My youngest daughter has requested a sleeping bag insert, so I aim to please. A few fabrics arrived in the post yesterday, so last night I ironed them, pulling some scraps from my solids container. This project will measure 76″ long by 26″ wide, not too much to mull over, but enough to satisfy my longing for something beyond patchwork squares, although that’s what I started with last night. She’ll need it in January, but I want to have it finished before then. Once a new baby arrives, no telling how time will slip away.
After writing yesterday’s post, I chatted with my husband about how the writing has fallen from grace; he didn’t have much to offer in response, but it felt good to talk about it. He’s one of the few to fully grasp how intrinsic writing has been since we moved back from England, goodness knows he’s been a great sport when I’ve been obsessed with this or that novel. But I haven’t been obsessed with writing for a while now, merely going through the motions. I certainly felt that way this morning, adding to the word count yet wondering if I was wasting my time. Then I finally hit on a vital point, but today’s prose might be deleted when I read it over tomorrow morning.
Usually i’m not such a navel-gazer, but lately introspection has seemed necessary. Maybe it’s the change of seasons, rainy weather signaling an end to summer, ha ha. Perhaps it’s my husband’s recent birthday; he turned fifty-three, so I suppose that means were truly not that young anymore, or relatively youthful.
Or maybe losing the desire to write bothers me more than I’ve consciously acknowledged. Um, yeah. I’m slightly troubled by the vague meandering that has replaced meaningful storytelling. I had hoped by switching projects I could conjure the old magic. Or was today simply an off-morning, and tomorrow will be better? I surely hope so….
I guess this isn’t quite as much about quilting as it is about moaning I mean writing, sigh. But sometimes writing is tricky and occasionally it’s very difficult. And hopefully one of these days it will be as satisfying as in days of old.
And if not, there are always fabrics to ponder. Or more rightly a healthy dose of faith to lean on in these somewhat questionable novelistic times…..
Today’s word count: 2,530