Happy Endings

WARNING: Spoiler alert - if you haven't read Jesse yet, maybe skip this post.  Also, I'm going to speak about fictional characters, both in my stories and in my head, as though they were real people.  If that freaks you out, I totally understand.

 A blanketflower.  Why?  Because it's the only flower in my garden to which I am emotionally attached.

It's almost done.  My second novel.

It's the most exciting time.  Just a couple of chapters before the end.  Everything comes together, the end is in sight, and the words just spill out on the page.  There's nothing like an ending to keep you up writing into the morning hours.

Just a few weeks ago, it seemed like I would never get here.  These characters would be stuck in limbo forever, because I couldn't seem to move forward.

And then I realized why: I didn't want the end to come.

There was nothing wrong with the ending.  It had been planned out years ago.  It was going to be original, shocking, dramatic.  It was filled with so many possibilities for the future.  So many more stories.

But I couldn't do it.  It wasn't the ending I wanted for these characters. 

I know life rarely works out perfectly, and the responsible part of me tells me I should portray that reality.  Jesse got her happily ever after, because I friggin loved that girl.  She'd been through so much already, she deserved every unrealistic, impossible dream come true.  Even her villain was a sad failure - Jasmine's weak attempts to hurt my heroine throughout the book didn't touch her.  I tried to make up for this deficiency with flashbacks, by which I tried to say, see?  Look what she's already dealt with.  Have some compassion.  I couldn't argue with the criticisms that everything worked out just a little too neatly for her.  But I didn't care.  And I stand by my story.

But this next book was going to be different.  It had a real plot, intricate and sophisticated, and everything was going to revolve around that.  The characters were not going to get in the way.  I would not grow attached.

Yeah, right.

I tried.  I really, really tried.  But I couldn't keep them at arm's length.  I'd grown too close to them.  I'd felt their emotions.  The conclusion I had planned for them, although fine in theory, was causing me real pain.  My fingers couldn't bear to type it.

Once I gave up trying, the real ending became quite clear.  I knew exactly what had to happen.  The characters who would drive the change already existed.  They had the knowledge, and the ability to do it.  And, more than that, they wanted to do it.  All they needed was my permission.

So I've given it.  And it will be done in a few days.

As a side effect of my reluctance to finish, I've spent much more time with these characters than I originally planned.  Their stories are fuller, richer.  Fleshed out with even more characters.  In consequence, the end of this book is not the end of my time with them.  It will require a sequel to reach their destination.  I'm not even finished this book yet, and I'm already looking forward to it.

 

The Rewards of Laziness

 There is a back corner in my garden that I don't usually talk about.  Even in spring, when my intentions are pure and all my friends and family have been informed that this is going to be my best garden ever, I rarely go into detail about what what will be planted here.  Because a small part of me knows that it will be neglected.

Why this happens, I don't know.  But it seems to be getting worse over the years.  It brings on a certain amount of guilt, which probably contributes to my further avoidance of it... but that's a metaphor about sin for another day.

Today's metaphor is about being too quick to judge.  Especially when your knowledge is limited.  Because the atrocity I found growing in the back corner this spring  would have been quickly dispatched, had it been in any other part of my garden.  Since it was where it was, I made mental notes to myself to deal with it at some point in the future.  Which, of course, never came.  And then, one day, this happened.

The monstrosity blossomed.

I had to go through my old seed receipts to discover that it's name was Hollyhock Nigra, and that it had been planted 3 years ago - and, obviously, thought to be a dismal failure, like most of the other perennials I have tried to grow from seed.


So there you have it.  Sometimes, neglected back corners can yield pleasant surprises.  If you can afford the space, don't be too quick to pull that weed.  Wait a while.  It could be a hollyhock.

Happy procrastinating!

The Joys of Gardening

I have a garden.

My garden in May - just starting to work the soil after a long winter.

It's a large garden.  The small section in the foreground is about half the size of the original, in the back.

 Mostly, I grow vegetables. I figure, why spend money (that I don't have) to buy organic vegetables, when I can spend that nonexistent money on seeds, tools, and equipment that will enable me to go out and grow those vegetables myself? In my very own (borrowed) dirt? So, no, I don't think gardening saves me much money, if any. And it's a huge dedication of time, which I never have enough of. And I get very dirty. And often hot. And my tomatoes have failed 3 years in a row (please God keep my tomatoes safe this year!).

Came home from vacation to these little buggers 2 years ago.  Eating my heirloom tomatoes, started from seed in my front window in April.  I drowned every last one of them.  Horrifying experience - they were the size of kittens.

 But you know what? These are the things I love. I love that I get to spend hours on my own, with nothing but my thoughts. I love getting my hands in dirt. I love feeling the sun soaking into my skin. And I love that sometimes, my vegetables die. Bugs eat them. Frost kills them. Weeds choke them. Rain drowns them or drought cooks them. It reminds me that the world isn't perfect, that producing food is hard, and that I have a lot to learn. Stop planting things in the same place twice - you know that already. Pay attention to the weather and try watering things once in a while. Smother that back corner and kill that blasted bindweed already - you're never going to win against rhizomes picking them like dandelions.

And I love - love, love, love - my flowers. I probably plant about a dozen varieties a year, and I'll be lucky if 3 of them work out. The rest just turn into weed patches. But look at these. Aren't they pretty? Don't they just make you smile?

 Bachelor's buttons, grown last year.

 And look - there's a bee in one of them. I'm helping to save the bees. Well, some bees, anyway. And we won't mention the one I stepped on a couple weeks ago.

Not everyone appreciates gardening, or gardens, or flowers or bees, like I do. And while I'm ok being different, it can sometimes be disheartening. Like, maybe the things I think are important really aren't.

But then I go out to my garden, and remember: God made these flowers. He's not just looking down on them, evaluating them like a judge at a county fair. He freaking MADE them. He made their ancestors thousands of years ago. He made the seeds that contained the genetic material and the very life that allowed them to reproduce and spread in all their varieties. He made the bees that pollinated them, and the gardeners who chose them, picking which ones to propagate until finally, he sent the rain that germinated my little handful of seeds, and the sunshine that guided the growth of those seedlings. Each little petal is perfectly, intimately, formed by his hands.

God cares more about these flowers than I ever could. And he knew that I would love them.  And I think that makes him as happy as it makes me.

Prairie Reminiscing

Beautiful prairie pic from Carla Dyck photography at http://carladyck.blogspot.ca/2012/10/manitoba-prairies.html


As I work through the middle of my next book, I'm enjoying memories of the prairie.  Carla Dyck has captured some of that beauty here, I think.

More inspiration:
https://www.pinterest.com/coringillis/lena/