Today I cut down a tree.
This may seem rather hypocritical given my recent distress over similar shenanigans by the city council (I can feel Treebeard and Dogmatix looking at me reproachfully), but hear me out.
A Question of Prologues
I am deep in the entrails of The Wound of Words Draft Three, and I have come to a crossroads. Care to help me decide which way to go?
Now, some people love prologues, some people hate them, and some, for reasons I am unclear on, just skip them. Some part of my mind insists that a short double prologue is just what is needed, so I wrote one. But what do you think?
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Gardening Clothes
Ever since Eve, gardens and clothing have had a problematic relationship – particularly for women. Before I even made my passionate avowal of regular gardening, I had made a frustrating discovery in this regard. As suitable as my long-skirted dresses are for many a pursuit, gardening is not one of them.
And yet, women (and even ladies) have gardened lo these many centuries. The problem, I deem, is the combination of ladylike attire with unladylike gardening. A full sweeping skirt is all very well for a little light flower-gathering on a dry summer’s day with a Sussex trug over one arm, but squatting down in the muddy grass uttering dire threats against a dock root is in an altogether different class of gardening.