THE LONG HAUL....

Once upon a time there was a woman who wrote short stories. Sometimes very short stories, sometimes a little bit longer. Every now and then she wrote a poem, not very long poems it must be said. She enjoyed this dipping into here and there. Testing her abilities. Then one day, in a burst of over enthusiastic belief in her capabilities she began a novel.

It began with a simple idea...what if I did this...

(very much like how this garden bed grew...a simple idea) 

This was only the first attempt at a novel. Over the years, and there has been a lot of those as well, she began quite a few novels. She finished first drafts of many of them. Three novels made it to second draft, and one famously made it to third.

Thousands and thousands upon thousands of words were written, re-worked, re-jigged, re-wired, re-edited, refused, rejected. These many thousands of words lie forgotten and neglected deep in her computer's brain (hopefully).

She is now working on another WIP...this she believes has potential. So far it has had two rejigs, a cold reader has read and commented, and now this writer/foolhardy person, is attempting to go over it yet again.

This garden bed was a 'great' idea. I wanted to expand it. Wanted to create a sea of tulips and daffodils. A row of something flurry in the front....a ground cover, white, blanketing the area, and perhaps a pot.

In my mind it was a vision. In reality it was weeks and weeks and weeks of heavy digging.

Finally I had the bare soil. Next it was what to put in there...

I bought tulips and kept myself focused on a minimal palette of colour. Frankly this was the hardest thing to do, because frankly when it comes to plants I'm a kid in a lolly shop. I WANT IT ALL.

But I kept my focus...then came the daffodils. And I planted, over 100 went into the bed.

In my mind I knew I wanted a pot, but what pot, with what in it? So until I had my pot I placed a plastic one to give the bed some sort of scale.

And then, presto, one garden bed. Not finished. Nowhere near my vision...but hopefully with time, it will come together. 

A lot of the hard work has been done, but now it's a constant tweaking. Weeding, cutting back...and hopefully, by the spring it will be a wow of colour. That is my aim. My intent. It has taken so many months from that little glimmer of 'how about I expand the bed' to this and as we know, there is still so much to do.

Exactly like working on a novel. Months, well years, of work has gone into it and now it's the tweaking and weeding. I have already changed chapters around, moved this one there, moved this to the beginning...but it's now looking at the big picture, the whole IDEA and all those small snippets.

Should I describe Brent now, or have I already peppered enough throughout those beginning chapters that the reader already has an idea of his character? What should I say, how much, and where? Is it all needed NOW?

In my mind I have the story, not all of it I must admit. Bits and pieces come to me during sleepless nights. Dad should phone after this event...or....why does Mum know this happened...or....exactly how much younger is Aunt Carol and does this affect what she knows.

Works in progress are just that, they are pieces we are working on. The problem is knowing when to finish, when to call it done and dusted. I still have a lot of work to do...some big picture stuff, and a lot of small bits and bobs that will add depth to the characters and to the storyline.

It's a lot of hard work, working on a novel always is. Yes, you learn a lot on the way. You also can become frustrated and exhausted, excited and enthusiastic. And hopefully the finished product will be something close to what our idea was in the beginning.

As for the woman who began writing novels...she's still at it. Her patience sags, enthusiasm droops, mojo is lost but then a spark is rekindled. Before you know it she's back at the computer tapping away, with another idea she's hoping to pin down.

Vicki