I am compelled to create. I finished a large scrappy quilt project last night, finally putting the last hand stitches in the binding and the label on the back for posterity’s sake. I made the quilt for my sister for her 43rd birthday. It’s a scrappy “fairy garden” for Megan.
My sister has an affinity for fairies. I love the quilt – it’s scrappy, colorful, and fun. The design process was especially fun, playing with all the fabrics on my design wall until I felt like the light fabrics reflected the sun shining across the garden just right.
Actually pulling each individual block off my wall and sewing got a little bit tedious, but the entire time I completed this mindless step, my mind wandered to my story. I would sew, and then grab my notebook to take notes, sew some more, jot down a few new ideas
But I kept viewing the sewing as a hindrance to my writing. “If I could just get this quilt
Finally, now I could focus on my writing as my sole creative endeavor.
But . . . nooo . . . apparently NOT! That would make my life far too easy. As I began to tidy up, I spied a really cute quilt pattern a friend gave me a few months ago.
And then I started thinking of another friend who “needs” a quilt. I spent the next hour perusing through my fabric stash pulling browns, blues, creams, grays, and some unexpected pops of orange and red. It’s going to be a great quilt!
I kept “yelling” at myself as I was pulling fabric. “Really Amy, what are you doing? Remember, you wanted to finish quilting for a while! Do you need to do this?”
But I finally had to admit to myself that it’s the creative process that’s important.
My mind runs a zillion miles an hour, but sewing is almost meditative for me. I can think. So maybe that pattern I spied in the corner was God’s little nudge saying, this is part of how you write. Use it. Okay God, I get it. So now, I still have, a blog to write, a novel to plot, and . . . a pile of fabric to play with.