Stories that live in my imagination now have windows of opportunity. I’ve loved writing all my life. Why then did I wait so long to sit down and express my imagination formally? Could it be lack of confidence? It takes nerve and sheer determination to complete a novel. After that it gets difficult. Writing is hard work, but sending stories out to be judged and reviewed is terrifying. Authors are sensitive people and the tough skin one needs has to be cultivated for survival. There’s lots of advice out in the world about handling reviews, unkind comments or worst, nothing at all. (Hint: if you have a friend who writes, please do an honest, but kind review for him/her and post it. Anyone who reviews and posts for others is a friend of all authors and readers everywhere).
Looking through my window you may see my back “kitchen” garden. At the breakfast table I gaze out at the wild flowers blooming in high summer. Since I work in a plant nursery, you may wonder why I cultivate wild flowers. I love them. Simple as that. The yellow blossom is a plant called Elecampane, a medicinal herb still in use in some sections of the world. It’s a tall stately plant with large, dignified leaves. It will reseed but very slowly. I leave the seeds on for the birds, mainly gold finches, who visit in the winter. More on the view out my window next post.