Jodi DeLong is a freelance writer and blogger in Nova Scotia. She is a longtime contributor to Saltscapes magazine, the Halifax Sunday Herald and the Atlantic Co-operator, among others. Her new book Plants for Atlantic Gardens: Handsome and Hardworking Shrubs, Trees and Perennials (Nimbus, 252 pages) is a comprehensive catalogue and inexhaustible resource for anyone in Atlantic Canada who has a penchant for kneepads and gloves and loves to commune with the soil. Considering that is easily more than half of the Maritime population, I predict that this book will become a bestseller in no time at all.

When it comes to gardening, I must confess that I have neither a green thumb nor a black thumb, but rather am all-thumbs, which is why I leave all things horticultural and herbaceous to my wife Thelma. As well as harbouring a fondness for plants and flowers, she is also a dab hand at growing fresh vegetables that grace our dinner table every summer. She and I agree that the book is meticulously laid out with comprehensive bullet points at the beginning of each genus section.

Thelma found the information on the toxicity of certain plants toward humans and animals especially helpful and enlightening, never having had that pointed out to her except by a dermatologist after a strange rash appeared on her arm one spring! She was also heartened to discover that someone as accomplished as Jodi faces gardening challenges like everyone else.

What differentiates this from other gardening books is Jodi’s conversational style and advice that are both down-to-earth and personal. Conveying a hard-won wisdom, Jodi imbues the plants with personalities that capture the reader’s sympathy. The photos are beautiful and of top quality but kept in good balance with the text.  She understands that telling the story about the plants is more important than showing a lot of pretty pictures. Most of all, Thelma felt the book gave her a palpable sense of optimism that her own garden will one day be everything she hopes it could be.

What follows is a Q & A I did with Jodi. The book has already been the subject of many reviews and articles, written by people who are probably more adept at gardening than I.  Since much of that ground has been covered, I decided to take a different angle and asked questions based more on writing than gardening.

Steven Mayoff It is clear that you have done an amazing job researching your book. How long did it take and can you offer some insight into how you actually went about it. Did you divide your time equally between the library (or internet) and being out in the field?

Jodi DeLong Although I only formally signed the contract with Nimbus in January of 2010, bits of it existed on my computer for a year and more before that. But the bulk of the drafting was done between January and July of last year—along with, I might add, all my regular work, since I am self employed and had to carry on paying my bills, feeding the family, and buying plants.

Most of the research is a mixture of my own experience and that of other savvy gardeners in the region, people I’ve learned much from over the years. I also have a very excellent library of gardening books, and could draw on them and a few reliable websites, especially when checking the latest classification for a plant’s genus or species, and the prevailing wisdom about plant heights, hardiness, and such.

SM Many fiction writers and poets are also avid gardeners. Do you think there are parallels between these two activities? Is there some common satisfaction you get from gardening and writing?

JDL They’re both highly creative, of course, and they develop in the same way: a seed is planted, whether a literal, physical seed that goes in the ground, or the germ of an idea. Some seeds take off, prosper and bear much fruit, while others are more or less weeds. They don’t all grow at the same time, or develop into something large and long lasting, but they can be satisfying regardless of the size of plant or the size of writing project.

When I need some thinking time, I head to the garden to do chores, and while puttering, often an article or an idea is working itself out too. It’s always been that way—as a student, I’d head for the woods and wild spaces around my home, or around my campus, if I didn’t have access to a garden to work in. In the winter, of course, I have to rely on tending my indoor plants for such inspirational periods.

SM You have an enviable Internet presence, which is something all writers are now being encouraged to cultivate. You are a blogger extraordinaire with many followers and you also show up often in the Facebook and Twitter communities. Do you have any preference when it comes to social networking tools? Is there one that is more user-friendly or easier to connect with followers than any other?

JDL Here’s the thing. I was online before most people even knew what the Internet was, back in the days of 300 bps modems, bulletin board systems, newsgroups, Anarchie and Gopher and Mozilla and such. Also, I prefer writing to talking, though some might be surprised to hear that. So I was comfortable with the computer keyboard as a means of communicating more than 15 years ago, and wasn’t intimidated by what I saw as the necessity to learn about blogging, and about the power of social media as a means to many ends.

So I embrace what I consider to be the big three: blogging, Facebook, and Twitter, each of which has a different role to play. I blog as an extension of my professional work, primarily gardening and the occasional book reviews; Facebook is partly social, partly promotional for myself and for other writers—I love to cheer on my colleagues!—and Twitter is a great way to brainstorm, share links to information, market ourselves as writers, and sometimes, just poke fun at the world around us.

There are many other options out there for social networking, and some will fade while new ones germinate. The trick is to choose the ones that meet your needs and stay with them, not chase down every shiny new gimmick that pops up alongside the highway.

SM Aside from gardening, do you write on any other non-fiction subjects? Have you ever written fiction, poetry, etc? 

JDL I’ve written fiction occasionally for fun, but it’s not my forte, and I am far too pragmatic—I need to make a living doing what I love, and to do that, I write non-fiction. Much has to do with gardening, but also I write about agriculture in its many forms, nature, Atlantic Canada, profiles of people and businesses. I do review Canadian fiction, as many Atlantic Canadian writers as I can, and a variety of non-fiction titles (usually gardening, nature and science, occasionally something regional and historical).

SM You have given workshops on writing for magazines. Having taken many workshops myself, I think they offer a number of benefits for writers of all levels. What have you gained, if any, as an instructor?

JDL The biggest benefit I have gained is the enormous satisfaction of seeing several of my students really grab on to what I’ve been able to share with them, and to see them parlay that into something for themselves. It’s an honour to be able to pay it forward, because I have people who have encouraged and assisted me, and it’s just natural to encourage others whenever possible. 

SM What writers influenced or inspired you? 

JDL They aren’t all garden writers, but they are people who are or were passionate about writing—it’s not something they do, but something they are.

Fiction writers like Jack Hodgins and Timothy Findley, Alistair MacLeod and David Adams Richards. They grip me with their vision and their exquisite use of language.

Garden writers who don’t talk down to their readers, such as the late English writer and gardener Christopher Lloyd, the frankly brilliant Allan Armitage, and the ebullient Canadian garden writers Larry Hodgson and Sonia Day. These garden writers are frankly encouraging and make you want to pick up a trowel and get your hands dirty.

And some of the most influential and inspiring writers in my world are also people I’m honoured to call friends: Allan Lynch, Sandra Phinney, Silver Donald Cameron, among others. Each has an utterly different style and voice but all are passionate about this craft or sullen art that compels them forward each day. Each has been hugely supportive and generous with their wisdom, not just with me but with many others. They inspire me to do the same.

For the past few months Thelma and I have been taking a Taoist Tai Chi class for beginners. The beginner's course is over now and, while Thelma has opted to continue on to the next course, I have decided not to carry on with tai chi. The simple answer to why I'm quitting is that I took the beginner's course to see what it was about, gave it a fair shake and decided that I'm not enthusiastic enough to keep on with it.

The more complicated answer is steeped in conflicting feelings that the classes stirred in me. Our instructor set out to teach us 108 moves over 3 months, which meant the classes progressed at a fast rate. In one sense that was a good thing, because it meant we were never bored by too much repetition on the same move. On the other hand, it was difficult to keep the order of the moves clear in my head and if, at any point, I was not facing someone who knew what they were doing, I was utterly lost. By no means was I the only one with this issue and our instructor always made it clear that it took her two years of practice to remember the moves.

Therein lies part of the problem for me. Outside of the class I never made an effort to practice the moves. The reasons or excuses aren't important, I just didn't do it. What I decided to try was to not actually think about the moves in class, but follow the instructor in the hopes of somehow learning them by rote. That worked to a small degree, but, more often than not, what I discovered was a sense of vulnerability I had not expected. That's not such a bad thing, but I suppose my ego rebelled to such a point that there were times the whole thing seemed like punishment more than exercise. Whatever meditative benefits I was supposed to be reaping tended to be offset by my ego's derision for not being able to get it right. I suppose that's why I never worked on it at home, and if I'm not disciplined enough to work on it at home, perhaps it's better not to carry on with it at all.   

I realize how defeatist all this sounds. Who knows, maybe I'll miss tai chi at some point. Maybe I'll even decide to try it again. For the moment, though, my ego has staked out its turf and it ain't giving up an inch. Don't judge it too harshly. It has enough to deal with in fending off rejection letters, first draft disappointments and the general insecurities of the writing life. I like to think that whatever spurt of spiritual growth tai chi may have taught me hasn't been totally wasted. Even my ego knows that progress is spiral-shaped. What might look like a step backward can sometimes be used to propel us ahead.