The other day a friend of mine was asking me if I had read any good books lately. I told her of a few I had been reading to which she responded "You know, I wish I enjoyed reading like you do. I have the desire, but I just can't get into it. Do you know what I'm saying?" I laughed and said "I know exactly what your saying. I would love to sew, but that's probably never going to happen."
I should tell you that I made an awful attempt a couple years ago. I was pregnant with my second child and knowing it was going to be a girl, I thought it would be so great to be crafty. I wanted to pass that skill onto her. It was Christmas time which made me think of my Christmas stocking growing up. My mother had bought simple stockings for us and sewed all of our names into them.
Wouldn't it be great, though, if I made the stockings myself? I looked up a pattern, bought the materials and got to work. The whole time I thought of my eighth grade sewing teacher. She would often tell me I was beyond help, and she would grade all my assignments quite low, and she generally made me feel like I would never sew again if she had a say in it.
"This would show her!" My mind raved. "I would make these stocking and proudly display them in my home!" Then everyone would come and say, "Where on earth did you get those adorable stockings?!" to which I would smugly reply, "I made them myself." Then that person would ohh and ahh and ask for the pattern.
Well, I took the time and finally finished! And ... they came out looking more like kidney beans then stockings.
This taught me a lesson though. Even though I had already suspected I was terrible sower, I was glad I tried. It made me realize that my talents lay elsewhere.
It helped me to take a step back, look at my life, and say, what else haven't I tried? Which eventually lead to me writing this book.
Writing suits my life so well, because I constantly have crazy stories going through my head. Although I would say my first attempts at novels were coming out more like kidney beans, I felt there was still hope. I got to about 20,000 words in ten other novels that I started but didn't get any further on.
I didn't give up, though, and that's the key. I found an idea that suited my writing style and matched what I enjoyed reading. So maybe sometime in the distant future I will try sowing again. Maybe I will make something I can proudly put my name to. For now, though, I think I'll stick to writing.