If I start working on writing one thing, I inevitably will wake up at three in the morning with a plot for a novel or a great opening scene for a screenplay (at least I think it's great at three in the morning). If I am working on a new crochet pattern, I will have a moment of enlightenment about using a cotton yarn on one side of a scrubber sponge - my next Stash Project - or crocheting a bikini (and yes, I have, though it turned out to be fit only for the bedroom).
I thought this was an adult-onset habit, until I pulled out my box of keepsakes last week. Everything I kept from childhood was jammed into an odd array of telling knickknacks, journals, and notebooks. I found poetry, encrypted stories and messages with a Rosetta Stone of sorts to decode them later, drawings and paintings, and even a baby blue sweater with brass buttons that I crocheted for a cat.
With this I realized two things: 1) I am a complete nerd; 2) I have always let my creativity lead me, and probably always will.
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