Not long ago, I mentioned that I was working on a new short story idea. Just to get myself back into writing, I just sat and wrote, describing the area where my character’s garden is located. Since that time, I have not had much motivation to pick this idea back up. I am having quite a bit of trouble getting into it. I have so many characters swimming around in my head right now, and none of them fit this particular premise. So, here is my dilemma: do I try to stick it out, or jump ship and see where these other characters take me? Do I do both?
It is so frustrating. I cannot figure out how to round out this particular villain. Is she a villain at all? I am probably thinking much too hard about all of this.
I am very out of practice where fiction is concerned. The ideas are always there, but fear keeps me from documenting these ideas, and I certainly do not just put them out there for the world at large. It’s funny how I can tell the entire world about my struggles with mental illness and whatever else, but this…this makes me feel vulnerable.
Sometimes it is better to enter the water inch by inch. First your toes, until, little by little, you have submerged yourself. I do not think that approach is going to work here.
The air smelled thick and sharp, like dampened dirt. The trees stretched tall, reaching up toward the sky. Everything was bright green from the rainstorm the night before, the plants reaching, drops of water still visible on their leaves. Birds sang short songs in the distance, while the feet of animals snapped branches as they moved swiftly through the wooded area. Water ran quickly over rocks nearby. The entire forest was alive this morning.
The clearing was so small and so hidden that a person could easily miss it without a map. There were no markers, no trails to take to get there. Thick, strong trees stretched upward, encircling the clearing that was no bigger than someone’s living room. The bark was rough, wet, and slick. The ground was carpeted with lush plant life and soft moss. Tiny groupings of flowers dotted the center area, stretched from one end to its opposite. Specks of red, yellow, and purple were in stark contrast to the overwhelming amount of green.
This was the place that was silent. This was the place that made her heart race. This was the place that filled her with excitement, a flutter of anticipation.
This was the place that filled her with relief. This was her Garden.