Let It Grow
Thoughts about writing, courtesy of a lettuce, several cabbages, and some garlic
One Sunday last year, for no apparent reason, I took it into my head to go and buy a load of seedlings, some compost, and a few pots, and we started a little veggie garden on my deck. Nothing much some herbs, some tomatoes, and some peppers. Some of them died. Some of them didn’t.
This year, our starter garden expanded to several raised beds inside a cage of netting to protect them from hungry deer. It went from 15 square feet to over 150.
We’re growing five different kinds of lettuces, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, leeks, beans, cucumbers, zucchini, cabbages, cauliflower, peppers, tomatoes, chilis, collards, garlic, beets, rosemary, basil, oregano, mint, sage, and probably a few other things I’ve forgotten to list.
If all goes well, we’ll have enough to provide all our vegetables and herbs for four or five months.
I’m still not sure what drew me to gardening: I always hated it as a kid, and would do just about anything to get out of weeding or picking potatoes.
But it’s become very satisfying for many reasons: there’s something almost magical about watching things grow from tiny seeds to abundant crops. Cooking and eating food I’ve grown myself brings me joy on a very deep level. And of course, it’s all organic, and it’s way cheaper than buying fresh veggies at the store.
Most surprisingly, it’s become one of my preferred forms of meditation: I love spending time outside tending to the garden, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the birds, and feeling like I’m part of Nature.
None of which will come as a surprise to any of you who’ve been doing this for years.
But what I realized the other day, as I was pulling out grass from between the cabbages, was that the mindset required for writing and gardening is very similar. For me, anyway.
A little every day is all it takes.
Most days, tending the garden takes no more than fifteen minutes. A little water if it hasn’t rained, some weeding and pruning, check for pests, pick anything that’s ready to eat. So that’s how I generally start my day, usually somewhere in between my first cup of coffee and breakfast.
Writing for just fifteen minutes a day doesn’t sound like much. But I know I can write a page in that time. By the end of the week, if I keep at it, I’ll have a short story. After six months, I’ll have a first draft of a book.
You need to be disciplined and persistent.
Growing veggies is a commitment. When they need planting, watering, fertilizing, weeding, and harvesting, you just have to do it. Doesn’t matter if it’s raining or if you feel tired or you’d rather watch TV all day. You just get off your butt and tend to them, no excuses.
It’s the same with writing. You just have to do it. Days when I don’t feel like writing are often when I do my best editing, mostly because when I’m not feeling creative, I get very critical of my own work.
You have to be patient.
Growing veggies isn’t a quick process. And fruits are even slower - they can take years. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do to hurry them - they’ll get there in their own good time. So relax, and enjoy watching them come together.
Books are a slow process as well. Chances are, if you try to rush them, you’ll end up with something that’s no good. So take it slow and steady, and don’t force it.
Expect failures.
Planting twelve cabbages doesn’t mean you’re going to end up with twelve cabbages. Some seeds won’t germinate. Pests will chomp their way through some of your crops, no matter what you do. Disease or fungus will strike. The weather will be fickle. You’ll screw things up, especially when you’re growing something for the first time. That’s just the way it is, and there’s no point stressing about it. So plant at least 50% more than you need, and hope for the best.
About 30% of my stories end up in the trash. That’s okay. I have more. I used to get annoyed with myself if I couldn’t make a story work. Now, I just put it in a folder called “sucky crap” and move on to something else.
Weed and prune ruthlessly.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn is that I can’t just let the plants do their own thing. It’s essential to clear away anything that might interfere with their growth, trim them, cut away leaves, remove flowers, and so on. The hardest thing of all is thinning out the seedlings: I have to select the best and strongest ones, and treat the others as weeds even if they’re perfectly viable.
That’s editing. It hurts, it’s hard, and it’s what distinguishes good writing from great writing.
There’s beauty in shit.
As I mentioned, everything we do is organic. We save kitchen waste and yard clippings and turn them into compost and fertilizer. It can be stinky and gross at times, but there’s something deeply satisfying when the process is complete and we end up with something that’s both good for the plants and free. It’s not garbage: it’s a catalyst for growth.
I get inspiration for stories from all sorts of unexpected places. I never know what experiences are going to trigger an idea. The very worst parts of my life have been some of the most creative times. I find that very comforting.
If you don’t love it, you can’t do it.
This last one literally came to me as I was writing this piece and musing about what changed in my life to get me into both gardening and writing fiction. I still don’t have an answer for that, but I realized it’s something to do with how I like to spend my time.
I wouldn’t be growing veggies if I didn’t get deep joy from spending time outside digging in the dirt, up to my wrists in compost, even if it’s raining. I like to think that when I’m eating something I grew myself, I can taste the love and care that went into it. It’s not like eating supermarket veggies. (Yeah, yeah, I know… it’s the pesticides and the fertilizers and the way they store the produce and the varieties that affects the taste, but, psssshhh… I can taste the love, okay?)
I know a lot of writers say that writing is a form of masochism. I’m not one of them. I really enjoy the process of coming up with stories, putting words on the page, and creating something that brings people pleasure. (Publication, on the other hand, is a whole different thing. That’s not fun.)
I simply wouldn’t write if doing it didn’t make me happy. I’d spend my time doing something else instead.