If there’s one thing I’ve learned about writing it’s that when I start writing about a garden, I’m just playing for time. Not that I realise it in the moment, but later, yes, it’s because I’m stuck.
Of course, a grand book about a garden may yet reveal itself. A heartbreaking story set in a struggling vegetable patch. A wry commentary on the contemporary condition based on one woman’s struggle with a bush turkey and several possums. Nup, when my characters wander into the garden, it’s time to take a break and rethink.