The Writers Garden

I haven't been very consistent around here. I wander in, notice that nothing's happening, clear out the spam and wander out again--most likely into my garden.

Beans are producing, peas are entirely gone except for one plant that's for next year's seed. Zucchini and winter squash have blossoms, the garlic was pulled last week. The corn is up and growing beautifully.

I'll be gone later this week, due to a family reunion.

The difference between a blog and a garden (aside from the sun, watering, weeding, mulching, thinning, etc) is that I don't have to do anything to get to my garden. Get up off my chair, walk ten feet and I can sit and watch the onions grow.

A blog takes effort. Go to the internet (I don't leave it up because otherwise I don't get anything else done), type in the address, possibly a password, but first I have to remember that the blog is there. Then sit down and actually make my brain work.

Same with other things, like facebook, twitter and smashwords. Oh, where was that I was going again? The zucchini needs to be weeded? But I was on the internet. Why am I on the internet when I could be outside watching the grass grow? *Wanders off*

Summer's like that, for me. Gardening and writing are my two obsessions at the moment--I get bored with the writing I wander outside, and usually when I get back inside I'm ready to go. When I get bored with the garden (or just need to come inside so I won't burn to a crisp--I think my ancestors were designed as forest people, or maybe underground people) I can come inside and write, write, write.

I guess actually, life is like that for me. I wander in, do something weird, wander somewhere else and wonder why I'm wandering. Or where, or whatever. But not who. I never have to wonder who.