I’ve always been in awe of seeds. To me they seem like the perfect tiny, sealed container of energy. Within them is everything they need. Just add water and light and presto chango—you get an entire plant. Sometimes that plant is a tree. Sometimes it gives us flowers, or fruits, or vegetables, or even something we humans have labeled a weed for one reason or another.
There are so many different seeds out there. If you were handed a container of mixed seeds how would you know what you were planting? How many seeds could you recognize? Corn, beans, sesame, sunflower, pumpkin? The Coco de mer has the largest known seed (largest recorded-55 pounds). Looks like a work of art, doesn’t it? The smallest seeds come from some species of tropical orchids and weigh just 10 billionths of an ounce—smaller than a typical orchid seed which is the size of a speck of dust.
Seeds come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and attitudes. Although their growth is dependent on their environment, environment doesn’t determine everything. Each year I plant pole beans. Although they have the same amount of light and water, some of them sprout and vine around the ground until I train them up the pole. Some climb the pole, go as high as they can go, then flop down toward the ground again. Some climb the pole, get to the top, wind their way down and back up. I don’t know why. Each plant is different just like we are, I guess. I’m thankful for our differences, because they make us interesting.
All my characters begin as seeds too. After some light, water, dirt, and maybe some necessary fertilizer, parts of their lives grow into the stories I share with you. Different people. Different fertilizer. Different stories.
Sister Minnie Chance caused the death of a man who came after her with a knife. What path does that leave for you if you’re a nun? Symphony Weber hates knowing what’s going to happen in the future, so she goes to great lengths to turn off her abilities, only to discover she’s made a huge mistake. Pinky Harper’s never sure whether her schizophrenic father is on or off his meds. What happens when he’s actually telling the truth about something pretty dang important and she doesn’t believe him?
When we’re all so different, the possibilities are endless. So I’ll keep on planting character seeds.
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I love the way your mind works! Love you, too!
Thanks. I know. I’m a little quirky.