Some links in this post may or may not be affiliate links. If you click on an affiliate link I will earn a commission which supports this site.
Some of my best friends are crafters…
But I am not.
I’ve watched friends sew, knit, crochet, spin, quilt, paint, embroider, weave, potter, make various seasonal decorations etc. etc. Over the years very rarely, I mean very rarely, have I felt the desire to join in.
I have been in a group where my one slightly-less-than-perfect knitted square was held up as an example.
“Look everyone, Jane made this, so none of you have any excuse…get knitting”.
When I was younger I sewed. I went to one of the stretch fabric courses and made a 2 piece suit: a gored skirt and a cowl neck top. In silver grey fake suede type material. I look ghastly in grey.
I learned how to make hand tied quilts. I made a few.
A few years later I made Punkie Brewster style stretch knit tops for my daughter.
I learned to make children’s PJs more from need, than anything creative.
A few years on I made an Antique Memory Book from an old book. I even attended the how-to class in a store. Really, I think I just happened to be there at the time. It was a birthday present for my daughter. Friends wanted to see it. I smuggled it in the car in a pillow case. Yes it was quite large. I have no idea where it is now. I never ever made a second one.
I must confess to stenciling my living room walls, however in my defense I was trying to avoid writing a term paper on ‘The Power of the Sub Conscience’. I painted the living room pink, a darker shade below the picture rail and lighter above. Then I stenciled leaves and flowers I think, right around the room under the picture rail.
Actually it turned out well, everyone loved the walls, and the couch I recovered match, or to be in harmony with. Plus, I wrote about the lengths I went to –sub consciously – to avoid the essay. I received a good mark.
Next came the great scrapbooking craze. I think now is a good time to tell you I hate sand. I hate how all the itty gritty bits get under my finger nails. It makes me shudder. As I watched friends scrapbook their lives, their travels, their weddings, their children, grandparents, dream home etc.; I watched them using glue and glitter I began to shudder. I felt like I was in a giant sandpit.
Ahhh but then I came across digital scrapbooking. And yes I was hooked. But just for a while. I joined groups, I entered competitions, and I even won one. I became a commentator. I got to know other digi-scrappers. Then my writer’s imagination kicked in with the addition of ‘Butler’ to my Gallery. He looked like Rhett Butler and behaved with Southern Charm. He attended group chats, and the ladies loved him.
All of a sudden the season to write came upon me. I paused after 110,000 words. I was well on my way to a double trilogy, which I suppose is really a series. I discovered blogging. I developed skills. I found social media. I joined a serious writers group. Then I created an on-line E-zine. And I write.
So you see I don’t do craft. I have dabbled over the years. Now, I watch and admire the creativity of friends and on-line associates. I don’t do craft but some of my best friends are crafters.
Jane lives in Brisbane Australia.
Jane is the Creator, Editor & Publisher of ‘A String of Pearls’ a worldwide E-zine for women, by women.
Jane has a personal blog:
Life @ Number 8 http://Janezworld.com/blog
One of Jane’s Creations…….
I was practicing some new skills and my imagination ran away – this is the result (The journaling is my words and copyrighted to me as a writer.)
I imagined a big game hunter in the 1930’s writing home to his sweetheart but he becomes sick and dies and the card is never sent…even the address is not finished.
Do not replicate with out expressed permission of the author.
The postcard reads:
My dreams are of you, and I walk through the long days wishing you were beside me. I hear your voice and turn but you are not there…
The heat is unbearable, and the elephants restless, perhaps it is better you are not here.
How long until I can read the words you choose to describe the desires of your heart.
ps the fever has come upon me again
– all will be well. Do not worry