Is it stuff or stash or a full place in the heart?

   

      I try these days to stop myself from accumulating more stuff. We’ve lived in this house 36 years this week. When we moved here, we didn’t have enough furniture or other items to fill it—there were empty spaces everywhere. Even in the kitchen cabinets. It didn’t take long to fill the spaces, though, and every time a kid left home—with all their stuff—it was as though nothing left. Other paraphernalia filled the empty closet, the bare spot under the bed, the drawers emptied of underwear and socks and high school treasures. There was the full place in my heart the kid left behind, but that had nothing to do with the possessions that left the house. I missed the kids—still do, come to that—but never their stuff.

          So now I avoid garage sales and flea markets, even though I love them, because it’s hard to resist a bargain. If I get new clothes or household goods, I try to remember to donate at least as many as I’ve bought. I even refrain from buying new fabric until my stash is—well, no, I won’t go there. Anyone who sews knows fabric isn’t “stuff”—it’s a sewist’s dictionary, thesaurus, and swag all rolled into one.

          A good sewing machine is as essential as a good computer, and if you have a nice-size pile of fabric (nice-size means it’s spilling out of whatever you’re using to containerize it), you’re good to go. You can build anything from those colors, substitute when you’re using the same color too much, and give it away (preferably sewn into something recognizable) when you want to share joy with someone.

          The story I’m writing has had its problematic times. I reached the middle of it last week and didn’t know where to go. This happens, I suppose I should admit, in every story I write.

          So, this week, I’m back at the beginning. I’m deciding if the story starts in the right place. If motivations are what they should be. If I feel the protagonists’ pain. I’m getting rid of the “stuff” but cherishing the full places at the heart of the book. I’m rebuilding the story. Rearranging the stash, replacing too much blue with a brave slash of red and…yes, absolutely, some green and yellow will fit there, too.

          There are times when I think I’d like to stop writing books. I get tired and discouraged and…well, tired and discouraged. It is these times that I know it’s time to get rid of some stuff, treasure the full places, and build up the stash.

          Happy writing—and sewing. Have a great Thanksgiving!