Back to the Drawing Board

There is a particular kind of joy that comes from doing work you truly love. The kind where hours disappear, your hands are busy, and your mind is quietly content. That’s where I’ve been lately, stitching twenty pages for a little fabric book I’m making following Ann Wood’s instructions.

The hand-stitching was finished. Every page felt thoughtful and intentional. I trimmed them carefully, stacked them neatly, and began assembling the book.

And then… it didn’t work.

The interfacing I used—Stitch Enhancer by WonderFil Threads, which I genuinely love – added more thickness than I had anticipated. Ann’s construction method suddenly wasn’t cooperating with my materials. The pages were sturdy and beautiful, but bulky. The spine didn’t want to behave.

I had already trimmed eight pages into two sewn sets before I realized something else: I had cut them exactly on the stitching line plus seam allowance. There was no breathing room between the seam and the hand stitching. No grace. No softness. Just tension.

That was the moment of decision.

Do I push forward because I’ve already invested the time?
Or do I pause and admit this isn’t working the way I want it to?

I called my friend Susan from Modern Blended Quilts – the one who introduced me to the project in the first place. We FaceTimed, and she generously showed me how she constructed her book similarly but differently. Seeing her solution helped me see my own situation more clearly.

And what I realized was simple: I wasn’t happy.

When you love the process of making, the end result matters – not in a perfectionist way, but in an alignment way. If something feels forced at this stage, it will always feel that way.

So I stopped.

Those eight trimmed pages? They’re not wasted. They may become book covers, samples, or something entirely different. Handmade pieces have a way of finding their purpose. Nothing is ever truly lost in the studio.

But the book? I’m sort of starting again.

Different interfacing. More space at the seams. And I’ll still be able to use many of the pages that are ready to go – the ones that I did not trim. I’m not beginning from scratch – I’m beginning from experience.

There’s resilience in that.

Sometimes making asks us to begin again – not because we failed, but because we learned. Because we understand the materials more deeply. Because we know what we want the piece to feel like in our hands.

So it’s back to the drawing board for me.

And honestly? That’s part of the joy.

Thanks for reading. Until I write again, I’m off to do some stitching … in joy,

Ana