When my first book released about five years ago (Chocolate Beach), one of my college-aged readers thanked me for writing a character that didn't garden. LOL That cracked me up then, and has stayed with me. There's something so cliche about a heroine who gardens, apparently.
But what about a writer?
When my kids were little and I wrote magazine articles while also trying to sell a novel, I turned to tilling the soil for an outlet. Hubby borrowed the neighbor's truck and bought a load of mushroom compost for 5 bucks, enough to make our huge backyard one fertile place for veggies on one end and an English garden on the other. Loved it. I remember thinking that I should give up writing and go work for the local garden center instead.
But then we moved closer to the beach where the soil is sandy, the weather is foggy, and my writing career became full time. In other words, little time for gardening. Until recently...when I've managed to make some.
A couple of months ago we put the broken down trampoline on craigslist and gave it away to an artist who wanted to weld it into something amazing. Or weird. I'm not sure which. The grass beneath it was dead, so hubby and I took turns tearing out more of the lawn and I sketched out plans for a lawn-less backyard garden. I have plans for an undulating crushed-stone path, a birdbath, sitting area, and lots and lots of perennials.
Truthfully, we've still got about 1/3 of a lawn in there, but the fountain's back in use, we've pulled out some unhappy plants, and cleaned up some others. Still a long way to go, but by springtime, this writer girl's going to get her garden back.
Just don't expect me to write a book about it ... ;)