My editor at Alban Lake sent me two packets of strawberry seeds with a box of review copies. They are tiny and neat little packets, colored pink. When I sent a thank you, he was confused until I showed him a picture of the strawberry seeds. Then he asked if they came with the books. I replied yes. Apparently strawberries are difficult to germinate.
It felt like a sign. I don’t believe in organized religion, but I like to think that certain random events have meaning. Also I don’t like strawberries that much, but planting them may provide some more color. I’m considering the same with clover seeds, and maybe new roses.
The rose bush in our garden, as you may know, is knocked over. I was considering planting clover to cover the dry patches in our yard, which were eroding quickly from the lack of grass. There are ant piles, dozens of them, a few parrots and woodpeckers, bees from a hive we have not found because both trees with hives suffered a great fall. It’s for the best, since I partly planted coneflowers for them and for the meandering butterflies.
As for writing, the Trump Utopia/Dystopia anthology came out; it has one of my short stories, and so far has favorable reviews. Writing for that was cathartic. Where the Stars Rise is still getting favorable reviews. I’m taking part in a rejection contest with a group of friends, and the winner gets handmade plushies and a model. So far I’ve been rejected a lot, but that is a part of life. Some days, the seeds don’t bloom.
This year, there is planting in the literal and the metaphorical sense. We have seeds that may seem to grow, that do ro don’t germinate. Some seeds, like roses, apparently require months of refrigeration. That’s why buying a small bush or plant seems more sensible. It’s why some books need time to come out onto the page, and into print.
We’re one month into 2018. I’m going to see if I can plant strawberries.