I don’t know how it happened. Well, I do. I don’t know how I let it happen.
My garden once looked like this.
John Lennon said, “Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.” I guess, I got distracted for a few years. Today, I started clearing the beds. It’s slow work. Each random growth has to be dug out and pulled by the roots. My back hurts.
My garden is like the book I’m writing. I finished the rough draft a few years ago. I put it aside to flesh out another story. Then life happened. The draft sat in the bottom of my cedar chest. Figurative weeds grew over it. I’m still digging them out. Sometimes, my back hurts.
The only way to weed a garden is to keep digging. The only way to finish a book is to keep writing.