Between now and Sept 1st, I'm writing a weekly installment to give you a glimpse into the process and behind-the-pages thinking. You can find the first entry here.


When I started the book, we decided that it made sense to divide it into Make, Grow and Gather chapters. The Make section offers projects to wear or decorate with; Grow presents projects inspired by gardens, fields, and farmer’s markets; and Gather projects – from an appliqué tablecloth to cement trivets – can be used to pretty-up casual get-togethers.
I’ve realized about myself that I respond well to working within a defined structure. Like my college poetry class, when I was the only student who found any joy in writing a sestina, a crazily-structured form that dates to the 12th century.
Working within the three chapters of this book was a whole lot more flexible than a sestina. But even still, I needed to achieve a good balance of projects. So after drawing up the master list, it was time to make everything.
Some projects came together in a snap. Some evolved so far beyond my initial imaginings that they barely resembled what I set out to make. And some were dogs. A couple times, my husband cut me off at the pass and pointed this out to me before I showed them to Melanie. One cuff bracelet project in particular – that I made with linen and spent a weekend sewing to elegantly wrap around my wrist – he told me looked like an old bandage from World War II.
Ouch. Back to the fabric store. But who ever said making a book full of pretty, doable projects was for the faint-of-heart? Between my internal criticism, Mike’s feedback, and Melanie’s guidance, I feel like I ultimately pushed and stretched each project into its best manifestation.
This is why, as a reader, I love a well-conceived, well-edited, and well-thought out book. Because the author has done the hard work of re-working projects so you don’t end up with a bandage trying to pass itself off as a bracelet.