I’m not talking about my addiction to books. For writers, a book fetish simply goes with the territory. Right now, my nightstand is piled so high with books that if the stack toppled and fell on my foot, I’d end up with several broken toes. You understand what I’m talking about. Probably your nightstand is in the same condition. If not, you wouldn’t spend your time reading Fresh Fiction blogs, would you?
No, the addiction I’m talking about is much more personal and insidious. Until recently, I’ve been in denial but the time has come to face the truth. I’m addicted – to fabric. I’m a quilter, Dear Reader, and I’ve got it bad.
My home in New England is loaded with quilt shops and I can’t bypass any of them. There is a particular store in the wilds of New Hampshire that I been known to drive three hours out of my way to visit. Not three hours round trip – I’m talking three hours each way! Imagine how that went over with my kids, who thought they were just taking a little drive to see some fall foliage and buy cider only to find themselves trapped in car with a crazed woman who would let nothing stand between her and the mother of all quilt shops. They’ve never forgiven me for that one and really, I don’t blame them.
But what my family doesn’t understand is that this isn’t my fault. Though I’ve got more fabric than I could quilt in a lifetime, the need to continually add to my stash has grown from a pleasant pastime to an irresistible urge. Whenever I visit a quilt shop, I tell myself I’m just going to stick to my list, buy only buy what I absolutely need and that is all. But the second I walk through the shop door and see those delicious colors and patterns, the moment I run my fingertips over those sensuous bolts of clean, crisp cotton, I lose all reason. Yesterday, I ran down to my local quilt shop to buy one yard of fabric, just one, for the sashing on a wall hanging. I walked out with six! Including a yard of novelty fabric that has a bunch of jewel-toned Japanese fish kites. It’s gorgeous but…what was I thinking? I live in Connecticut; there isn’t a touch of the Orient anywhere in my house! Make that in my whole county! I’m telling you, this whole thing is getting out of hand.
Fortunately, I’ve finally found a way to justify my fabric compulsion and to combine two of the things I love most – writing and quilting.
My new book, A SINGLE THREAD, is set in a small New England village, much like the one where I live, and tells the story of Evelyn Dixon, a Texas homemaker who, after an unwanted divorce, fulfills her youthful dream of opening her own business,Cobbled Court Quilts…but it’s not an easy journey.
A SINGLE THREAD is my first full-length contemporary novel and I’m thrilled that the early reviews have been so good. Publisher’s Weekly said, “Bostwick’s polished style and command of plot make this story of bonding and sisterhood a tantalizing book club contender.” New York Times bestselling author, Susan Wiggs kindly said, “By the time you finish this book, the women in A SINGLE THEAD will feel like your own girlfriends–emotional, funny, creative and deeply caring. It’s a story filled with wit and wisdom. Sit back and enjoy this big-hearted novel, and then pass it on to your best friend.”
A SINGLE THREAD is a novel of sisterhood and friendship that will appeal to all kinds of women, dedicated crafters as well as those who have never threaded a needle and never want to. I think you’ll fall in love with these characters just as I have and will want to read about them again. And that’s a good thing because A SINGLE THREAD is the first title in a series I’m calling the Cobbled Court novels. This means that I’ll need to continue doing research on quilt shops, quilting, and buying lots and lots of fabric.
And that, Dear Reader, is a very good thing. Anybody up for a ride to New Hampshire? I know this great quilt shop…