Tiny flowers make me happy.

There is a stretch of ground next to our driveway that refuses to let any cultivated plant take root. Stubborn, the dirt cracks in the sun and floods in the rain. It fills with prickly weeds and trash blown in from the street. It is a source of frustration and endless contemplation on how to make it work. But, one respectable wildflower pops up in the mix now and then: chamomile. Small and fragile yet somehow withstanding, she takes on the look of a weed–so as not to get smothered by the others I assume–and often gets pulled in a frenzy to clear out the rubbish. This time, thought, I aim to let her stay as long as she will; tiny flowers make me happy.

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We really do have a wretched strip of earth to contend with each summer, but I could be talking about my noveling or editing. Here’s a tip: When you’re waist deep in a draft, do not go back to the beginning. You will find weeds and cracks and trash. You will be tempted to throw everything out as yard waste, including the little gems. And, there are little gems.

Write forward.

 

One Reply to “Tiny flowers make me happy.”

  1. What a delightful way to phrase this very important writing truth; it’s so much more pleasant than “don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

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