My project in Creative Writing for Beginners: Bringing Your Story to Life course

My project in Creative Writing for Beginners: Bringing Your Story to Life course

I stand in front of a naked room, freshly painted as white as snow. The possibilities are endless. A desk here a shelf there. Boxes of fabric behind me, calling for a home. The creativity in me is flowing and my dad so patient with the process talks to me about a shelf, he measures and cuts the board and he and Matthew, my brother, build a box shelf together, enjoying some quality time in Dad’s second office, the garage. They worked together and put the desks in, an L shape under the window and along the wall. The box shelf up above the desk. I run my hand over the desk, it’s a honey wood and has a pleasant texture to it, rough yet smooth.

After the installation, which in my mind took such a long time, a whole week, I put all of my things in the room.
A sewing machine by the window so I can use all of the natural light streaming in.
Craft supplies in the box shelf and fabric in big plastic boxes underneath the desk so the light doesn’t bleach and ruin them.

I sit at my desk so lovingly placed by Dad and Matthew. I decide to sew something but what, maybe if I go through the fabric I will find some inspiration.
I open a box of fabric, a green-grey stretch. I remember buying this.
Its summer. I arrive in Springbok, excited and nervous at the same time. I will be going into a fabric shop for the first time. My Mom tells me that I shouldn’t be nervous as everyone is a beginner at some point in their lives. I have the sewing machine already, now I just need the fabric to start.
How wrong I was, you see there are all sorts of things that go along with sewing, such as notions.
I don’t know much about fabric at this point, so I go in and use my years of wearing clothing as a guide as to what I want to buy. My hands run over all the fabric at the store. I found the stretch and made my home there. Buying as many different colours that catch my eye. There aren’t many as the store is small, but feels cosy. So with a stack of fabric I go up to the counter and there I find the notions. So many small things such as buttons, zips, other closures, thread, gems, feathers, all the things for your sewing machine, to name a few. Overwhelmed I tell the kind older woman that I am new to sewing and ask what I should do, she says to just buy a few things for the machine and that I will eventually get the hang of it. My mom comes into the shop to help me leave it as I have spent so much time browsing the fabric.

I put that box away and open another to see some black fabric and it reminds me of a time when I was at a shop called the Crafters Inn in Somerset west, now that is variety, anything you could imagine they have for a crafter. There are beads, sculpting clay, painting supplies, mosaics, wool, the list is as long as my arm. I walked out and decided to explore the centre while I had some time. I did a double take. I had found a small fabric shop; it was no bigger than a child’s bedroom. Fabric on both sides and a cutting table in the middle with a middle aged woman sitting at a desk behind it. It reminded me so much of a sewing room and felt slightly out of place at the small mall. She was friendly, chatting and happy to have someone come into her store. I purchased some black stretchy fabric and left thinking I hope she does well and someone else comes into her shop. As I was walking away, I took one look back over my shoulder and saw somebody walk in and I felt such a sense of relief that this tiny intimate store would make it. I felt a tear well up but quickly wiped it away.

Putting the black fabric away I looked at the largest box and thought maybe the fabric I want is in there. I look around inside the box and see brightly coloured fabric that looks like stylized wings from many birds overlapping each other, this is from the fabric warehouse.
My father told me a story of a fabric store he had seen that was the size of a warehouse and I laughed. I had never heard of such a thing and said I will have to see it first to believe it. He said you will see it when we go to cape town again and had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
He was right. I walked into that warehouse months later and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a warehouse full of fabric and I was inside of it. It was amazing and daunting. I walked through all the isles to get my bearings and try to make sense of it. There is every kind of fabric in every colour and every pattern. I felt the soft silks and tested the stretch fabric, looked through the chiffon at how transparent they were, felt the sequined fabric and lace, I didn’t even know that lace came in giant rolls of fabric. Heaven, it was heaven. That’s where I met Samson, a dear soul who is always so helpful and kind, always complementing me on my fabric choices and taking time to talk with me. I spent hours in there on my first trip. My father had to come and pull me out of there. Luckily for me he was at Builders Warehouse and he and my mother, they took their time.

I put that fabric away and lean back in my chair staring at the box shelf, my eyes wonder over what is there. I sit and think over all of the memories and the thing that strikes me is not the fabric but the people you see visiting all of the stores. I have found people talk to me and ask my opinion on things, they are friendly and kind. Creators are a wonderful sort of people and it is a joy to go to these stores and interact with them and see what inspiration and enjoyable encounters comes from it.

My dad calls me from the kitchen, breaking my train of thought, he is leaning on the counter and says “What are you doing just sitting there aren’t you wasting time.”
“No…no, I am not wasting any time. Just thinking about my next project.”