Scrappy

(Sounds like the name of Barbie's little cousin wearing cut-off blue jeans)

My mother-in-law makes beautiful quilts—a lot of them. Every once in a while she has a Quilt Giveaway, in which her grandchildren get to choose one of her quilts from a pre-selected set. Their only payment: texting her a picture of themselves holding their new quilt.

Taking fabric scraps and sewing them together in an aesthetically pleasing way is a kind of creativity I just don’t have. I tend to call one of my sisters if I’m trying to decide on a paint color, a bathroom rug, curtains—pretty much anything visual. And yet I wouldn’t say I have no taste (does anyone say that about themselves?).

When it comes to writing, I am definitely putting scraps together. Lately I found myself saying to my writing partner: I know the dog shouldn’t be there, but I want her to end up with the dog anyway. She said: Let her have the dog.

Sometimes the scraps don’t fit but we like them next to each other anyway.

Writing prompt: “She couldn’t stop sleeping.”