try, try again

I grew a terracotta pot full of ranunculus once, many years ago. It was a glorious sight and bought joy to my heart. The cultivated ranunculus, or ranunculus asiaticus, or Persian Buttercup, is indeed related to the common buttercup, but is a much larger plant, has a tight whorl of petals, and comes in a variety of colours - pink, orange, yellow, white, or red, as opposed to the primarily yellow, open face of the smaller, wild buttercup that sprouts every year on the lawns outside. My favourite colour of ranunculus is orange. It is the vibrant, vivid orange of the marigold, the California poppy, the Solero ice lolly. I've attached a photo of some orange California poppies that I grew last year, to give you an idea of the colour I'm talking about here. That first pot of ranunculus I grew was wildly successful. I think because I grew it back then in complete ignorance of just how fussy a plant a ranunculus is. The soil, the moisture and the temperature levels have all got to be 'just so' for it to grow and bloom. Clearly all these things came, magically, together around that original pot, without any help from me, and in a way that I've never been able to replicate since. In the intervening years I've tried to grow ranunculus without any success whatsoever (which is why I can't provide a photo of one). Many summers have come and gone when I haven't even bothered trying. In the last couple of months, however, my thoughts have returned constantly to that terracotta pot filled with electric orange blooms, and I have bought myself a packet of bulbs; bulbs that look like dead and desiccated spiders. It's hard to be hopeful when the bulbs look so hopeless. It's hard to believe that I could coax a glorious flowering plant from something so unpromising. But I've decided, this summer, to try again.

In a recent post, I mentioned that I'd sent a short story in response to a call for stories, for inclusion in an anthology. Sad to relate, mine didn't get chosen. I was downhearted. I had gone out on a limb. I'd written a horror story, something outside of my usual lane. I realise there are rules and conventions in any genre, and I wasn't perhaps familiar enough with those in the horror genre. I don't often read horror stories. There could have been a number of other reasons why my story wasn't accepted, but I'm sure a lack of familiarity with what I was trying to produce played at least some part, and whereas ignorance and luck played a role in producing a successful pot of flowers, neither helped when it came to writing a story. Anyway, during the short time I was downhearted I flirted with the idea of packing away my pencil and notepad, and giving up on writing for a while. I'd take some time out. But, as always, it wasn't long before a new story idea popped into my head. This idea has not left off nagging at me, and it has me intrigued. So, I've decided to put past disappointments behind me and try to get it down on paper. I'm going to try and tease a story out of this kernel of an idea. But not for a competition, or in response to a call-out for submissions this time, but rather I'll try again simply for my own peace of mind, and pleasure.

Photo is the author's own.