It's April and my daffodils are blooming and many other plants are greening up waiting for warmer weather. Not to be outdone, the dandelions have popped up too. I've seen a few of their yellow heads scattered about the yard. But I'm ignoring them. I've got books to write.
It does make me wish, however, that my stories were more like weeds. In this model, I'd have a bunch of ideas in March and be writing drafts of these stories in April, May, and June. Then the over the summer they would all be published and in the autumn I would reap the benefit of the stories (money, interviews, etc). and then have vacation over the winter.
I like this notion mostly because winter is hard enough most years by itself. A writing vacation from December to February appeals to me.
But, of course, this is just a dream. Ideas take longer to develop and so do most stories, which is kinda too bad. After working on such long projects as my novels (and with no end in sight) a few shorter projects would be nice too.
Perhaps some poetry is in order. Perhaps poetry is like weeds.
Excuse me, I think I feel a poem coming on...
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