A few weeks ago, I bought 2 pots of hydrangeas from Trader Joe's. I know better than to plant them in the yard, but I've had luck keeping plants alive in flower pots, so I decided to take a chance.
Last night after a long day at work and a fundraiser afterward, I arrived home to bedraggled blooms. I said to my spouse, "I think these flowers may be too needy for me." Still, I brought them inside and watered them in the kitchen sink.
This morning, they're perky again and back out on the front porch.
This morning, I'm thinking of these flowers as a metaphor for our creative lives. I've been feeling a bit bedraggled. I haven't written fiction much since my Session 4 online class started in mid-March. I'm writing a poem a week, but I'd like to write more. I'm blogging, but I feel like my posts aren't as rich and developed as they sometimes are.
Some days, I have no time to water my creative plants as I'm racing from commitment to commitment. It's good to remember that just a bit of water--reading some good materials, jotting down an inspiration, hearing about the successes of my favorite writers, planning a literary event--can make my dry leaves plump up.
Of course, I'm also aware of the corpses of plants that are on the side of the porch. I'm aware of all the times that I brought water too late. I'm aware of the white fly infestation that took out last year's petunias, no matter how I tried to rescue them.
And yet, even death doesn't have to be the final word. I've noticed tiny petunia blooms in parts of the yard where I didn't plant them. I know how many creative works have risen from what I would have thought would be the final ashes of failure.
I am missing the inspirations of the AWP conference and the Create in Me retreat. Let me create something this week-end. Let my creativity be watered in this way.
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