One of my crafty hobbies–and I have many–is altering clothing. I hate waste and I love to shop, so rifling through the endless racks of donated clothing at thrift stores thrills me to my bones. What will I find next? Can I make it fit me, or make something else out of it?
I came home a few weeks ago with a good haul that included several pairs of nearly-fitting jeans. One in particular was just the right shade of black-fading-slowly-to-charcoal. Brand-new black jeans are just too…black.
They fit in the waist and hips just fine. Score. But they’re flared…and while I don’t consider myself wholly a slave to the seasonal whims of fashion, even I don’t wear flared jeans. I set about taking in the legs to match my favorite pair of ink-blue straight legs.
Halfway through my third seam, the heavy denim snapped my needle.
My mind said setback while my heart screamed tragedy.
I have spare heavyweight needles. I have leather needles from my brief stint where I was convinced I could turn a thrift-store leather jacket into some kind of awesome steampunk vest thing…which didn’t happen. What I do not have (and should get) are any denim needles.
Knowing that, a sensible person would set aside the jeans and start sewing something else until said denim needles could be acquired.
I turned off my sewing machine with the shaft of the snapped needle still in it and haven’t sewn anything since.
And that is why I write every day. Every. Single. Day.
It’s a common piece of advice, and it’s a commonly shunned piece of advice. The shunners have good reason–I’m not arguing that. Forcing yourself to write through a creative drought can be disheartening, draining, damaging. The “Write Everyday” mantra is not a one-size-fits-all solution.
But I have to write every day, because one day missed can easily become two. Two days turns into four, four into a week, one week into two, two into a month. I started keeping a journal again in mid-August, meaning to do a page a day, and I forgot one day because it was still new, and then my next entry was a week later. Oops.
Every. Single. Day.
It’s not about the word count, though I have goals for that, too. It’s about the habit. Writing needs to be a habit. Writing has become as necessary as exercise and food and sleep. In fact, I was just about to go for a run when I got the idea for this post, so I sat down in my running gear and whipped it up. (It’s nice and cool out this morning–I think today might be a four-mile kind of day. Maybe even five, if I feel good when I’m out there. I just changed my playlist a few days ago, and that always helps.)
Also, if I have time this afternoon, I might start a new sewing project. A shirt. A pillow. Not jeans.