Seeds and Shiny New Ideas

This week I did some winter sowing, a process of turning plastic jugs into mini winter greenhouses and allowing seeds to germinate on their own when conditions are right. I find the results are hit-or-miss, but if a plant does grow, it tends to be stronger and more acclimated than seeds started indoors. And since I have no space for a greenhouse in my small garden or inside my cottage, winter sowing it is.

Then I ordered more seeds from Baker Creek, including some fun varieties. A cucumber named Dragon’s Egg? Sold!

Seeds are magical—full of so much potential. Some are tiny black specks (I’m looking at you, Lemon Balm) and yet can grow into something stunning, good for the environment, or food to consume.

Ideas are like that. Fleeting little specks that start to gather potential energy under the right conditions. A little water and crack, a sprout. (Speaking of water, does anyone else get ideas in the shower or at the beach or washing dishes? Water is a huge magnifier of creativity for me. Another post on that in the future.)

The problem is the sheer amount of seeds in a packet, or ideas in your notebook. You can’t produce them all. There isn’t space or time. So how do you prioritize?

You follow your heart and hope for the best. As sappy as it sounds.

I got a shiny new idea this week since I’m on winter vacation from teaching, and my brain had some space to roam after I sent my agent my next manuscript, a YA Christmas romance. Writing a romance after writing three sci-fi dystopian novels was a much needed break. My creativity likes variety. My brain comes up with lots of ideas, seeds to be sowed, but way too many to produce in my lifetime. So I fall in lust with one of them, write a few sample chapters, and see if I fall in love. Now my heart wants to write a Gothic fairytale retelling, the working title is either THE CURSE OF CAMILLA QUADE or THE CURSE MAKER—wanna help me decide?

I need to nurture my shiny new idea, or it will sit dormant. If life gets busy, and it’s not the right time or environment, it could shrivel up inside me “like a raisin in the sun.” But seeds, and ideas, can last on a shelf, waiting for the right magic to bring it to life.

Because the magical act of writing brings things from dormancy to life. And in that process, we dedicate time and space, foster and nurture, prune and edit, and protect, all to see what happens. Sometimes the results are disappointing after all that work. Sometimes they are overwhelming and noxious. And sometimes, they are beautiful and fulfilling and transformative.

And then we start again with another seed, a speck, a wish, and we nurture it the best we can, and water it with hope.