Quilty Pleasures

My mom was an insurance agent (a damn good one) for many years and retired at the end of 2024. She spent the first six to eight months of her retirement working harder than she had at her day job, as she and my dad moved from South Carolina to Virginia. Last year, they landed about twelve minutes up the road from me, and she was finally able to settle into retirement. 

When she first considered leaving the workforce, I think she was a bit scared. Mom is one of the hardest workers I know, and she said she was worried about being bored or wasting away to nothing within the first few years. If anything, she has become more active and vibrant than ever before. 

My booth setup at the Author Festival. You can see my bookish quilt in the background.

For my entire life, I’ve known her as a seamstress. When she was in her early 20s, she worked at a fabric store and sewed all of the display patterns. When I was a child, she taught me how to make clothing, dolls, and clothing for my dolls.

Somehow, she avoided the quilting bug—until now. My best friend snagged Mom a giant bag of fat quarters at a yard sale, and she started with those, but quickly moved on to any scraps she could find. Bed sheets. Thrift-store dresses. Dad’s old khaki pants. Nothing was safe. 

Nearly every day, I receive a photo of what she’s working on. Usually, it’s a quilt of some sort—placemats, table runners, shopping bags, or simple squares. Last year, she made me a lap quilt with bookish fabric in the colors I use on my website. I used it as the backdrop for my booth at this year’s Amherst County Public Library Author Festival. She made a matching pillow as well. Then a book club bag, complete with a Kindle pocket. 

One day, she gave me a sling bag.

Every color of the rainbow had been diced up, patched together, sliced into pattern pieces, and reassembled. An old belt had been fastened onto either end to make an adjustable strap. The end result was a one-of-a-kind bag that accompanied me everywhere for months, and every time I carried it, it got complimented. 

“Where’d you get your bag?”

“Your purse is so cute!”

“I LOVE your bag.” 

Beaming, I’d always reply, “Thanks, my mom made it for me.” 

And nine times out of ten, they would say, “Oh, she should sell them! I’d totally buy one.”

Mom and me at our last stained glass workshop, both sporting our Mom-made quilted bags. (Ignore the coffee stain on mine—it'll wash out!)

At first, I encouraged Mom to consider selling them. We could get a booth at the farmer’s market or set up an Etsy store. Or if she didn’t want to have to worry about keeping inventory, she could take custom orders. I had the marketing strategy all planned out—I’d make her a business card (Quilted Carry by Mary) and hand them out anytime someone complimented my bag. She’d have orders coming out of her ears. 

But her answer to my encouragement was always a resounding, “No!” She didn’t want to worry about running a business or pricing merchandise or keeping up with orders. She simply wanted to quilt for the fun of it.

I’m certain people still do things simply because they enjoy them, but in the social media age, it feels like everything, no matter how mundane or extraordinary, has become performative and monetized. 

There are many quilting accounts on social media where people make their living from posting content about their projects—usually showing the process—and selling their handmade items. Every hobby has its own corner of the internet where people share content about it in an attempt to monetize it—authors are not exempt.

As an author with both a Facebook page and an Instagram account, I can attest that I’m not posting because I love creating digital content and interacting with strangers on the internet. I want people to read my work, grow my audience, and drive people to my website. I want to build my email list and have a following before my novels make it to print. I do these things because I feel like I have to. 

Every writer’s conference that I’ve been to belabors the importance of having a following, usually a newsletter at the very least. Social media, too, if you want to be taken seriously. I have been blessed with wonderful readers, but the reality is this: I don’t make any money from my blog. I pay for my website domain, Wix account, and Google Workspace out of my own pocket. I don’t break even—and I feel a little guilty every time my bank account drafts those subscription fees. Yet the joy I experience when I sit down to write is worth far more than those expenses, and the loss I would suffer if I gave it up would hurt much worse. 

Though I haven’t been compensated monetarily for my writing in a while (right before COVID, I received a $40 check from Lynchburg Living magazine for writing about my experience attending two HIIT classes that left me weak-in-the-knees for days), I have received even greater gifts: connection, encouragement, satisfaction, and so much more.

A selection of Quilted Carry by Mary bags

Mom has crafted more than a dozen bags by now, including a second one for me. I picked the colors and patterns for this one—purples and greens with floral prints. She keeps the unclaimed bags in a large tote and brings them with her to appointments and activities to give away. So far, she’s given them to several of my friends, her best friend, extended family members, and her hairstylist. Her next target is our stained glass instructor. 

I now understand why Mom refuses to sell her quilted bags. There are things in life that are worth far more and last much longer than money.