Grass woes and writing
Here's the thing: my lawn is a mess. As in, much of it appears to be missing. The weed killer stuff did a great job, and lo and behold, much of the green stuff that used to be out there was weeds. And is now dusty dirty dirt patch.
Now, the amusing thing (to me, anyhow), is that I made that sound like a recent occurrence, but honestly, it's been the case for three years. Three.
It got to the point that the guys who kill weeds and fertilize the remaining grass tufts were embarrassed by my lawn. So they made me an offer I truly couldn't refuse - for well under $100, they showed up and aerated the lawn (code for "spitting cork-sized bits of dirt all over the place for no apparent reason"), then overseeded (or, let's be honest, seeded) the rest. And now, they want me to water it. This means I have to wrestle with the hose (note: the spooly thing with the handle on it doesn't really and truly prevent hose tangles, although it does harbor mosquitoes well), and then cart the sprinkler around the yard, with requisite turnings on and off of the water supply and moving about of the sprinkler and whatnot.
Obviously, this got me to thinking about the writing process. How it's not enough to want a nice yard (i.e., want to write something). You have to actually tend to the process. You need to prepare the ground first, which requires time and effort to learn what needs to be done and actually do it. In the case of my yard, I paid guys to do the actual work; in the case of writing, you can pay for courses and books, but you still have to do the actual work yourself. Unless you hire a ghost writer. But I digress.
Then, you need to sow seeds (with a nod to lisa_schroeder who said just such a thing earlier today). Those little seeds we call ideas aren't enough on their own, either. There is actual work involved in the rest of it: watering and fertilizing the ideas to help them grow. Much of watering the lawn is merely showing up and turning on the hose, just like much of writing is just showing up and grabbing a pen or keyboard and getting words to flow out. But some of it is sweaty-making, dirty, possibly injurious/painful stuff that involves untangling hopelessly bunched up knots while mosquitoes attack any available skin surface, leaving one frustrated, dirty, in pain and despising the entire idea of writing (or, as the case may be, of the idea of a lush lawn).
In the end, of course, the success of my yard, like the success of my writing, is not entirely up to me. With both, I naturally have to worry about droughts. With the yard, I also have to contend with weather, pests, and the dogs. With my writing, with members of the public like agents, editors, and other readers.
But I'm thinking if I stick to it, and tend those seeds well, and work hard, I might just succeed. And so might you.
Now, the amusing thing (to me, anyhow), is that I made that sound like a recent occurrence, but honestly, it's been the case for three years. Three.
It got to the point that the guys who kill weeds and fertilize the remaining grass tufts were embarrassed by my lawn. So they made me an offer I truly couldn't refuse - for well under $100, they showed up and aerated the lawn (code for "spitting cork-sized bits of dirt all over the place for no apparent reason"), then overseeded (or, let's be honest, seeded) the rest. And now, they want me to water it. This means I have to wrestle with the hose (note: the spooly thing with the handle on it doesn't really and truly prevent hose tangles, although it does harbor mosquitoes well), and then cart the sprinkler around the yard, with requisite turnings on and off of the water supply and moving about of the sprinkler and whatnot.
Obviously, this got me to thinking about the writing process. How it's not enough to want a nice yard (i.e., want to write something). You have to actually tend to the process. You need to prepare the ground first, which requires time and effort to learn what needs to be done and actually do it. In the case of my yard, I paid guys to do the actual work; in the case of writing, you can pay for courses and books, but you still have to do the actual work yourself. Unless you hire a ghost writer. But I digress.
Then, you need to sow seeds (with a nod to lisa_schroeder who said just such a thing earlier today). Those little seeds we call ideas aren't enough on their own, either. There is actual work involved in the rest of it: watering and fertilizing the ideas to help them grow. Much of watering the lawn is merely showing up and turning on the hose, just like much of writing is just showing up and grabbing a pen or keyboard and getting words to flow out. But some of it is sweaty-making, dirty, possibly injurious/painful stuff that involves untangling hopelessly bunched up knots while mosquitoes attack any available skin surface, leaving one frustrated, dirty, in pain and despising the entire idea of writing (or, as the case may be, of the idea of a lush lawn).
In the end, of course, the success of my yard, like the success of my writing, is not entirely up to me. With both, I naturally have to worry about droughts. With the yard, I also have to contend with weather, pests, and the dogs. With my writing, with members of the public like agents, editors, and other readers.
But I'm thinking if I stick to it, and tend those seeds well, and work hard, I might just succeed. And so might you.