For a field to be fallow means that it’s already been plowed. To be plowed, means to have been prepared. So, prepared, but not seeded. Some definitions say “unseeded.” And—getting at what I like—this:
…left unsown for a period, in order to restore fertility…
Because of REASONS, I haven’t been writing for weeks. I did some revisions and a couple of new subs in April, but that resulted in: not much. I currently have only one short story (a reprint) and one novel on submission and—due to selling seven stories in a little over a year!—not enough other stories ready for market.
This feels: bad, poor, unproductive, scary. What if it never ends? What if I never get re-seeded? (On the other hand, it feels GREAT that I sold so many stories! Who knew it would have a down side?)
And then I remind myself that this is normal behavior for me. I do this. On again, off again. Up and down. Fertile, fallow. This particular fallow period comes after weeks of fecundity in the first months of the year.
But now it’s time to work. To write new words. To strengthen those stories that are almost-but-not-quite ready.
“Seeds” is a word used by writers to mean: little ideas that inspire. They—illustrations, photos, snippets of sensory data—are often exchanged in writing forums. Found on Pinterest boards. Or any where, really. The point is to get to work gathering seeds. Sometimes you only need one.
I’m prepared. The rows are furrowed. The soil is waiting. I just need to find the right seeds and sow them.
And then, oh yeah, farm.
Have I mashed that metaphor into the ground sufficiently? I believe so. Hoe down, peeps.