Writer Wednesday - A Little Splash

Window Over The Sink 

By Liz Flaherty 

 A Little Splash 

I've taken the day off. No, I mean it. As soon as I finished washing a load of towels this morning, I declared that to be the end. Yesterday was long and exhausting just by nature of the beast--helping someone move--so today I wasn't doing diddly. So there.

But yesterday we brought a bookcase home from my in-laws' house. It's a barrister case. Nice and roomy. It will be good for storing fabric. So I've done some rearranging. Some cutting. Cutting fabric is soothing. Sorting it is less so--I'm not good with color. Balance escapes me. I have to separate flannel from cotton. I have to decide how small of a scrap is too small to save. To cut. To sort.

It starts with just a little bin of material. Mostly black-and-whites, and I remember as I fold and arrange, that I've used these prints in my grandson Shea's quilt. And in smaller quilts I've made in case a child from the school needs that kind of comfort. Sometimes they do. If they are hungry or hurt or the next day looks impossible to survive, a quilt helps to warm the cold places. I put some red pieces into that stack of newspaper-colored fabric, because red, black, and white are the school colors. Colors that can make a child feel less hurt, less alienated, less cold. Safe.

Oh, on the bottom shelf in a narrower bin I find brights. Lavenders and aquas and yellow polka dots and some bold chevron stripes. I don't mean to be sexist, but they fit into quilts for little girls. Because sometimes they need the softness of those pinks and mints, but the bold circles and the waves-on-shore slap of teal? They're every bit as necessary. In Summer in Stringtown Proper, I called it splash.

I have a ton of fat quarters on the shelves. Because it never costs much to just buy one or two or seven and I can never resist the jewel-tone display of their colors. But I've grown weary on this day that I will do nothing. The fat quarters will have to wait for another day to be sorted.

It's like writing. I get so tired of it. My muse is napping in the corner. I ask myself (and my husband, poor guy) over and over if I should call it a day. Just use the computer for Facebook and playing solitaire as I watch the sun go down both literally and figuratively. Because it's hard. And I can't get the colors right. And I'm tired of thinking, Oh, that will work, and finding out I've got half smooth cotton and half flannel in my process and it doesn't work at all.

But wait, just as those scraps will go with those fat quarters, the words will go into place. If I push them and pull them and look for the balance. Combine the gentleness and the bold. Create warmth and comfort and a safe place--because you're never alone when you're reading.

It's okay to be tired. To be discouraged. But in the end, you just need to sort the colors. The fabrics. And don't forget the splash.

©2021 Liz Flaherty All Rights Reserved
Retired from the post office and married to Duane for…a really long time, USA Today bestselling author Liz Flaherty has had a heart-shaped adult life, populated with kids and grands and wonderful friends. She admits she can be boring, but hopes her curiosity about everyone and everything around her keeps her from it. She likes traveling and quilting and reading. And she loves writing. http://lizflaherty.net/