Trees have been removed and chopped up. Some will become winter firewood, some will be laid down as overwinter wildlife habitats, a few may get dropped into trenches as basis for hugelkultur berms if I have time over the dark months to build the berms and dig the swales. Parts of the garden don’t drain and get mossy, parts get parched in summer. It’s all problem solving.
Like the two scripts I’m across today, which are short and have holes in. I’m going to wrestle them both into zero-draft state by the end of today. The zero draft is the draft you will never show anyone. It’s the draft you know is wrong but which contains the bare bones and meat-scraps of the story you’re trying to write. Get to the end of the zero draft, wait a day, and then go back and make it readable to other humans and fix all the egregiously wrong stuff, and that’s your first draft. Zero drafts are always too short: they fill out in the process of revising into a first draft. Stop thinking about your first draft as a first draft, call it a zero draft, and you give yourself permission to just slap everything you’re thinking about on to the page, knowing you can fix it before you have to inflict the draft on some other poor bastard.
It’s all firewood and burying the rotten bits.