Tuesday, January 22, 2013
That was my daughter's conclusion yesterday after she helped me clean out plastic tubs and an antique trunk filled with craft supplies.
The room looked like the aftermath of an explosion in Hobby Lobby.
There were dozens of bottles of acrylic paint, embroidery floss, spools of ribbon, and buttons.
Clothespins, craft sticks and tubes of glitter glue from scout projects.
Beads, a pendant, and the crimper for the necklace I never made.
Mosaic tiles, marbles, and broken pottery for the birdbath I'll finish 'next summer'.
A bag of yarn and crochet needles (no, I don't crochet but it's on my bucket list).
Yards of wool that I bought at a New Hampshire woolen mill 20 years ago for the braided rug I never made. But there's hope — I still have the directions.
When I need a break from writing, I buy craft supplies. I like to make stuff. Or rather I like to think about making stuff.
Thankfully when it comes to writing, I'm more disciplined.
I can finish manuscripts.