I spent the better part of Saturday morning hauling mulch and raking compost into seed beds for a community garden at Owen's elementary:
When we came home around 1:00 p.m., Owen wanted to get started on our own garden. As some of you picked up on Twitter/Facebook, I was sore. Nine hours of hard gardening is rough on a body that spends most of it's time walking around a classroom/sitting in front of a monitor.
Then we planted seeds because they don't grow in their little paper pouches.
If you smelled the analogy coming, here it is:
Your stories will do nothing if you don't share them. I know there are some who read this blog, write, and don't submit their stories. I know you are out there.
Just like the seeds in the garden, some stories won't sprout. Some will have to be thinned out. Some will grow (and with a little watering--er, revising) become amazing little things. Some will feed you. Some will provide beauty.
But if those seeds stay in their little paper pouch, nothing.
Our garden is better (more weed-free/greater yield) each year because I've learned how to make it better after years of trial and error. My writing has improved since I scribbled my first (rather awful) story back in the fall of '96. I didn't plant any seeds for another ten years.
But boy, am I glad I did.
I sprinkled some more story seeds this weekend. I'll mention them later after this rather heavy-handed metaphor wears off.
Have a great week.