Letters to Plant Kid
Plant Kid is the main character in a middle grade prose novel that has been simmering for years. Writing letters to Plant Kid helps me keep the story alive until I have time to finish it.
Dear Main Character in the plant book that I am not supposed to be working on at all,
I can’t set an entire novel in your backyard, no matter who’s buried there. Do something, will you please?
Plotlessly yours,
Me
Dear Word Person,
Do you have ANY idea how important Mr. Mac was to me? You don’t, do you? If you did you wouldn’t be trying to make me leave the yard. Mr. Mac was the only one who understood me. He didn’t care about my, well, you know. It didn’t matter to him. For someone who reads a lot of books you’re not very bright, are you?
Signed,
Disgruntled and dirty character without a name to call his own
Dear Plant Kid,
Look, I’m really sorry about Mr. Mac dying. I had no idea that was going to happen until he walked in front of the garbage truck. You keep talking about that “thing” you have and I’m guessing its somewhere on your upper body since I’ve never seen you without your hoodie but I don’t know what it is. And if I don’t know what it is, how can I connect it to the plot line and deepen the theme? And if I don’t connect the plot dots, no one is ever going to get the chance to read your story anyway. And yes, you can have the poppies. All the poppies you want. But later. I’m not supposed to be working on you right now anyway. If you’re really bored, you can help Flyboy pack.
Signed,
Author with too much time to think and not enough time to write
I can’t tell you about my “thing” but maybe you should check the books on Mr. Mac’s nightstand. Under the plant books, there’s another one, a medical one. He’s got the pages bookmarked.
Signed,
Kid with perpetually dirty fingernails
You’re older than I thought. Hmmm. Not sure what that is going to do to things. But worms? Now I have to learn about worms? I’ll do it but you have to do something for me in return. As in, you have to DO SOMETHING other than plant plants and pull weeds.
Signed,
Me
I don’t know much about a lot of things, especially writing books, but here’s something Mr. Mac told me before he died. You’ve got to believe in things you can’t see before you see things you won’t believe. He was talking about gardening but I’m thinking it might work for telling stories too.
Here’s the thing about gardening. You plant the seeds, water them sometimes, ignore them other times (especially if they’re native plants) and then you wait. And while you’re waiting, there’s a whole lot of something going on under the ground, deep down in the dirt. Seeds are opening and roots are unfurling, stretching down deep toward the water table. Earthworms are churning the soil and tons little bugs and mites and tiny things we can’t see are doing just what nature intends them to do. But up top all you can see is dirt. Piles and piles of dirt and not a stick of nothing growing in it nowhere. It’d be easy to give up then and just roll out some plastic grass and call it a day. But if you’re the believing type, you just wait. And then you wait some more. And then one day you walk out and you see a lot of those seeds you plant have pushed their way up through the dirt just looking for the sunshine and blue sky. Some of them still wearing bits of the seed hull on their hat like a lopsided hat. And just like that, you have a garden.
So I’m thinking maybe plot is like that—there could be a whole lot of something going on under the surface of my story, you just need to plant the seeds.
Signed,
Plant kid
Nice entrance. How long do you think it will be before he starts speaking to you again? And yes, I realize that you now have two, possibly three names, and that I am calling you by all of them at various times. I still like the first name best but there are several books already out with that character’s name as the title so it simply won’t work. If you don’t like my choices, why don’t you come up with something of your own?
Signed,
Author with rocks in her head
Mr. Mac explained to me how sometimes people do things without thinking and then later, it turns out that they meant to do it all along. But it was their subconscious that got things started. I don’t know if that’s true for me because I didn’t even know Mr. Mac until I, well, until that first day when I just went ahead and did what someone paid me to do and then you know how THAT all turned out. I guess I could have said no but it didn’t look like it would be that big of a deal. And I needed the money.
Maybe I knew something was going to happen. Sort of like the way dogs can tell an earthquake is coming only they can’t tell the humans around them. So the dog starts acting all scared or goofy or something and the human hasn’t got a clue as to what’s going on. Maybe it was like that.
Or maybe it was just fate but Mr. Mac says believing in fate is for lazy folks who are afraid to dream.
Signed,
Plant Kid
PS—You think maybe you could tell me where I’m living because I see someone in the house with me but I sure as heck don’t know who she is.
PPS—Sarcasm isn’t going to change anything.
Sorry about the sarcasm but really, I had no idea you were going to do that so I was surprised at the way everything unfolded. As the author though, I have to admit to being secretly delighted that there is already so much conflict going on. It bodes well for the future of the book.
There’s going to be a HUGE fight over it, you know that, don’t you? And I don’t mean between you and MM. The town, especially that one neighbor, is going to fight it. You could make it an environmental issue but really, I think that’s been done enough times already and never in a spectacular fashion so it would be hard for me to interest an editor in it from that angle. You need to find your own way.
Fate versus dreamers, an interesting concept. I always thought you were on the side of fate, at least until the recent events. Interesting how quickly you’ve switched to the other side. Does he really have that much influence over you? Why is that? What do you get from him that you don’t get from anywhere else?
You asked who you are living with and I have to tell you that right now, I’m not sure either. I think it may be your aunt. Maybe. I know you just moved there and the town is new to you.
What’s it like for you at school? Do you have any friends? Are you a good student? Tell me something that will surprise me about you.
Signed,
Author who still doesn’t know what you really want
You tell me to find my own way and when I do, you get mad. You shouldn’t talk about me. Not yet. You’re not ready. That much is obvious. Yes, plants are boring to some people. There’s so much that takes place underground and now you’ve let someone convince you that you don’t have the skills to bring my story to the surface.
Maybe I was wrong to trust you with it.
But here’s the thing, Mr. Mac says that sometimes we have to give people second and third chances. Sometimes even more chances than that because if you do that enough, well people will surprise you. But you have to believe they’re going to surprise you. If you don’t believe then it doesn’t matter if you tell my story or not.
Signed,
Plant kid
You’re right and I’m wrong. There, does that make you feel better? I hate it when I give my power away and that’s exactly what I did. I am a social writer and I love LOVE LOVE talking about my books before they are actually books. I love to brainstorm and bounce things off of trusted friends. But the one thing I forget is that ideas are fragile and I need feedback that comes from a loving place.
I think part of the problem is that I don’t have anyone to talk to about your book or any of the other books I am working on. I’ve lost my brainstorming partners so except for talking to you here, there’s really no one else who wants to listen to me try on plots for size or help me figure our the motivation behind a certain character’s actions.
I know writing is a lonely business but I need to talk to some people about you sometimes, someone other than you.
You should know that I have been thinking about you lately and where you live. I think it’s your sister, a sister you hadn’t seen in a long time for some reason. And the house looks a lot like the one I grew up in. How do you feel about an attic bedroom?
Signed,
Author grateful for second chances
My sister? You know I think I remember my mom talking about a sister. They had a fight about something a long time ago, right after I was born and she went away and I stayed behind. I bet she wasn’t so thrilled to see me show up on her doorstep after mom died, was she?
I do like the attic bedroom. I like being able to open the window and reach right out and pluck an orange off the tree. I like the way the mourning doves gather on the roof of the garage and peck around at the scraps of bread I throw out for them. I’m not so crazy about the way the stairs go straight up and the railing is a little wobbly. I’m afraid I’m going to fall and land at the bottom of the stairs on that metal grate for the furnace.
I’m mostly okay just hanging out with Mr. Mac and learning from him but I’m thinking me and my sister don’t have a lot to say (except for when she’s yelling at me.) I could use a friend my own age. Think you could work on that for me? There’s this one kid at school, Benny, who seems okay. We worked together on the science project and he didn’t think my worms were stupid at all. There’s Alison too, but she’s a girl and I don’t want her to think I like her special like. Besides, her dad is the one with all those fancy roses so maybe I better not have much to do with her.
Signed,
Plant kid
I love writing about you and I love sharing plant knowledge but I really really need to know what you want. I have no title for your story, no names for most of the people in your story, no idea what your story is about and absolutely no idea what the point of the whole story is.
What do you want more than anything else in the world? Why can’t you have it? What’s getting in your way? What would happen if you got your deepest wish?
All the roses and oranges and friends and favors you do for Mr. Mac don’t amount to a hill of beans if you can’t make me want something for you.
Signed,
Author moving you to the bottom of the list, for now
No problem, I understand. I’m composting right now.
Signed,
Plant kid
Dear Plant Kid,
Your voice changed. You’re no longer the thoughtful, introspective kid I’ve been writing about and I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’m trying not to think about it but I can’t help it. Now I am wondering if there’s a smart-alack trying to get out. Oh gosh I hope not. I can’t do smart-alack. Not for a whole book. And I don’t see a smart-alack as being the nature nurturing soul that I thought you were.
Maybe it will be different once you’ve finished composting.
If I work on your book I am saying that I trust myself enough to write a book that has no plot, no problem, no purpose with the hope that those needed pieces will appear by the time I reach the end. I don’t know if I trust you that much. I already know you don’t care. I already know that you don’t need me as much as I need you. And maybe that’s part of the problem. You don’t need me at all. Flyboy needs me. Frankie and Max need me. But, you’re so darn self-sufficient that you don’t need me or Mr. Mac or your sister or anyone. I don’t know how old you are but you’ve already got more control of your life than I can ever hope to find.
There are lots of things you don’t know but you don’t even care that you don’t know them.
Signed,
Author who needs to be needed
I need lots of things. I need to know why my mom never talked about my sister but why she sent me here to live just before she died but I probably never will on account of the fact that my mom is dead now. I need to know all the things Mr. Mac knows about native plants but I probably never will on account of that thing that happened that started the whole story in the first place. I need to fit somewhere, anywhere. I’m tried of being told to “bloom wherever I’m planted” because planting something means setting down roots and roots tie you to something, someone and near as I can figure, I’m not tied to anything.
No roots makes it kind of hard to stand up for anything at all.
Signed,
Plant kid
That new project at school, the family tree. Sorry. I’d like to tell you that it will all work out just fine but honestly, I haven’t a clue.
Signed,
Author with questions of her own
Mr. Mac gave me one of his mini lectures the other day. This one was on plants that go along for hundreds of years thinking they’re called one thing and then wham, they wake up in the morning and they’re called something else. Did you know they could do genetic testing on plants, like a DNA test they do on people to find out if they’re related? Anyway, Mr. Mac says while it might be nice to know which plant is related to another one it really doesn’t make any difference to the plant. It’s either gonna grow or not grow and calling it something different isn’t going to change a thing.
Signed,
Plant kid
It is plants you’re obsessed with right and not bugs? Because I sense you going off to the buggy world a little bit too much. I know if you have plants you have bugs but can we just think of them as spices and not a main course?
Signed,
Author a little bit bug obsessed herself
Dear Author,
Here’s the thing about bugs. If you stand still in front of a plant and just wait, the bugs will come. Big fuzzy Carpenter bees that make you want to reach out and touch their velvet fur. Hover flies that try to mimic bees. Katydids that blend in so well with the leaves that if you blink, they disappear. Over on the milkweed bright yellow aphids cover the plant and bring the ladybugs in for a feast. If you wait long enough you might see the ants band together to protect their aphids from the ladybug.
Once you stop using all that chemical junk in a yard it’s like a whole new universe moves in. Some bugs live. Some bugs die. But things happen the way they’re supposed to happen, in a way that makes sense if you apply nature’s logic.
When the rest of my world is turned upside down, it makes me feel better to see the garden balancing things out.
Signed,
Plant Kid
Just because, after several years, I finally have a working title for your story, don’t think that I’m going to put aside the current WIP and work on your book. Not yet. Really. But feel free to continue whispering in my ear about things going on with you, anytime.
Signed, Me
I never knew there would be hummingbird in your story. But then I met Lily. You would have liked her.
Signed, Me
I fell in love with you all over again when you found the gopher snake. Of course Gran wasn’t nearly as pleased as me. Did you find it yet?
Signed, Me
I always knew the snake was in my bedroom. And it would have stayed there if Gran hadn’t gone all gran-splosive and chased it with the broom. And she wouldn’t have even known it was there if she hadn’t gone in my bedroom looking for the dirty laundry. Besides. I got the snake to do her a favor and she didn’t even bother saying thank you. She’d have rapped my knuckles good if I forgot to say thank you. Grownups don’t make a whole lot of sense to me at all.
Signed, Plant Kid
You ought to know I’m rethinking the beginning of your story. Not the part with the bird but the part where you meet the old man for the first time. I’m not buying the story which makes selling it to the reader a bit tough. I’m also thinking about that thing that happened to your arm in one of the other versions. It might be making a comeback. Just thought you should know.
Signed, Author who is confused but intrigued by the complex relationships in your life
I’m not that complex. I’m a kid who wants what ever other kid wants, a normal family that doesn’t hassle me all the time. A best friend to do things with. Less homework and more pizza. If you want to tell my story, maybe you need to go back farther than what you thought was the beginning. Mr. Mac says that there are some seeds that sleep for years just waiting for some kind of explosion in their life to wake them up and start them to growing. Like a fire. One day they’re just a bunch of seeds in a bunch of dirt and then suddenly, a month or two or three after a fire, when everything else is black and dead looking, those sleepy seeds wake up and punch through the ashes toward the sun. Of course not all of those seeds wake up. Some of them just go right on sleeping forever.
Maybe my family is just like those seeds, sleeping in the dirt, waiting for the explosion to wake them up. Or maybe that explosion happened a while ago, like when my dad died, and now they’ve forgotten how to do anything else.
Signed, Plant Kid
Tell me about what happened to your dad. How did he die? How was your life different before he died?
Signed, One curious author
Here’s the important stuff you need to know about my dad.
#1 He died before I was born. Do I even have to tell you how much that stinks?
#2 According to Nan he was a cross between some kind of super hero and a movie star. “A perfect male specimen.” That’s just the way she says it. Right after she tells me how wimpy and skinny and pathetic I am. She says she can’t even believe he could be my father because we’re nothing alike. Do I even have to tell you how crappy that makes me feel?
#3 According to my grandmother, he did everything perfectly right the first time. Never made any mistakes. Do I even have to tall you what kind of pressure that puts on me?
#4 It was an accident, the way he died. I’m not going into all the details right now but here’s the thing, he died right here, in the very house we still live in. Every time I walk past the place where it happened, I shiver. Not the kind of shiver because I feel like there’s a ghost nearby (boy wouldn’t that be cool?) But the creepy kind of shiver of not believing that there’s something broken that my grandmother doesn’t want to fix because it was the last thing my father touched. Do I even have to tell you weird that is?
#5 This last one is a secret so you can’t tell my grandmother or Nan. But I found something that belonged to my dad. It was out in the garage and hidden behind a bunch of junk my grandmother won’t touch. I knew it was his even before I saw his name on the inside cover. I never told anyone I found it before. Never. It’s all mine. Do I even have to tell you how great that feels?
Signed, Plant Kid
First off, some sympathy that Nan and your grandmother seem to be making you feel bad all the time. Sometimes grownups can be mean without even trying. I’m sure they both love you very much.
I want to hear more about how your dad died but I understand if you don’t feel like talking about it right now. Maybe you could just tell me about that thing you found that used to belong to your dad. I don’t want to fall into cliché territory here and it seems highly possible, considering your situation and all.
And what about Mr. Mac? You haven’t talked about him in a while.
Signed, Me
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