Pruning

One of the features that drew us to our new home was the beautiful backyard garden. Just the sight of it invoked visions of me sitting, feet up, sipping something delicious and writing longhand while inspiration poured into me from my natural surroundings. My own private oasis. A welcome retreat from the rest of the world.

No one told me I would have to take care of it.

I am a reluctant gardener. I’m not sure if it’s from sheer laziness or the fact that I’m a born and bred city gal. Whenever a gardening urge would hit me, I’d buy one of those window box kits – the kind you can grow herbs or wildflowers in – and it would end up collecting dust in my closet. I dreaded the Mother’s Day plant sale at school. I’d politely tell my kids that while I appreciated the thought they didn’t need to get me a plant. Inevitably, a kind hearted PTA member who thought they were doing a good deed would loan my kids some money to buy Mommy a pretty plant. Little did they know, the plant was doomed. I had a decidedly burnt umber thumb.

Then I bought a garden.

Over the last year, I’ve learned to enjoy the process of tending a garden. While there are times it is downright tedious, most of the time there’s a quiet bliss that comes with weeding and pruning. Of all the tasks in my garden that mystify me, pruning tops the list. You mean, I just CUT THIS? And it’s okay? The first time I pruned, it felt barbaric.

Okay Robin, that’s nice, but this is a writing blog…what’s the point? There are so many metaphors that can be drawn between gardening and writing, it could fill a month’s worth of blog posts. Pruning is what I identify with most. After pouring heart and soul into a novel, watching as your word count mounts and your story takes shape,cutting does seem barbaric. Some scenes are easy to cut. Cutting other scenes,those parts of a story that made you laugh or pat yourself on the back at your own cleverness, can bit a bit harder.

Cutting, like pruning, is necessary for new growth. It fosters air (or idea) circulation. And it can even lead to new discoveries about your work. Last fall when I cut back a particularly tenacious rose bush, I discovered a Tom Knudsen Camilla that had been hidden, not getting enough sunlight or attention. Likewise in my own work, when I cut scenes or characters, I’m continually amazed at how ideas seem to come into focus, rearrange themselves and pieces of the puzzle fall into place. It’s a part of the process I’ve learned to love.

So how do you feel when it comes to pruning your work?