I have a plant in my office that was given to me just over a year ago. I am amazed it is still alive despite my best efforts to the contrary. For those of you unable to recognize this pitiful creature, it is a poinsettia. The two white leaves are all that remain of the original plant. I imagine they are no longer on speaking terms, as they have branched off and gone their separate ways. The one a lone survivor standing it’s ground. The other decided to invite some friends to the party. The new growth developing because it was set free from it’s counterpart. Of course this is all speculation since I know nothing about growing plants apart from giving it water and light, it is obvious my little friend needs a new home. I recently contemplated discarded the poor thing, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I am attached. I root for its survival.
As I stared at this plant this morning, I realized it is a visual representation of my novel. The white leaves are my first draft. The roots are still there, but many chunks of the manuscript have dried up and fallen away. The new growth is a result of revision. It became clear it was time to replant my novel. I have begun rewriting from a different point of view. New scenes have nurtured the story and I can already see the results. While I don’t hold out a lot of hope for the office plant, my novel is thriving and for that I am grateful.