When I was twelve, I wanted a garden, so my parents gave me a little corner of the yard where I planted strawberries and sugar snap peas and tomatoes. I loved getting out there and pulling weeds, watering my little garden, and harvesting the fruits (or vegetables) of my labor.
But then I got into high school, and then college, and then marriage. SuperHubby and I lived in rental houses or apartments the first eight years out of college, and by the time we had a place where I could make a garden of my own, we had a baby (and more soon on the way) and this writing dream, and so gardening was something I filed under the tab of “For When I Can Afford To Hire A Landscaper.”
But this summer, I took a trip to visit my parents, and as soon as I arrived, Mom announced that they needed help with their newly-planted garden at their new house.
And I had to earn my keep.
It took approximately two shovels full of dirt before I remembered how much I love getting dirty in the earth. Hey, look what you did, my subconscious said. We’re being productive and making something pretty, it added.
Two hours later, though, I couldn’t move. (There’s a possibility I’m a little out of shape.)
But my step back into gardening reminded me of writing. When you’re away from it for a while, diving back into the words can seem daunting. But then you do it, and before you know it, you have a writing hangover and your brain hurts. The good hurt. And – bonus – you have seven hundred new words to show for it. Half a scene, or maybe a whole scene. And you want to bask in what you’ve written, then write and grow it more.
So the rest of the week, I kept writing. Kept going. Kept making progress.
And I’ll do the same tomorrow.
Do you have any hobbies you’ve neglected lately?
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Jamie Farrell writes fun contemporary romances with quirky characters and lots of heart. She believes love, laughter, and bacon are the most powerful forces in the universe. A native Midwesterner, Jamie has lived in the South the majority of her adult life. When she’s not writing, she and her military hero husband are busy raising three hilariously unpredictable children.
Her latest release, Sugared, should not be read while eating or drinking, during solemn occasions or at work, or, apparently, at truck stops.
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