Patience

Not beets. Last week's marigolds.

Beets. I have been waiting for three weeks to see a sprout. I even soaked the seeds overnight to encourage the tough coating to open faster when planted. Finally, I see a dozen little beet plants poking first sets of leaves aboveground.

This spring started warm and lovely. It quickly retreated into wind, overnight freezes, and cooler than ideal daytime temps. In previous years, I would have pushed the envelope. I have means of sheltering tender young plants, in order to put them outside earlier than the optimal time.

This year, I’m exercising patience. In my actions, if not in my heart. Come on, spring!

The marigold sprout that struggled to cast off its casing is now a little plant. I transplanted other indoor starts to larger pots. That way, they can survive another 2 or 3 weeks until I place them outdoors. It's not time yet. They will suffer if I rush the process.

Writing requires a similar patience.

I have been trying to write a novel on a particular theme for seven years. I had several false starts as I tried to figure out how to tell the story. Now with a rough draft in hand, I think I did it. One beta reader loved it, while simultaneously making tons of suggestions for improvements.

I am so anxious for this novel to reach readers. Gardening reminds me of the benefits of slowing your roll. This book is not its best self yet. I spoke to my agent, and she won’t be able to look at it until summer. That timeline encourages me to finish a polish, let my other beta reader see the manuscript, polish, polish, polish, THEN send it to my agent.
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A book that’s pushed to publication before it’s ready may languish, even die, like a tender garden plant moved outside before it’s ready.
 

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