high.
You know you are needed.
You know
			but not when——

	your partner will sink
	never to resurface.
You too will dive deep.

But the day will come when——
you’ll do more than choke on salt water, when—— 
you’ll stroke back into life’s currents.
by Kate Harrington, 11/20/2023