IN THE PAST, whenever I was anywhere in the near vicinity of a houseplant, it would lose its will to live.
It was the saddest thing, the way it would just turn yellow, lose its leaves and limp back into the earth where it came from.
I was fussing over some early blooming hyacinths, fretting that they were dying, when Chap said, “You’re loving them to death. Quit watering them all the time and fussing and moving them around, and just give them time to grow.”
And he was right. Now that I’ve been able to keep my sticky little fingers off my houseplants, they’re thriving, and I’ve even been able to propagate three of them.
The same thing happens sometimes when I’m writing.
For instance, the mystery I’m working on now needs more research on body farms and body brokers.
The problem is, I get so fascinated with the research, I lose sight of the book.
And so, like my houseplants, I need to learn when to let go. When something isn’t working, stop picking at it. Let it go for a little while. Move forward in the same project–being careful not start another one or I’ll never get finished.
And I will remember, the roots will be right there where I left them, growing, even when I can’t see them, like flowers resting beneath a winter frost.