^ This photo above captures the moment I realized my lotus design on a beach bag just didn’t line up. I made an error counting on the cross-stitch grid. It happens.
First, I thought: No one will notice. This is a gift. I worked long and hard at this design. I’ll just pretend I can’t see that the pieces don’t align.
But I couldn’t stand that thought. Because I worked so long on this project, I wanted it to look the best it could! My goal wasn’t just to be finished and have a gift to give. (Though I LOVE giving gifts!) The goal was to try out this new pattern and learn how to use it on a canvas beach bag. The goal was to learn along the way (and enjoy the process … or at least, pay attention and push myself to keep developing as a stitcher.)
In September, I pushed myself in areas of my life that are technically optional.
I don’t know if making gifts for loved ones is “recreation,” because as this post details, I do take the finished products seriously! I choose patterns with intention and meditate on the gift recipient, and wish them well, while I stitch for them.
Creative writing, for me, is NOT recreation. I don’t earn my primary income from writing, but I do freelance and get paid for certain pieces. I cannot think of the novel I’ve been working on for this past year in terms of financials, at least yet. It drives me, obsesses me, very occasionally delights me, motivates me, haunts me, and holy cannoli, I finished up that dang Draft #3.
Working hard at this manuscript that now clocks in at 80,000 words (a first for me) is satisfying. It cannot be perfect, since nothing and nobody is. But I want it to be a good read. I want the writing to be excellent. I am letting this thing that is not my full-time job work me HARD.
As for the manuscript, I’ve sent it to a beta reader and anticipate edits, rewrites, re-configuring, re-envisioning. I don’t know when I’ll stop trying to make it better.
There is no perfection, but I still strive for excellence. Because the work deserves to be in its best possible shape. To honor the work. (It’s not about me. I’m just a conduit.)
I’m still deep in a nonfiction reading kick. The 1959 biography of Harry Houdini is a fun read, told in an engaging style that has me laughing a lot.
Starting in his early 20s, Harry was obsessed with new escapist tricks and understanding the mechanics of objects. While he identified more with magicians than spiritualists (he hated mediums or anyone he saw as tricking vulnerable people out of money for outright fakery, like the seance trend of the time), he wanted audiences to know he didn’t simply have a key to his handcuffs hidden up his sleeve.
For years, though, Harry and his wife Bess performed for less money than traveling spiritualist acts. This pushed Houdini to become more daring and tackle harder or more elaborate scenarios to escape from. Handcuffs, keys, and locks obsessed him.
I can’t claim to have a ton in common with “Harry Houdini the Handcuff King,” the moniker of his choosing, except to say that when I read about him getting up at 5 a.m. to tinker with handcuffs, to understand them, and learn new intricacies, I found this relatable.
It reminded me of writing and rewriting the same scenes and sections in this novel.
It reminded me of ripping out stitches and starting over on certain sections:
This bag is not perfect! But it is finished enough, and I am happy with it.
And proud of it. And determined to keep tinkering and learning.
Laura Eppinger 
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