In 2021, I had just finished a half-Ironman when my husband and I decided to get dinner with my parents. I limped into the restaurant, for my number one rule when it comes to these races is to only train half the ideal amount.

Sitting around the table, trying to keep my eyes open, there was a lull in the conversation. During the lull, my mother, Cathie McCann, pulled a lemon from her purse.

Cathie brings her own lemons to restaurants because "they don't know how to pick the good ones out at the grocery store like I do." She sliced the lemon in half and as she squeezed it into the Diet Coke that had just been delivered to the table, she said to no one in particular, "there is a lot of drama going on in the quilting community right now . . . especially the Australians." She then took a sip of her drink and sat back into her chair.

The three of us looked at her and when she said nothing else, Skylar demanded, "well, go on."

For the next two hours, Cathie dished the most salacious and interesting gossip I have ever heard in my life. She told us about how some quilting groups are very territorial with their designs and techniques. How some groups don't get along with others. How it is possible to cheat in quilting competitions.

Cathie has been in her own elite quilting group for forty years. It's name is Common Threads. It's a handful of women, mostly in their 70s and 80s, who get together once a month to work on individual or group projects. They are more exclusive than the ILLUMINATI. Their meetings are more locked down than the entire CIA.

I sometimes like to tell people I grew up underneath a quilt frame. When I was very young, Common Threads would meet during the day in Mormon church buildings. My younger sister and I would lie under the quilt, playing with toys, the women's legs visible to us around the edges. They would hand quilt and chat, working on their latest project for some quilt show or charity project.

When mom finished her nearly two-hour monologue at the end of dinner, Skylar and I went back to our car to drive home. The moment the car door shut, Skylar turned to me and said, "Eli, you have to write a book about this."

"Write a book about quilting?" I asked.

"You have to write a novel about aging quilters," he clarified. "It would be so funny and so interesting."

I told him I had never wanted to write a novel—that I see myself as more of a personal essayist, writing about myself because I love attention.

Skylar refused to let the subject go, and when we got home, he asked if "as a thought experiment" we could just brainstorm story ideas.

We stayed awake until about 1:00 AM, mapping out the story of a dysfunctional group of elderly quilters who recruit two young gay men to join them as they prepare for a quilting competition against their bitter rivals. I came up with an ending that excited me so much I couldn't get it out of my head for the next several months.

Eventually I decided to sit down and try to write the first chapter, just to see how it felt. When I finished the 2,000 or so words, I handed it to Skylar and asked him to give it a read and tell me if this was worth pursuing.

He left the room for a few minutes to read it and when he came back in, he had tears in his eyes. "Eli," he said. "I laughed out loud through this and cried twice and it was only the first chapter. You have to finish this. I need to read the rest of it."

That was all the cheerleading I needed. For the next year I did my quilting research, even attending a Common Threads evening to observe how the women interacted and what they discussed. I wrote the rest of it.

This might be a cliche—I don't know. But when I finished, I felt I had written the book I most wanted to read, and I thought that was probably a good sign.

I went through the long and arduous process of finding a publisher (shouts to Torrey House Press!), and went through several long rounds of revisions until we felt we had gotten it just right.

The book is called Stitched. It comes out on September 8. Look how beautiful this cover is.

One of the blurbs on the back of the book reads, "One part Schitt's Creek, one part Golden Girls, and a whole lot of Eli McCann's signature wit and charm."

I could not be more proud of this book. It's nearly 300 pages of, in my view, the best writing I've ever done. While Stitched is certainly a humor book, it ended up being more serious and human than I had set out, and I'm really happy about that. It explores complicated relationships, aging, and what it feels like to care deeply about something not everyone understands. It's ultimately a story about imperfect found family.

You can pre-order the physical book pretty much anywhere you like to order books. If you get it directly from the publisher through this link, it will be a signed copy.

Pre-order for the ebook should be available in the next few weeks. We also plan to release an audio book (read by yours truly), and preorder for that should be available later this summer.

I owe a huge thank you to this community of readers, many of whom have been reading this ridiculous website for going on two decades. You have been my cheerleaders and supporters for so many years. You have helped me become a better writer and storyteller and you have given me the confidence to pursue this passion. Plus you compliment my hair when I ask you to.

Thank you and your extremely hot faces and bodies so so much.

~It Just Gets Stranger