This is how I write. I find a seed. Doesn’t matter where or how. This seed calls to my mind. I hold it, roll it around, blow the dust off so I can see it more clearly. Then I press it onto the white loam of an empty page.

I water it with words, maybe fertilize it with a bit of research. Something begins to germinate. An idea pushes upward, reaches for the light. The words sprout stems and tendrils. A story expands and unfolds, stretches out roots for stability. I watch it start to bloom, and grin to myself.

Of course, I have to weed and prune. Cut back whatever distracts from the basic story.

In the end I have this thing that grew from a seed. Maybe it won’t win any garden shows, but it’s something I’ve made happen. Different from what anyone else ever created.

It’s me.