I was blessed this summer with the opportunity to completely pursue writing. I decided not to look for a job and instead fling myself head first into working on some story projects. I wanted to learn about the publishing business and just take a season to dream about what it might look like to pursue being an author. Wow. That sounds kind of lofty, even when I read it.
Three months of free time, what more could a writer dream of?
Except that for a month and a half, trying to write was like walking through tar and I couldn’t figure out why. I love to write, why was I so unmotivated?
For some unknown reason I became rather obsessed with flowers and gardens this summer. I’ve had the privilege of living and visiting amazing gardens throughout my life, but never thought much of them. They were pretty and all, but they weren’t the intoxicating presence they have since become in the the last month or so. I thought maybe I was pinning for England again and this was just the latest tell-tale sign. So, during times when I surely should have been writing, I’ve instead been researching and plotting how to start my own little British garden beside our house. With many hours in the blazing sun and a pretty penny’s worth of new flowers, I did it. I planted a flower garden. It’s not opulent, but it’s delightfully quaint.
And after much sweat and effort, I stood back and admired my little garden. But I felt supremely guilty that I’d found yet another hobby to distract me from the task at hand: becoming an author.
It’s in the midst of this that God and I hashed it out…into a little story.
Enjoy. The Spade and the Pen.