From May to October I have dirty fingernails. I'm a gardener. I'm a guerrilla weeder. I get grimy.
As I met an acquaintance for coffee, I gave myself a final once-over to see what kind of impression I might make. Not too many wrinkles in my trousers. Cool blue shoes. Earrings in place. Gads. These fingernails. I'm a dirt magnet, I thought.
"I'm a dirt magnet," I said to my new friend. "I must have put my mom through hell."
"I'm the same way," she said. "I was doing a service project and each evening I was the dirtiest one on the team. I figured it was because I'm short."
"Maybe." I let the idea percolate. "I'd like to think we're enmeshed, ready for the grime of the work, committed, rooted in the earth."
"I'll buy that," she said.
Made me think of all creative work. You hang your creativity on a framework and abide by some rules--a trellis and The Chicago Manual of Style--but the rest of the process is seeds and sweat, soil and trowels.
We need not be afraid of the grime. We have the luxury of sowing and plowing under. Walking away to see what sprouts and coming back to yank the weeds, cut out the suckers, and harvest ripeness.
Your writing group and editor will help. Give them loppers and your blessing.
Here's to the dirty work. Dig in.
Please leave a comment below. How does digging play out in your life?
As I met an acquaintance for coffee, I gave myself a final once-over to see what kind of impression I might make. Not too many wrinkles in my trousers. Cool blue shoes. Earrings in place. Gads. These fingernails. I'm a dirt magnet, I thought.
"I'm a dirt magnet," I said to my new friend. "I must have put my mom through hell."
"I'm the same way," she said. "I was doing a service project and each evening I was the dirtiest one on the team. I figured it was because I'm short."
"Maybe." I let the idea percolate. "I'd like to think we're enmeshed, ready for the grime of the work, committed, rooted in the earth."
"I'll buy that," she said.
Made me think of all creative work. You hang your creativity on a framework and abide by some rules--a trellis and The Chicago Manual of Style--but the rest of the process is seeds and sweat, soil and trowels.
We need not be afraid of the grime. We have the luxury of sowing and plowing under. Walking away to see what sprouts and coming back to yank the weeds, cut out the suckers, and harvest ripeness.
Your writing group and editor will help. Give them loppers and your blessing.
Here's to the dirty work. Dig in.
Please leave a comment below. How does digging play out in your life?
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