Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 21

Dipping into a patient project

 

Lavender in its tote; letting it breathe a bit is a good thing.

The last two nights I've stitched on my Lavender quilt. Like actually sewing together blocks, whoa! I don't know the exact impetus, but I pulled out the tote, rummaged through it, then went to work.

A pretty nice way to become reacquainted with this project that I started three or four years ago; I do have a recipient in mind, but it won't be gifted for a few years, which lends itself to a lengthy life in a tote.

Not a great way for a quilt to linger, but....

What I like about this quilt is the ease of making the blocks, although basting four-inch triangles requires a little bit of glue stick in addition to the thread basting. Yet once that part is done, and I *think* I have enough triangles prepped, then half-hexagons are added, no bending of papers. And in stitching those blocks to additional triangles, four and two-inch sized, still no bending of papers! Well, a little will be incurred when I sew rows together, because ages ago I added a small triangle to what would be the following row. I don't like unpicking EPP, so I'll maneuver around it when I do attach these rows to one another.

The small green triangle on the right is the one I'll need to work around, one of these days.

There's not a lot of fancy manipulating, just loads of colour alongside low volume prints. An array of low volume, let me say; I like mixing up the quiet fabrics. I made this design in a sampler quilt, fell in love with it, then set about ordering enough triangles to make an entire quilt in this pattern. It's had its own tote since I got busy with it, the tote residing in the living room, but other shinies have muscled their pretty ways ahead of it. Yet I hadn't forgotten it, and two nights ago, out came that tote, one row about half done.

Now I have a second row started, but seeing it will probably be ten rows, no twelve rows in length.... That's a lot of stitching to remain. Patience is this quilt's middle name, but that's an English paper piecing virtue. And thankfully it's one I've had practice with, hehehe.

Kinda fussy-futzing around

 

The spoils of yesterday's efforts; the two lower stacks of diamonds aren't fussy cut, just some Karen Nyberg prints I love.

Being it was Mother's Day in America yesterday, I spent much of Sunday afternoon in the office, cutting fabric. Fussy-cutting fabric if I'm being precise, and with fussy cutting, precise is paramount. Not sure why I felt so enabled, perhaps in talking to my aunt, who called to wish me a lovely day. Aunt Jay was a couple of years younger than my mum, but now she's older than Mum ever reached, a wonderful link to a past for which I'm grateful, especially at a time when wishing Mum a beautiful day no longer occurs.

Yet life continues, and there I was, cutting fabrics for another Myrtle block, when the impetus struck to pull out other shapes and templates. Rummaging through my stash, I recovered a gorgeous stack of Tilda prints, then set about searching for just the right element to capture within the acrylic template, thankful that those I received from Tales of Cloth have holes at the corners of the shapes to better get the exact spot necessary for the fussiest of cutting. My phone helps too, making sure I'm marking precisely what I want to highlight.

I snapped this because I wanted to see exactly where the lines connecting the dots intersected on the flower. Maybe I lean into twenty-first century tech more than I should, but better to know for sure the dots are right than not.

Precise. Yeah, not really my usual aim, but Aunt Jay's loving voice led me to a space within myself that allowed such notions. We chatted about her new place in a senior apartment complex as well as how life takes twists and turns unexpected by us, but that always brings us to where we're supposed to be. Mum's been gone nearly six years now, a length of weeks and months that seems strange to acknowledge, but time doesn't cease when those we love die. Time creeps or speeds past, and best that we move along to the utmost of our ability while holding close the essence of those we miss in whatever manner keeps us sane and peaceful, happy and responsive.

I've been paper-piecing now for six years. Wow. Fussy-cutting rarely occurs, but like I said, when it does I go with the muse and don't stop until the Giants were tied with the Reds near the end of the game. As soon as the game was over, my husband and I were going out for a treat, but play dragged into the tenth inning and my husband said, "You wanna watch the end?"

"Not really," I smiled.

He nodded, turned off the TV, then we left. At our destination, while enjoying soft serve ice cream sundaes, he considered the game, and to our collective glee, the Giants had pulled out a victory in the bottom of the tenth! Using modern technology, he brought up the end of the game and we watched Casey Schmitt hit a ground rule double, scoring the runner at second, WHEW!

Now thinking about that, I wonder if Mum, Dad too, played their part; both were avid Giants fans. If nothing else, we came home to no immediate need for dinner, but the Denver Nuggets were facing the Minnesota Timberwolves in playoff basketball. Meanwhile some scraps of Tilda fabric from my earlier endeavors were now ready to be basted onto one-inch hexies. All the rest of my fussy efforts are still on my work table, waiting to be placed into Ice Cream Soda blocks when I get around to it. Those pieces won't be as precisely curated, better to set off what was intricately chosen. Sometimes life is steeped in niggly details, other times it flows along haphazardly, or how it appears.Yet I know all things happen for some reason, not that all those purposes are within my grasp. Just to fussy-cut when necessary, eat some ice cream, then revel in an inadvertent victory, or two of them. I was rooting for Denver last night, now to see what Game 5 has in store.

Enjoying the output

The last few days I've spent the early morning reading/revising the fictional WIP, Book 3 of The Enran Chronicles. Just yesterday I perched my phone upon a small Barbie doll-sized chair I got at IKEA, and wow, that was super-handy to not have to hold my phone while reading an epub. Instead I gripped my cup of coffee or sat with my hands clasped together, but more rightly I was grasping a warm beverage. Yes, I still have to manually move along the novel, tapping the right side of my phone to turn the virtual pages, but one little mass-produced item has muscled its small metal way into how I edit books. The twenty-first century is FULL of surprises!

I'm eager to note that I'm wholly engaged with this section of the.... This book could stand alone, although it is tightly tethered to the previous installment and of course is mostly necessary for what comes next, although I have tried to write each book in a way that a reader could merely pick up one, read it, and not actually have to grab the rest. Which might not be beneficial in pulling readers into a series, but acting alongside expected convention isn't why I write books, so, yeah. I do things differently, and that makes me happy, and being an indie author permits such folly, as others might perceive these novelistic aspirations.

That's what I'm currently focused on, fulfilling my aspirations without ties to conventional expectations. Hordes of other writers fill that column. I'd rather do this noveling gig my way.

Or the way to which I'm being led. Gotta follow the muse, you know.

But the muse takes different forms; sometimes it's a driving urge to spew forth prose onto a virtual document. Sometimes it's heaps of edits thrust upon a rough draft. And sometimes it's my phone newly perched on its own little chair, or stand if you prefer, where I can read the story in a format that appears polished. By this time, epub-time I call it, the manuscript is fairly solid, but why not have a go at it as if it had been released and I was reading it again, praying to God the typos are few.

And now I can read and still grasp my decaf, hehehe.

But what I REALLY WANTED TO NOTE was how pleased I am with the story! Ahem, that's what this post was initially going to recount. Instead it turned into a shout-out for taking the alternate route, but okay, that applies too because this series bounces from familial melodrama/love stories to outer space hi-jinks, which isn't that conducive to current publishing genre-strangleholds. God forbid someone write a series reaching past expected genre boundaries, which isn't what I meant to gab about either, dang! I just wanted to note how much I like what I've written and how excited I am to read the next book!

That's really all I was gonna say.

Phone chair in use.

Yet this has evolved into something else, a small treatise about indie/self-publishing, about stretching beyond the expected, about seeing past the usual, not in only a sci-fi kind of way. But in reveling within an art form that requires a whole lotta silent time to create it, then more quiet moments to appreciate it. And a little chachka that inadvertently makes my life as an author a bit simpler, or easier to read on my phone while enjoying the morning brews. Thanks IKEA, and thanks be to God for directing my path in this manner. The writing doesn't occur without such marvelous intervention.

Writing is a gift and I am truly grateful for it

Reminding myself what I do, and how appreciative I am for the ability and time to do it; an excerpt from The Enran Chronicles Book 3, my current revision WIP.

InsideSquee’s ship, Sooz explained the Enran had permitted a small number of pods toencase what could called only a life force and not an Enran’s distinctiveness;it was those pods that people like Squee used to extend their lives. “Although,”Sooz smirked, “I think the last time Squee was revitalized it was with an Enranwholly compatible with Squee’s nature.”

Nothcarefully drummed his fingers along the console, not wishing to accidentallyactivate the vessel. “So the Enran aren’t bothered with that, but they won’tprotect the most vulnerable people.”

“It’scomplicated, but we’ve lived with the Enran for so long that….”

“Areyou like Squee?”

“No,”Sooz growled. “I am not like Squee.”

“Whendid Amora die?” Noth spoke softly, not having planned to mention Sooz’sdaughter. Yet he couldn’t help wonder if there had been some way Sooz mighthave saved her child, even if it meant turning Amora into a slightly differentindividual.

“She’sbeen gone….” Sooz paused, then clasped her hands in her lap. “Maybe eight orten of your years. Maybe that long,” she added in a whisper.

Nothsighed, then nodded. “So what did Squee use to call my ship?”

Soozwiped her eyes, then cleared her throat. “TheGenie.”

“Whatdid you say?”

“The Genie. Squee described it to meonce, the name I mean. It means….”

“Amagical person, someone who can….”

“Iknow what magic is, thank you very much.”

“No,I didn’t mean it that way.” Noth thought of Jeannie and Caroline, then hefrowned, so much about this quadrant they hadn’t explained. His opinion of theEnran was at a low ebb, but perhaps the women had worried if he knew the truth,he wouldn’t have cooperated.

“Agenie is considered a spirit with powers that defy logic,” Sooz said softly,then she snorted. “Squee used to run some pretty daring raids, not surprisedthat’s what it was called.”

“Hesaid a Human named it, a woman he worked with at the time.”

“Huh,well, maybe. Squee lies a lot, in case you weren’t aware.”

“Squeeknows enough about what’s happening now.”

“ThatSquee does, blast it.” Sooz cracked her knuckles. “But we’ll need Squee ifwe’re actually going to try to….”

Soozreleased a stilted sob, then composed herself. “I need to get back to work. AsI said before, Chelak can’t be moved for several weeks. That gives us timeto….”

“Whathappens if we move her now? Any Tyrah aware of her wouldn’t expect that Iassume.”

“Chelakcan’t be untethered from the stasis regulator. Chelak wouldn’t survive at thispoint.”

Nothsighed. “And there’s nothing you can do to speed up this process?”

“No.”

“Isee.” Noth was silent, then he smiled. “But you said she wants to leave, sheknew I was there earlier, right?”

“Yes,but what does that have to do with….”

“Whatif I start visiting Chelak? You’ve been her only resource to the outside worldas she is right now. Does she have any memories of who she used to be?”

“No,that element no longer exists.”

“Okay,well what if I start hanging out and tell her about Earth. Just small talk, youknow. Maybe that would accelerate the process.”

Soozfrowned, then smirked. “Maybe. I’ve never tried that.”

“Noteven with Melor?” Noth asked.

Soozshook her head, then she sighed. “While Melor was regenerating, I was sick. Aformer colleague who I trusted kept tabs on Melor. When I returned to work, Idid notice Melor seemed to have progressed a little further than I would havethought. Maybe it would work, but….”

“Butwhat?”

“Youhave to promise your visits would be brief. And that you won’t touch Chelak.”

“Iwon’t, I swear!”

“Yousay that now,” Sooz huffed, “but every single individual in stasis yearns forphysical contact. Even those in the general assembly. I don’t know how peoplein charge over there stay sane, avoiding contact.”

“Howdo you?”

Soozsighed. “The first person I integrated suffered from my lack of discretion. Itwasn’t a Tyrah, but what they turned into….”

Nothnodded. “I won’t touch Chelak, I swear to God.”

Soozstared at Noth. “God, huh. Gonna need a lot of your deity’s gumption is all Ican say.”

Nothalmost asked what the Parcathn blessing meant. Then he swallowed hard. “Who wasyour assistant when Melor was….”

“Hosta,the person who died right when you arrived. Hosta must have told Melor aboutwhat it was like being free.”

Nothgripped Sooz’s hand. “Well then, we’ll keep Hosta’s truths intact and getChelak the fuck off this planet.”

Sooz shrugged, then nodded. Then she began tocry.

Good to be home

This Mandolin block was waiting for me last night; I added four perimeter diamonds and it was finished! Subsequent pics are all EPP made during our holiday.

Despite a head cold that emerged late Monday/early Tuesday, our holiday was marvelous! I add this disclaimer because right now I feel pretty crappy, so if this post rambles, it's due to my current state of health.

Ice Cream Soda block

My goodness, there is a lot I want to say, perhaps the best way to get back into the blogging swing is to eke out bits here and there. The Gee's Bend Quilts Collection was AMAZING! Thirteen quilts were on display at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, beautiful comforters I never thought I might see in person. All were hand-quilted, most were completely hand-stitched. Designs, colors, and purpose made me grateful for my minor contributions to the quilting world, as well as causing me to wonder at future projects and ponder my fabric stash. Much food for thought at that deeply touching exhibit, which will inspire and guide the rest of my life. The display lasts until July 7th.

Myrtle block that needs the perimeter diamonds and triangles.

Traveling provides immersive experiences, like admiring those breathtaking quilts or visiting a church built in the late 1600s which still proffers services. The Old Swedes Church in Wilmington, Delaware, is rich in history, authentic to period detail, and acted as a linchpin for my husband and I to place our faith within the context of a vacation to a part of America we had never seen, a part of America where history predates so much of what we know on the West Coast. We also visited the nearby Kalmar Nyckel ship, a full-size replica of the original Swedish colonial ship, just a short ways from the church. Fascinating bits of America's history!

The beginnings of another Myrtle block.

Of course there was plentiful time spent with our lovely hosts, who we have known for over twenty years. So marvelous to strengthen ties with dear friends, relaxing in their new home, then visit their youngest daughter, who is the same age as our youngest! Her family includes a toddler, truly a delight to meet the next generation.

A star requiring perimeter diamonds.

Our flight from Philly to San Francisco was a bumpy one, not sure the reason for the turbulence, which we had also experienced on the way east, but that leg of the journey was due to poor weather across the country. We spent a day with our eldest's family, always good to see the grandgirls! Then yesterday we left for home, stopping in San Rafael for breakfast at Lundy's, a charming spot downtown. By then my cold was emerging, so my husband did most of the driving. When we reached home, the sun was shining, strong winds blowing, three inches of rain in the gauge! Hauling inside all the luggage, treasures, and bags of laundry, the comfort of being in our own space was accentuated by all the joys we had recently acquired. As well as the slightly irritating sense that traveling isn't as easy as it used to be, but que sera sera. I had a wonderful collection of days, memories swirling through my mind, requiring some/much contemplation. Not sure how that will unwind here, but certainly there is plenty for me to ponder.

One more Ice Cream Soda block; our evenings were a pleasant mix of stitching, chatting, and viewing sport, with some sewing in the mornings for my own joy.

Next up however is a cuppa and some cold relief meds! But let me say, it's so good to be home.

Forgot my phone

From inside the Conservatory at Longwood Gardens.

Where does the time go? On holiday, it seems to slip away asno more than drifting into another galaxy, which is kind of what it’s likegoing from the West Coast to the East Coast. We’re staying with friends inDelaware, also popping into New Jersey to visit my husband’s college buddy andhis family. Today will be full of hanging out, with my phone not far away.Yesterday we went to Longwood Gardens, and it wasn’t until we were almost therethat I realized my phone had not made the voyage.

Of all the days to forget one’s phone, or rather my camera,this wasn’t one I would have chosen. When we arrived, my husband ascertainedthat yes, my device was back at the house, which was a comfort, yet how many picturesawaited on Pierre and Alice du Ponts' marvelous acreage? A lot, I knew, and my hubby happily acquiescedwhen I requested his mobile. I snapped a heap of flowers in theconservatory, but gave the phone back to him after we exited, in part that Ididn’t want to run down his battery like I had my own when we went to thePhiladelphia Museum of Art (more about that amazing day soon!). Also that ironicallyand recently we had discussed going phone-free and here was my inadvertent chanceto do so.

Being three time zones ahead of my family, as well as thedelineation of vacation, is as good a time as any to wander untethered to whathas become necessary technology in this twenty-first century. Or a phone isperceived as imperative; yet other than missing the camera aspect, I embraced not having my phone, wandering through beautiful grounds caughtup in where I was, only a few times noting the immediate urge to snap aphotograph. We smiled at how despite having brought an extra phone, I didn’t haveit in my rather heaving backpack. (Note to self; next time put the back-updevice in the pack JUST IN CASE.) Other than the camera, I didn’t miss the phoneor more rightly I didn’t miss the distraction.

When Pierre and Alice du Pont were designing and improvingtheir not so modest farm, a telephone was one of their mightiest technological devices,other than what Pierre and his advisors were cooking up for their various floralendeavors. Alice died in 1944, Pierre a decade later. Not to dwell too much onall that has altered since, but…. Yesterday I saw one man using an actualcamera, with a telephoto lens even. Otherwise phone cameras were out in full, andyes, there was much to photograph. There was also more than I could havementally catalogued in the take it all in department, making me wonder if Ihave traded the ability to be in the moment to instead snap the hell out of it.I took so many pictures at the art museum, running down my phone’s battery tonine percent! And while I’m glad for all those digital memories, what about my ownmental ties to that day?

Don’t get me wrong, I have some VERY KEEN thoughts aboutwhat I saw, which I will expound upon soon enough. I also have deep ponderingsabout Pierre and Alice’s achievements at Longwood, definitely a place to visitif you are in the southern Pennsylvania/Delaware region. But more on my mindright this minute is how invasive are mobile phones, whether used as a camera torecord one’s holiday excursion or what cell phones have become in this initial quarterof the twenty-first century. As I wandered through Pierre and Alice’s home,again the most techie aspect was the old black telephone on Pierre’s enormousdesk. It was a partner desk, graced simply by books, a large blotter, and of coursehis phone. Yet that phone is not like mine,usually living in my pocket except when I set it on the bench seat whileputting on shoes, then forget to put it back in my pocket. Other than nottaking a multitude of photos, I didn’t miss my phone at all. Maybe my memoriesof Longwood Gardens will remain more vibrantly within my gray matter than if I’dhad that phone. Maybe someday instead of a cell phone, I’ll carry around acapable little camera less than half the size of my current device, in partthat small because it’s only a camera.

What would Pierre and Alice have made of all my musings? Howwill I incorporate them into my life? Just more delights of being on holiday,plenty of time to ramble inwardly and elsewhere.

Sometimes fancy

I might turn the inner pieces to go the other way. Will post the block when it's completed!

Preparation for travel always includes packing basted paper pieces. Well, usually I baste before I leave because it makes for less mess. My suitcase is sorted, the laundry and big cleaning done, lol. Late yesterday afternoon I went into the office to retrieve the hexie box, glancing at Myrtle blocks waiting to go into my backpack. Then I gazed at the stack of stuff to my right, brightly coloured fabric in various sizes of strips for Ice Cream Soda blocks and anything else that would fit.

And then I found myself counting out shapes, laying strips on the cutting mat, then pulling out scraps from my stash. I might have had better things to be doing, or at least items I could tick off my list, but truly, what's better than arranging another EPP block?

Rarely do I fussy-cut. I don't have the patience, willingness to leave a stunning piece of fabric with gaping holes, or the desire for such intricate beauty. But when I do fussy-cut.... Well, I'm pleased with it, occasionally wondering why I don't do it more often, hah! I was fortunate in that I had already fussy-cut six diamonds for one block; adding another six was easy, especially since I had the acrylic template. Within half an hour I had enough cut for two blocks, then last night during basketball I basted all the pieces, and now they are stored in the hexie box, which just needs to be put into my backpack, voila!

Sometimes packing is a bear, and sometimes it's in tune to the rhythm to our hearts and the accompanying tunes; heavy on The Cars and The English Beat, added to a playlist that needs to get transferred onto my phone.

I wanted to sew those fussy-cut diamonds last night, mostly because the effect will be gorgeous, but I didn't, instead keeping them like a special treat for our holiday. Maybe an early birthday gift to myself, hehehe; I think I'm used to the notion of twenty-nine times two, if not the actual number, then the sense of how that numeral has affected my creative spark. Definitely the flame has lessened, but it's still burning, the fussy-cutting an example. I haven't done much about the baby quilt, I think I mentioned I need to make a baby quilt. If I didn't, I need to make a baby quilt and I've cut some squares for it, but life veered away from that, instead steering me toward curating another two Ice Cream Soda blocks. Not all of them will be so futzy, or fussy, but a little sparkle is fine.

Wishing you all a lovely bunch of days, as I'm not sure when I'll pop back onto the blog. As April turns into May, may the continuing change of season bring you peace and joy!

A poem for Sunday

 "So what are my stories?" 

 

Stories in song, in cotton, in prose.

Been cutting (slicing) fabric for stars, their alignments altered.

Merged into one, clouds and solids, crazy mix of wild

Tilda prints and other decorative ideas

dwelling silently in a tote for weeks, months, maybe years to come.

(Strum guitar strum, "Ricetones" by Subaqwa)

An epub made, reading, read.

Typos caught, maybe missed, this novel looking as though already

published, but merely ticking away in my phone.

Did novelists dream of such shenanigans

in 1892, in 1904, in 2003?

Did I dream of this arrangement

when writing my first novel

or my first book 

(which came long before the fiction)?

Captured words and deeds

("Ricetones" fades back in, plenty of reverb)

held in their own kind of flash drive totes,

pretty damn small compared to where the EPP lives.

 

(Then sneakily, as though it's not there

arrives the music....)

"This Mountain Is Closed"

by Subaqwa

a 90s indies band

we listened to in England.

We being my other half,

maybe the kids,

who aren't kids now in 2024.

No longer do I crank it to 11

nor do I use headphones

or earbuds

but the notes remain

as inspiration

distraction

thrill

and 

joy.

Leading me into faraway galaxies and fabric shops

on the cusps of distant universes.

Guiding me into realms

safely

gently

as though a mother.

As though there's no other way for me to

write

sew

conjure the muse

(Except it's the muse

leading me so tenderly

like a father

a sister

a partner

forever).

Thanks for reading this poem!

Lucy Boston blocks

Sometimes I forget key moments in my life, like the first book I wrote (and finished) after my brother Joe died, autobiographical in nature. It's tucked away in my computer under the file name enchilada, as in the Whole Enchilada, if you get my drift. I thought about it recently, not sure why other than Joe died when I was thirty-one, which isn't far from when I was twenty-nine, which indeed has been rattling around my gray matter. Maybe if I gather the guts and gumption to read that over that someday, I'll post my thoughts, but that's not what this entry is about. Today I'm rambling about lost EPP blocks, which perhaps subconsciously is connected to someone long gone.

Just a sample of a project from what feels like eons ago....

These Lucy Boston blocks are super scrappy, hardly fussy-cut, and languishing at the bottom of a tote specifically for orphan English paper piecing blocks. I had spare minutes before leaving for the dentist this morning, so first I Googled Lucy Boston images, then I retrieved the blocks, laying some on my work table. I certainly don't have the impetus to go the whole Lucy Boston attaching block route, but I could hook them together with single honeycombs, one-inch squares, and three-inch squares. I hauled out three or four bags of pre-cut fabrics with papers included, then realized I needed to confirm that my dental insurance card was in my wallet. It was, then I departed, returning with a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and appointments for another cleaning in six months as well as a crown, dang! And more musings about the future of Lucy Boston blocks.

Past Me clears her throat. "That was a lot of work stitching all those blocks, you know."

"I know," I say. "Um, thanks."

She smirks, then shrugs. "You've moved way past that pattern. I'm not bothered if you, you know...."

"If I what?"

"If you, well, don't do anything with them."

I sigh, because another option is to machine applique them onto solid squares, then sew those together and here's a finished quilt. Except that the honeycombs are one-inch and OH MY GOODNESS that would be a lot of fits and starts of the presser foot every inch to turn the fabric. Not that hand-stitching papers would be any less of a hassle, as I'd still have to turn the whole thing every inch. But hand-stitching is so much quieter than my machine, and after having just returned from the dentist, my ears are buzzing merely from the patient in the next room having a load of drilling done. Gotta remember my earplugs next time.

So, yeah. Lucy Boston blocks. Maybe if I had used slightly bigger honeycombs, like 1.5 inches, but one-inch papers are futzy. Tedious. They're what a novice might choose, in that they're not big, but now I know what I like with EPP; two-inch papers or bigger, although four inches requires a little dab of glue stick. Still, I don't like leaving projects in a lurch. Or a lurch lasting more than half a decade. These LB blocks have been in my sphere a LONG TIME.

I could try hand-appliqueing them, but that is one type of hand-sewing I'm not keen on; I only do it for hexie shirts and onesies. Still, I could make the attempt to know for certain I don't want to do it. Equally I could machine applique a block, again to cement a yes or no in my head. If I didn't have over half a dozen projects I LOVE, then I would wrap up this quilt. But more intriguing shinies make me squint from their adorable brightness, my heart pounding to complete the Cornflower quilt or work on Ice Cream Soda, or faff around with Lavender, or what about the dang quilt on the wall that needs to be sewn into attached rows so a certain baby quilt can get underway....

Future Me clucks about that, and I nod sheepishly while Past Me bastes honeycombs but doesn't say a word. Then I ponder this notion: Currently I have over a dozen sewing and writing projects in an ongoing manner. What does this say about my present creative mental state? Have I stretched myself too thinly, am I not wishing to actively complete this, that, or three other projects? Or is right now one of the rare times I need a plethora of THINGS TO DO, and if so, why? Twenty-nine times two isn't that big of a deal I shrug, not glancing at Future or Past Me to see if they are rolling their eyes. All these marvelous distractions keep me from boredom. Doesn't Lucy Boston deserve her place in the stitching sun?

Or does she? Time will tell, I guess. Well, I know it will. Future Me nods, then stares ahead, not giving anything away.

Every other day

 

I wash my dishes. We don't have a dishwasher, although we're planning a kitchen remodel, and at this point it is looking to be a 2025 project. Which is fine, because if I'm happy manually washing mugs, silverware, etc, I'm doing pretty well.

Revisions have been my morning focus, as I wash dishes in the afternoon. Every other day I work on Enran Book #2, mixing it up with an older novel that I might or might not publish. I didn't plan to alternate the edits, but in the last several days, that's how it's been going. It's refreshing, both in the switching round and the spontaneous nature of how that evolved. I'm chalking it up to the twenty-nine times two theory, not stressing out about it.

But if I wanted to analyze it, just a little bit.... LOL, that's what this blog is kinda about, looking at my life, from writing to kitchen maintenance, through an altered lens. Or a lens rarely considered while I'm poking at prose or scrubbing teacups. Or coffee mugs, I really don't use my teacups much, preferring a larger serving of some warmish-hot decaffeinated beverage. Kind of how my writing has developed from standalone novels to series stretching from three books to, well, several. The story I'm revising, every other day, could be all by its lonesome, although when I first wrote it, I considered a sequel, haha. But the odds of that being written are pretty low; first I'd need to publish the initial tale now wouldn't I?

Sometimes I wash dishes a couple of days in a row, if there seems to be a plethora of plates or an inordinate amount of large baking sheets or if my husband grilled. But with just two of us in residence, we can squeak by with me filling the sink every other day. I definitely have a system, I'm sort of OCD that way; mugs and plastic cups first, then I wash utensils while those drip in the drainer. Then I dry everything in the drainer, then put the silverware in the basket at the back of the drainer, not having wanted it to drip all over the mugs, etc, drying off in the drainer.... Yes, I am more than a little obsessed with the routine, but routines, I have found just recently, can be altered with little to no abject fallout.

Twenty-nine times two is teaching me to step outside my previous boundaries. To embrace new methods. To.... Edit a couple of books at nearly the same time, not caring if one will have a life outside my computer. Huh. That's pretty fascinating. I'm also realizing, or maybe relearning, to enjoy pastimes merely for the thrill of how much I love them, which might one day lead to a sequel for a novel that might never be published, just because I adore the characters or yearn to finish their tales. Maybe that will happen after I have a dishwasher, which would theoretically allow me more time to spend on hobbies.

Huh. Now that is certainly a dream for Future Me to grasp.