The fruit of your labors (cherries and books)
Last Saturday I picked two cups of sour cherries from my very own tree. On Sunday evening I made my first ever cherry pie, from scratch.
I ate the last piece Tuesday evening as a before-bed snack (yum!).
I just finished picking 8 more cups, using a ten foot ladder and stretching, getting leaves stuck in my face, rocking on the creaky ladder…
A blue jay was not impressed. He screamed at me from about two feet away. I told him he could have the ones at the top but no, he didn’t believe me.
As soon as I took the ladder down he flew away, sure his job was done. Mine had just started. Now what to do with them? Freeze them and make a pie this winter!
There is something wonderful about picking the fruit of your labors. When I write a book I sit here alone, typing. I send it away and weeks later it appears on a screen. It is not something tangible.
Last night I went out to dinner with a like-minded group of acquaintances. One of them brought a new friend. When she learned I was Reece Butler, the actual real person, the author who wrote 15 of the book on her phone… well a Fan Girl moment happened and hugs were exchanged.
That squeal of joy and those hugs are the fruits of my writing labor. They are tangible proof that someone out there really does read about my Montana cowboys and Highland heroes, and enjoys it.
Having that validation is as least as sweet as cherry pie, but without the calories. (Thank you, Anne)
I am taking a much-needed few days off from writing day and night. Thanks to all who enjoy my books. You are why I write.