The Highest Form of Flattery
I was so excited to see a package with my name on it at the door the other day, quickly tearing it open to get the fabric inside. I’d ordered a large amount of Aida cloth to go with the embroidery floss I ordered the previous week, to feed my new hobby of cross-stitching.
After I started out with a basic starter kit, where I learned how to embroider a flamingo, the friend who helped me learn told me that a flamingo wasn’t nerdy enough for me. Soon, she sent me the links to several online kits depicting scenes in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. I chose Bag End - the home of The Hobbit’s protagonist Bilbo Baggins - and made a bookmark of that.
I didn’t realize there were so many options for patterns out there, and especially didn’t think of making my own. But with the arrival of the new cloth, I had the opportunity to make something completely unique.
Instead of brainstorming and starting to draw a concept no one had ever thought of before, I immediately went to Spriters’ Resource on the recommendation of a friend and found pixelated art of two of my favorite characters from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. I greatly enjoy their interactions in-game and love the thought of them living a happy life together after the events of the game.
It took me a while to put the pattern together, and many hours to piece together the project, and when I finally finished, my first thought was that I could have chosen to make something original, but I didn’t.
The characters were created by someone else and are voiced by professional voice actors. The inspiration for their relationship comes directly from in-game dialogue and works thanks to a plot I didn’t invent. The only completely original thing on the cloth was the heart between them, and even that was copied from a design on Google.
Even though I’d been thrilled to show my friends progress photos, some of my old shame about “copying” started creeping in. As someone who has always prided myself on my creativity, I have always felt inadequate when I base any of my creative efforts on someone else’s work. When I was young, I was convinced I was a thief and a fraud, not creative enough to come up with my own things, but so desperate to make something that I would steal from someone else. And worst of all, I saw it as just another sign of an obsession with a book or a game that made me think I was incredibly weak.
But over the years, I found a way to reconcile myself with this beloved habit of mine. The shame still ebbs and flows, but it’s gotten a lot easier when I realize that I am putting a lot of work into what I do. In order to make this new piece of embroidery, I had to research sprites, manipulate them to create a pattern, and use over twenty colors to complete it. I spent a lot of time researching, planning, and outlining, and then made a sincere effort to represent a story worthy of the characters I love.
I ended up showing my friends the completed project, and they loved it, regardless of their feelings about the characters in question. I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw their feedback, and it helped me realize that In the end, my new hobby is supposed to be about making me happy. It’s not supposed to matter what I choose to embroider, only that the movements relax me and I love the feeling of completing a project. And even if I choose to embroider something that already exists, I can still be creative.
I transform the works I love with “headcanons,” imagining what happens after the end of the story and coming up with entirely new things. The more I continue in this vein, the easier these parts of the story blend with what was officially written, but it in fact creates the beginning of a new story. Just because the inspiration comes from something that was already created doesn’t mean it’s bad or wrong for me to use it as the inspiration of a fresh start.
This is especially important to me considering that I’ve just chosen two prompts for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, in which artists create works inspired by Tolkien’s books, and then writers come in to fill in the blanks. I’m beyond thrilled to be writing for two wonderful artists this year, especially the one whose drawing depicts one of my favorite elves teaching his half-sister how to cross-stitch.
Accepting my proclivity to not starting from square one has been a long time coming, and I still have a ways to go before the judgmental thoughts stop entirely. But now that there’s so much time to work on hobbies, I find my new self-acceptance invigorating, and can’t wait to see what happens next in the interactions between my favorite books and games and my mind. It may not be entirely original, but it’ll be beautiful, and a welcome support for me during this tough time.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.