I have a fabric collection for seascapes. They are not all in the same place, and when I’m inspired to attempt another seascape quilt I end up searching for that perfect fabric that must be around someplace and of course never finding it. I did, however, find a picture of the San Francisco Bay taken under unusual circumstances. The water in the photo was a brilliant coral, as was the sky. Some of the fabrics I choose for the barn quilt were more coral than pink, so I set them aside for this seascape. Somewhere in my studio I have a sparkly copper that I wanted to use for the panel on the right, but it is still hiding. Instead, I used a hand-painted cotton that was willing to make its presence known. Perhaps I should announce to the various fabrics in my studio that if they want to find their way into a quilt, they have to volunteer.
Every author has dreams of writing a book with The Big Idea – or at least a big idea. Sometimes that dream is spurred by years of contemplating the important questions of life, other times by wanting to comment on the state of the world as it is and as it should be. Science fiction is well-suited to big ideas – you get to create your own universe, so why not address issues you find compelling? Three of my friends have written big idea books that also tell a ripping good yarn (their books are pictured above). That’s the second part of the dream – writing a book that is entertaining as well as instructive. It’s not a trivial problem to solve, but I think those who try should be commended. Of course, that’s also my self-interest talking, since Ann Anastasio and I have inserted some Big Ideas in our Chenille series, and hope our readers kinda like what we did.
My reinterpretation of a painting of a barn continued with its twists and turns. The space barn idea is a definite no-go. As I worked on the design, I realized that certain angles were never going to look right. I considered using applique for some units, until I started adding up the inches and realized this piece would be huge. “Self,” I said, “let’s start whittling.” The first thing I cut was the size by ending the piece with the units I had completed. Then I added the moon in a spot that I hope informs the viewer that the barn is not in one plane. My original title for the piece was “Under the Strawberry Moon.” At the moment, the working title is “The Broad Side of A Barn (And, No, I Can’t Hit It).” We’ll see what other options get whittled out the next time I work on it. For the moment, it is done enough for the Challenge.
My stories rarely start with my first words. Yes, I know through study and experience that stories evolve; that the first paragraph, page or chapter will likely be rewritten many times; that even the best plotter leaves room for discovery. It doesn’t matter. Humans are exceptionally skilled in self-deception, and I can take my place in the higher ranks when it comes to my own writing. This would not be a problem if I enjoyed revising, but I don’t. I want to write and move on. Then the universe pats me on the head and whispers, “Oh, you sweet thing.” If this is your experience as well, let’s design club jackets, right after we revise our opening lines for the gazillionth time.
The first point of departure from the plan for my architectural quilt came sooner than I expected. The very first unit threw me a curve. The painting has a shadow on the leftmost part of the barn that I drew accurately, but didn’t piece properly. I left it as it was and went on to the next unit. The roof line gave me trouble, so I went to the third unit. I figured I’d just work my way across the quilt top from left to right until I found my groove. Well, looking at what I had sewn, I realized I would have to fix the issues sooner rather than later because the units needed to be pieced together in a different order than I had started. Luckily, I had wanted to depict a barn in moonlight, not sunlight. Once you put a dark background on a landscape, it’s no big deal to turn it into a space quilt. If I can’t make this thing look like a barn, I’ll make it look like a space station. At least I still like the way the pinks and blacks are playing together.
To celebrate Poetry Month, Tri-Valley Writers invited Gillian Wegener to speak about the relevance of poetry in everyday life. As she took the podium, I noticed my fingernails. Usually I don’t care about the way my fingernails look, but I was the designated tech person that day and my hands were all over the computer we use to record the meeting. We’ll take a short pause here to let the people who know me well stop laughing. I am not the tech person in my family – immediate, extended, going back seven generations, whatever. I will, however, volunteer to be a back-up and hope I never have to do it. Well, I had to do it, and although I had notes I was terrified at the number of things I could do wrong without meaning to. While Gillian was introducing herself, I dashed off a few lines about my feelings. It needs a lot of work, but I’ll probably keep the last line: My fingernails catch on buttons and icons/sending me into ethernet hell.
Turns out this was the gist of Gillian’s speech – poetry gives us words for the inexpressible. No matter what you write, exploring poetry will provide you with insights into your thought process. That’s a valuable tool to have when the words start hiding in random brain cells and you need to lure them out on the page.
My new project is to interpret a work of art in fabric. I am going to use Charles Sheeler’s Bucks County Barn (1923).
My graph paper sketch isn’t really a pattern, and my goal isn’t to copy the painting exactly. I am learning as I go along, and the curve may be steep. Here is the fabric for my first stab at the project.
Not all villains are monsters. Sometimes a villain is merely the person who stands in the way of your heroine achieving her goal. There doesn’t have to be any malice involved, or even an awareness that the heroine has a goal. This is especially true if your villain isn’t actually a person but is, say, the weather or a horse race or a flower that must bloom at a certain time. So, how can you create a villain without overdoing it? I like to use these techniques.
People watch.
I was at a festival over the weekend and one of the guests caught my attention. “Self,” I said, “you could make a villain out of him.” He seemed perfectly normal, but something about the way he shifted his backpack triggered this whole backstory of a war collaborator infiltrating the resistance with orders to destroy everyone.
Put yourself on the other side.
Sometimes, usually while watching the news, I try to imagine a character who holds a different view of the situation than I do, and come up with a version of the events that makes no sense to me but would to my villain. If the news is too distressing for this exercise, try it the next time you are out to eat. Take a good look at the menu and imagine a character who would enjoy the dish you find most unappealing.
Indulge in your emotions.
While malice is the fallback emotional state for many villains, what if your villain were motivated by something else? Envy is a good start, but envy of what? The heroine’s money? Her dress size? Her perfectly formed little feet? What if the villain hates your heroine due to an irrational distrust of green-eyed redheads?
When you start thinking of your villain in different terms, you might find your character becomes more usable. Who knows, you could even end the novel with your heroine helping the villain find redemption, which could be the start of an entirely new series for you.
Every so often I get a new project when I am actually ready for a new project. The latest Challenge assignment is to reinterpret a piece of art in fabric. I just finished cleaning up after my last project, so there are no scraps on the cutting board to influence my design choice. I decided to take out a collection of fabrics that can never go into a quilt that will be washed (some of the fabrics have glitter), and choose an art piece based on them. This is opposed to letting the deadline come rushing up, pulling out the first art book I could reach, and sorta kinda maybe making the scraps around me fit the piece. I’m also going to try to find my authentic artistic voice in this assignment. I’ve been making some small quilts that almost hit the right notes, but I realize I have a way to go before I start creating art that says something important to me. I still may not ever see my work in galleries, but it would be nice to discover that I actually have something I want to say through fabric.
Writers of memoir and historical fiction know that setting up a timeline is a good way to ground your characters in the story. Knowing what happened when gives the writer a way to enter into the character’s mind – what they might have found frightening, amazing, or delightful. The same holds true for other genres, even science fiction. Creating a timeline gives you a chance to experiment with your characters’ expectations. If it has only been six months since the aliens blew up the Aswan Dam, your characters may still be in a state of panic. If it has been ten years since the aliens took over the Las Vegas strip and turned it into an eco-friendly theme park, your characters may be commemorating the event with a non-stop blitz of documentaries and tours (complete with cute toys and collectibles). Think about how you feel when you realize you are coming up on a milestone memorial, and channel that for your heroes and villains. Don’t forget the sidekicks – they’re the ones who will celebrate the most bizarre of events, which is also fun for plot development.
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