This month, A Slice of Orange is proud to announce that Dianna Sinovic will be blogging regularly for us. Her column Quill and Moss is scheduled on the 30th of May, July, August, October, December, January and March. Please take a minute to welcome her.
Winged Victory
Dianna Sinovic
One late afternoon after work this past week, I walked down the drive to decompress and unkink, and noticed the winged maple seeds scattered across the asphalt and sprinkled on the lawn.
Silver maple whirligigs, falling by the hundreds—thousands—each a seed that will get eaten (by the squirrels), squashed (by my car), or swept up and tossed in the trash (not the compost!). A few may find themselves on soil rich enough to sustain roots and decide to sprout.
I likened the whirling seeds to the many ideas writers sift through for their next writing project, whether a blog post or a short story or a chapter in a longer work. You might reject one after another idea—too silly, too serious, too [fill in the blank]—until you hit on the one that inspires you. Or that idea may need to lie dormant for a while, until the time is right to nurture it into a sapling.
Case in point: For several years, I sat on the first two paragraphs of a story idea. In my mind’s eye, I saw a middle-aged woman, an aging “hippie,” lighting a candle and trying to connect with the spirit of her dead husband. His name was Tommy. Her name was Weejah, pronounced like the Ouija board. That’s all I had for a long while. I would revisit it periodically, hoping the time was right, but I still stared at same two paragraphs.
Then, just like that whirligig, the seed of the idea finally began to sprout. On the next revisit, as I saw Weejah sitting in front of the candle, I knew then that she was asking Tommy about a new man in her life, one whom she was considering marrying. The conflict would be with her grown children, who were against the marriage. But then, like a seedling, the story stayed small and incomplete for a while longer.
At last I knew I was ready to write it as a paranormal story. It would be presented in scenes that were tied to a séance: Each time Weejah tried to reach Tommy, whether by herself, with her son and daughter, or with her fiancé, something would happen to make her believe he really was there—communicating across the Great Divide.
After several rewrites, it became Tommy, which made it into the Bethlehem Writers Group’s latest anthology, Untethered.
What seeds of ideas have you returned to again and again, waiting for them to finally put down roots?
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Lily pressed her flowered handkerchief to her forehead and wondered for the fifth time that day why she had signed up for the Festival of the Earth event.
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The accountant opened the folder and skimmed the stack of documents it contained. A W-2, 1099s, receipts, investment summaries, it was all there, Annie hoped. Matt always left it up to her to compile the papers needed before they sat down with Tom, their CPA. Her business was laden with supply orders, customer invoices, and back-end pay-outs. Matt worked in analytical statistics for a pharma company: salary, health insurance, 401(K), easy-peasy.
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The conversations murmuring around her provided white noise for Erica as she sat at her laptop in the busy coffeeshop. One more chapter to finish. Then a scrap of an exchange broke through her deep concentration.
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Shaun held the framed photo of his grandfather and traced the image with his finger.
“He was such a great man.”
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The clock read fifteen minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve, and the party had descended into arguments instead of winding up for the big calendar change.
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Hi Dianna, Welcome! Thank you for that imagery of seeds waiting for their turn to be rooted in the soil. It encouraged me to sift through the drawer filled with slips of paper where I’ve recorded lines and ideas. Hopefully one will germinate this season! Looking forward to your next post.
Thanks, Veronica! Good luck with your projects. It’s cool that you have a drawerful of ideas to dip into.
Nice analogy, Dianna. I have a couple of nagging stories that keep pestering me to write them, but they haven’t ripened yet. Perhaps this year will have a good growing season! We live in hope.
Thanks, Carol! Here’s to a fruitful outcome on your stories.