I’ve been adding words to the manuscript, actually completing an entire chapter on Monday. But I have to admit that last week I didn’t get much writing accomplished, in part that as I sat to work, I was stymied by where I was within the story; 1965 was dawning, and in looking over that year upon Wikipedia, major world events needed contemplation. Bloody Sunday on March 7th began a month-long chain of events that led to the Voting Rights Act of 1965. But it wasn’t only Civil Rights issues; the conflict in Vietnam became a part of the American consciousness, as the draft was nearly doubled, protests accompanying. There was much for me to ponder before I could get back into my novel, and only now am I feeling able to proceed.
The Hawk isn’t strictly historical fiction, but to ignore that element would have been wrong. I won’t dwell on those topics overtly, but now that I’ve allowed for them, I can attempt to get back on the writing track. I’m easily distracted, what with spring’s beauty, the garden demanding my attention as well as family. I spent yesterday with Little Miss, Miss Em, and their mum, Buttercup too. In a few weeks I’ll be up with The Burrito and his folks, so I’m hoping to squeeze in as many scenes as time allows. Plus there’s the sewing and….
I’m plotting out a rather large project, a king-sized quilt that up until a few nights back was giving me trouble. Then I inadvertently solved the question of what pattern to use, simply by playing around with pre-cut 4.5″ squares. I’m going to make this quilt using 16.5″ blocks, mixing it up with whole pieces cut to that size and myriad manners of patchwork. I might even get crazy enough to cut a passel of 2.5″ squares, we’ll see how creative I’m feeling. Ocean blues and greens are the colour scheme, probably with some pops of yellow and orange, maybe pinks too. As soon as I finish half a dozen placemats, I’ll start to consider a quilt fit for an ocean.
I’m grateful for markers along the prose and fabric pathways; I work best when provided a map of sorts. Maybe it’s age, or so many irons in the fire. I pondered that this morning, trying to get into the rhythm of writing, but right now family comes first. As long as I can muster paragraphs into scenes and scraps into blocks, I’m on the right path, history as a reminder it’s all a matter of perspective.