I have an excuse for saving all my Jameson Whiskey bottles for a new bottle tree! Man, it's gonna be a big tree.
Now I know there's a term for my yard: slow gardening. LOVE this profile in the NyTimes today on Felder Rushing. (Pictured at right)
I'm mulching over the last remnant of lawn this week, and have always been a big fan of outsider garden art--using what you have on hand for containers and decor.
Now that I think about it, my obsession--er, interest-- in "slow gardening"-- reared it's flowery head while I was writing SECRET KEEPERS. A major theme: manicured lawns and landscapers versus wild beauty and the stubborn grace of plants.
I think surrendering to the rhythms of nature is tremendously gratifying-- aligning yourself, really, with the seasonal cycles and inherent design unfolding right there in your garden or clay pots--without imposing by adding chemicals or pruning something to a nub.
It's all about letting go, being open to what is.
I've found there's a similar kind of alignment in writing. Ironically, getting in "the zone" is often, at first, fast and full of energy. Not editing or revising, which comes later with subsequent drafts, but honoring the flow of pure inspiration in first drafts, of surrendering to characters who take on a life of their own.
As the prolific Stephen King writes in his memoir, ON WRITING: A MEMOIR OF THE CRAFT, "Writing is at its best--always, always, always-- when it is a kind of inspired play for the writer. I can write in cold blood if I have to, but I like it best when it's fresh and almost too hot to handle."
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