|This isn't mine. Mine was worse. Darker. |
There are six trees involved in the growth excesses
at the end of my garden.
William Strunk and EB White
Revelations on a beam.
There was a section of overgrown garden down by our back fence. We called it The Wilderness. We realised we had to deal with it when HWMNBN began insisting it was a hedgehog reservation. Seriously. It was like he really believed it was.
There were bushes with shoots so long they were up the top of the apple tree. It was time to act.
There were trees, and bushes and shrubs, everywhere. I was knee deep in apple mould, and lopping my way through off-shoots that would have made reasonable trees.
The branches were down.
For the first time in years, the sun shone into the dark corner of the garden.
Forget gardening, I was struck by Strunk and White.
It was as if I was in a 3-D representation of my novel. I'll spare you the full extent of the garden metaphor.
I know the writer is supposed to finish the draft before they go all review-revise-and-reduce on it but I couldn't resist giving my wip a light pruning once I got indoors. I attacked the "of"s and removed some from the first three chapters.
I was happy.
May favourite editing question is: IS THERE A STRONGER VERB?
DO YOU HAVE A FAVOURITE VERB?