Metaphor about fiction writing
144 words
Though I was physically unqualified for it, I found myself working on a small organic vineyard in New Zealand at twenty-four. The task I most dreaded was called “doing the nets.”
Delicate plastic fishnet encased the vines all summer, deterring the birds, protecting the grapes. With harvest near, they needed to be removed.
While running, I had to unclip the nets at the edges of the vines, then carefully guide them onto a giant rotating spool attached to a tractor that was being driven— too fast— by the vineyard’s small, angry owner. I tended to trip, or rip the nets, or snag the vines. Often, the nets got sucked into the tractor’s gears. Often, I wept.
It was only after a week of this, after it was complete, and after I began dreaming of this task, that I was finally prepared to undertake it.