I love this post by Susan Orlean in the New Yorker blog Free Range.   She, like me, finds more pleasure in tearing up weeds and dead plants and cutting branches than planning and planting.  As a writer, she, like me, prefers to edit existing material (oh how I love cutting scenes – even lopping one line of dialogue can transform a moment) than stare at a blank page and sweat.

Here’s an excerpt:

“In the spring, the sight of my empty garden beds gives me the horticultural equivalent of writers’ block: So much space! So many plants to choose among, and yet none of them seem quite right! After a summer of mad growth and ungovernable expansion, vines that trail on like bad sentences, small dry bulbs that erupt into sprawling, overripe flower mounds, I can’t wait for the fall editing session when I can get to work yanking out all the dead things, the ugly things, the mistakes and misjudgments. Planting is existential, boundless, aspirational. Closing the garden for the winter is like doing a math equation and getting it right, ending with something finite and absolute.”

Read the full post here.

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