Class

I am attempting to enroll in a writing class. Actually, it's titled "Fiction Workshop" through Wash U's U College. Held on Saturdays, 10-noon, for 8 weeks. My company's tuition reimbursement should actually pay for it (though I have to pay taxes on it as if that amount were income, because it's not job related). This ought to be fun. Or, I might decide that it's too much work, and stuff what's written of my book-in-progress on a shelf with the rest of my unfinished craft projects. We'll see :)

I used to do a lot more sewing, but have not been able to for the last couple of years for a variety of reasons. Right out of college, I actually took a pattern drafting class at Wash U (as an evening class, not through the regular Art department), and was really interested in the whole process. Much like my current fascination with writing, at the time I could actually picture myself doing that for a living--not so much the design of new fashions, but taking someone else's drawing and buldign the patterns for it. I would still enjoy that now. But my momentum stalled out when the pattern drafting series of classes was dropped by the school, and then I got caught up in my "real" work, which ate 90 or more hours a week for a while. Then came a house and marriage, and several jobs where the "dress code" barely included shoes, and I just had nothing interesting to sew.

I started making Charlotte clothes after she was born, but that's fallen away for now also. Mainly I haven't made the time, but there are also issues with space and noise. Sharing the office with my husband and his computer games and his clutter, not to mention his paint choice, is not particularly inspiring. It's also right next to Charlotte's bedroom, and she can hear every chair squeak through the wall, let alone a sewing machine or serger.

For a while I tried demanding some private time, while Charlotte was awake, but I was frequently interrupted by my husband, bringing in Charlotte, telling me that "she missed you"...and then allowing her to be underfoot and into what I was working on. Or he, himself would come in and want to have a conversation. Sewing time has always been my quiet time, where I could work and concentrate and let my mind relax. Interruptions from someone telling me about a game he's playing or some conversation he's having online frustrated me. Then, my sewing tables got covered by junk that has no other home (or just hasn't been filed or tossed), and lately it takes longer to dig out my machine than I ever have to sew.

So, maybe writing for me will end up the same, eventually buried under a pile of unfiled junk. In the mean time however, I'm on the upward swing of the momentum.