Writing sprints, denim creations and making wonky progress
Making the most of the 19-year old and his mischief and mayhem, tomfoolery and shenanigans and worldly wisdom before he leaves us for Freshers Week.
Hello, how are you? How’s this first week of September been for you?
This week I’ve taken inspiration (and a kick up the backside) from the 19 year old and his latest denim creation, fashioned partly on our kitchen table and at his sewing class at The Sewing Shed.
After making a denim bag out of an old pair of jeans at the beginning of the year he decided he quite fancied working with denim again. He didn’t know what he wanted to make, didn’t have a pattern in mind, he just knew he wanted to work with the fabric again. He put a shout out to friends and fellow sewers for donations of unwanted denim and soon bags for life sprouting jeans, denim skirts and shirts started appearing around the house.
Over the early spring months the denim creation grew, and grew as he stitched mismatched pieces together. It was enormous and shapeless or rather, it had a shape just not a recognisable shape. Not recognisable as a piece of clothing or anything else for that matter.
Over the summer it lay somewhat folornly scrunched up in a fabric tote bag that moved from the back of a kitchen chair to the bottom of the stairs to the windowsill on the landing.
I’d forgotten about it until Tuesday morning when, after two back to back sewing classes, he brandished it in the kitchen much as I imagine thousands of over-excited four and five-year olds did with their creations after their first day at school this week.
He’d turned the mismatched denim into a pair of jeans. An oversized pair of straight legged jeans with just the waistband and zip to be added, all in time for Freshers Week.
This middle child of mine is the one most likely to cut through my excuses and crap for not doing something or over-thinking myself to a standstill. He’s also most likely to threaten to come into the Oliver Bonas where I work and cause some mischief and mayhem, shenanigans or tomfoolery.
In conversation with him earlier this year we talked about his ‘have a go’ confidence. He’s learned to sew and crochet. He went climbing twice this week. He taught himself to unicycle when he was eight or nine, ditto Rubik’s Cubes, 3D printing and the ukulele. He’s taught himself to play The Boomtown Rats ‘I don’t like Mondays’ with gusto on the piano over the course of a couple of weeks while I’ve mostly ignored the piano, to my shame, despite the good intentions I wrote about earlier this year.
The thing is, he doesn’t over think this stuff, he just has a go. Although there’s lots of other stuff he does overthink so maybe I’m wrong about this..but let’s go with it for the moment.
What’s the worst that could happen? Easy for you to say…
He’s blessed with a certain amount of confidence, not to mention youth and energy but with a shrug he simply said, ‘I just think, what’s the worst that could happen. I don’t go into something thinking I’ll be able to do it, I just think what’s the worst that could happen.’
Easy, no?
This from a child who was flying planes in Air Cadets at the age of 15. So when he says ‘what’s the worst that could happen’ my brain obviously pictures all manner of disastrous possibilities, but save the flying, he has a point.
I on the other hand am a scaredy cat, prone to over-thinking and definitely prefer having my feet on terra firma. Other than that time I did the zip wire from the end of Bournemouth Pier, flying over the sea and beach before landing next to people sunbathing. I did that twice.
That said I carry that conversation with me and it was this denim creation that popped into my head earlier this morning after getting frustrated with this Substack. I’ve written not one, not two, but three different Substacks to send out this week, none of them ‘feeling’ quite right. All of them languishing in drafts much as the denim did in the tote bag.
I was trying far too hard to stitch my thoughts into a recognisable pattern. Some weeks the thoughts and words fall into place. I know what I want to say, I just have to find the words and put them in an order that makes sense and flows.
The trick is to work out what to do in the weeks when that doesn’t happen, and not take the easy way out and not post anything. I guess I’m saying here that sometimes these missives will be a random collection of thoughts reflecting what’s going on in my 53-year old head, other times they might have a point.
“The difference between a writer and a non writer is that a writer keeps writing… That's the only difference, you just keep writing…even if you put six words together… And if you can allow yourself to experience that, instead of abstracting your goals out into this, I want to write this 300 page novel, you know, then you're true to yourself. You're true to starting really close in and staying close in all the way along. You may think you're beginning a novel, but actually you could be writing something else. Just stay close to the physical frontier and be thankful for the harvest that you're making.”
David Whyte (taken from the London Writers' Salon Podcast Ep #114)
A typical week of walking, writing and a bit of work too
This week I’ve been doing a seven-day writing sprint with
and from . I have them to thank for not only helping me to exercise my writing muscle but to also get comfortable with setting myself writing goals, rather than my usual, ‘Well, I’ll just write and see what happens’ which comes with all sorts of get out clauses.
My intention for this writing sprint was to keep my weekly posting streak on Substack going, and to edit a chapter from the memoir project.
Walks with the dog on the moor definitely help. We set off together and she stops to sniff while I stop to tap notes and take photos. It just doesn’t feel like the writing has gone entirely gone to plan this week. I mean I’ve written words, they just weren’t the words I thought I was going to write. I didn’t end up editing the chapter about home as I planned, but I did start a new one based on a friendship breakdown.
But still, as the writers on the sprint and at writing group last night reminded me, it’s still progress even if it is disjointed and wonky.
And with that I’ll leave you in peace and thank you for helping me to keep to my Substack weekly posting streak. This is week 4 and I’d love to keep going so big thanks for being here and for reading my words.
Wishing you a restful weekend,
Harriet