A few weeks ago, I biked along the BNR trail above Nelson and stopped to collect a few queencup plants and one False Solomon’s Seal. I dug as deeply as I could into the rocky banks, hoping to gather as much of the original root structure as possible, then placed the unsuspecting abductees into my pack and biked home.
I found a nice shady spot for the plants, beneath a huge spruce tree. I packed them in good soil, doing my best to create an environment that would seem homey for them. I am cursed by this romantic notion that nothing could more enchanting in one’s backyard than “wildflowers.”
Now, a few weeks later, five of the eight queencups have clearly bit the dust, as well as the False Solomon’s Seal. Three queencups seem to be hanging on. Their leaves, though not bright and shiny, still are more green than brown, and a single green bead tops a single stem on each plant. If all goes well, when summer ends, these green beads will transform into one of nature’s most attractive shades of blue and become known as blue bead lilies.
On the other hand... perhaps none will survive. Too early to tell… Nine transplants, nine failures. Much sadness…
I found a nice shady spot for the plants, beneath a huge spruce tree. I packed them in good soil, doing my best to create an environment that would seem homey for them. I am cursed by this romantic notion that nothing could more enchanting in one’s backyard than “wildflowers.”
Now, a few weeks later, five of the eight queencups have clearly bit the dust, as well as the False Solomon’s Seal. Three queencups seem to be hanging on. Their leaves, though not bright and shiny, still are more green than brown, and a single green bead tops a single stem on each plant. If all goes well, when summer ends, these green beads will transform into one of nature’s most attractive shades of blue and become known as blue bead lilies.
On the other hand... perhaps none will survive. Too early to tell… Nine transplants, nine failures. Much sadness…
Tomorrow I sit down for fifteen minutes with a literary agent to pitch my novel Lunatics. It’s a great opportunity. A chance, at least, to get my foot in the door. To create some interest. To have someone in the biz actually read the manuscript and, from there, who knows?
Strangely, I’m quite nervous about this meeting. I’ve been rehearsing my pitch for the last several days, working on it intently, just as I would for learning lines to King Lear.
Yet it’s not the same thing exactly. On stage, I become someone else. If you choose to be critical, you will be being critical of someone else. Tomorrow, however, it is only naked me, my naked ideas, my eloquence (or lack of it), attempting to impress a stranger behind a table. A little different. And no fellow actors to bounce off of. So, yes, I’m a little nervous.
Nevertheless, into the breach we go! Like a flaming lunatic!
Strangely, I’m quite nervous about this meeting. I’ve been rehearsing my pitch for the last several days, working on it intently, just as I would for learning lines to King Lear.
Yet it’s not the same thing exactly. On stage, I become someone else. If you choose to be critical, you will be being critical of someone else. Tomorrow, however, it is only naked me, my naked ideas, my eloquence (or lack of it), attempting to impress a stranger behind a table. A little different. And no fellow actors to bounce off of. So, yes, I’m a little nervous.
Nevertheless, into the breach we go! Like a flaming lunatic!
Which, I wonder, is more likely to bear fruit? My pitch or my queencups?
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