This afternoon, before the rain came back, I spent a couple of hours pulling up dead flowers. At least I think they were flowers. I remember doing the same thing last year, but I can’t remember exactly what they looked like when they bloomed.
Well, whatever they were, lots of bending down, pulling up and generally making sure that things were less wild looking by the time I finished.
Sometimes your story takes off in a strange direction. Into the wild. For a while you think it all makes perfect sense and adds to the beauty of the whole. But then you go back to it and realise that everything you thought was so fantastic is now just so many dead twigs.
Not weeds, but not something that you want in your story at this point.
Perhaps they belong in another story entirely. Somewhere they can bloom beautifully.
It seems like such a thankless task to have to pull them all up again. Would it really be so bad to leave them in there?
The trouble with weeds/invasive flowers/strange things that crop up in your garden is that they spread.
Leave them in there and everything else that you’ve worked so hard on becomes overshadowed by them.
They have to go.
Year after year, story after story, until you have things the way you want them.
Until your garden blooms again.
Thankless but worth it.