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I’ve planted about 100 bulbs so far, with about 100 more to go. That’s just for the fall. I’ll plant another load in the spring. I might throw some zinnia seeds down then, too, but last year I put down two packets of zinnias and one came up. One. Zinnia.
Most of my annuals come back year after year. I don’t touch them, as that seems to be key for me. Perennials I frequently move around the garden, and I’m dying for another lavender. I love the garden moderately shaggy and overgrown, a cultivated wildness.
My day in the garden today is like how I feel about the coming winter and writing. I’m waiting on edits and a submission, but that’s last winter’s harvest. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month this year in order to make deeper inroads on stories banging around my head, including the sequel to Hitting Black Ice. You can see by my empty progress bar how well it’s gone so far, right? I know I won’t get to 50,000 words, and that the purpose is completing one novel. I’d love to come out of this with a first draft sequel to both the contemporary and the historical a third of the way done. That’s the planting bulbs and seeds part, watered with lots of hope.