There's a stack somewhere in your space right now, isn't there?
Maybe it's a bin in the closet. Maybe a pile on the shelf, or a few projects folded over the back of a chair. The blocks you started with so much excitement, then set down when something about it stopped feeling right. And every time you walk past it, there's this quiet little voice: I really need to finish that.
Here's what I think happens underneath that. It's not really about the project. It's that the stack has started to mean something about you. You bought the fabric, you signed up for the class, you cut into it with the best intentions — and then it stalled.
And somewhere in there, a thought crept in that a lot of us carry but rarely say out loud: Maybe there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm just a flake. Maybe I'm the kind of person who starts things and doesn't finish.
I want to gently set that thought down for a second, because I don't think it's true.
So here's the thing. Everywhere you look in the quilting world, the message is the same: finish your WIPs! Tackle the UFO pile! Power through! And I want to say something a little counter-culture, something you don't hear nearly enough:
Some projects were never meant to be finished.
I know. It feels almost rebellious to say out loud. But stay with me, because I think this is exactly the permission so many of us are quietly aching for.
Some projects exist to teach you one thing.
One technique.
One way of using color you'd never tried.
One method you now know, with total certainty, that you never want to do again.
That's not a failed project — that's a lesson, fully learned. You don't have to finish the whole quilt to have gotten exactly what that project came to give you.
And that stack in the corner?
Even when you're not consciously thinking about it, it's doing something to you. It sits there like a low hum — get to me, get to me — siphoning off a little of your creativity every time you catch it out of the corner of your eye.
It's hard to feel free to start something new and exciting when a pile of half-finished obligation is watching you do it.
So I want to give you permission to let some of it go. Truly.
Here's how I'd do it.
Gather all of it — every stack, every bin, every project tucked in a drawer — and lay it out on a table where you can see it. Then pick up each one, hold it in your hands, and ask one honest question: Do I feel lit up about this?
If yes — wonderful! Set it in a keep pile. You'll come back to it when the inspiration strikes.
If it's a no, not really… let it go, guilt-free. Thank it for what it taught you, and move on. Donate it. Give it to a friend. Turn those four orphan blocks into a pillow and call it done.
Or toss it into an "experiment bin" — a little stash of pieces and fabrics you're not precious about, so the next time you want to try something risky, you've got low-stakes material to play with and nothing to waste.
And when you clear that space — physically clearing the decks — something lifts. Your studio breathes. And so do you. That naggy little drag on your creativity goes quiet, and suddenly there's room. Room for the thing you actually want to make next.
Because letting go of what no longer lights you up isn't lazy — it's part of being an artist. Ask any artist if they finished everything they ever started and they'll laugh — of course not! The abandoned projects are part of how the beautiful ones got made.
So clear your decks. Then let's go play!
Once you've made some space, if you're ready to dive into something new and exciting, I'd love to introduce you to one of my very favorite techniques: Scrappy Appliqué. It's playful, forgiving, and a wonderful way to use up bits and pieces you love.
Watch the Scrappy Appliqué Trunk Show
Can't wait to see what you make,
Shannon
P.S. If going through that stack brings up a little guilt, notice it — and then let it go right alongside the projects. You're not behind. You're clearing room for what's next.
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