Faina's Scarf and other things

Dallas is on blog hiatus right now which means I can sneak in and brag about her when she isn't looking.

I was poking around in the hall closet yesterday, dreaming of the moment when the leaves start changing color and I can drag out scarves and sweaters and fingerless gloves. You know: all the stuff that makes a knitter's life worth living.

I found the first multidirectional scarf I ever made: a sad narrow little excuse for a scarf with missing fringe and good intentions.

I found the trigger finger mittens (just typing "trigger finger" unnerves me!) I made by combining Elizabeth Zimmerman's Norwegian mitten pattern with web instructions on adding the index finger then copying a pair of gift mittens for the design. Who knew I could be that resourceful? Unfortunately they are big enough to fit hands five times the size of mine. I'm thinking about steeking them and turning them into fingerless mitts. If you have any suggestions (or really big hands) please share!

And then I found the fabulous baby camel scarf Dallas knitted for me a few Christmases ago. The pattern is Faina's Scarf and to say I absolutely adore it is to laughably understate my feelings. I'm one of those unfortunates who can't bear wool next to my skin. I turn into a red, itchy, miserable bundle of humanity. But baby camel is deliciously soft and gentle and apparently allergen-free. At least free of allergens that make me crazy. The pattern looks uncomfortably complex to me but the finished product is fabulous in every regard.

Right now I have the following on the needles:

• a second Irish Hiking Scarf
• 60% finished Vintage Velvet
• the ongoing story of the giant EZ Garter Stitch blanket
• Silk Garden Wavy
• (drum roll) my first Log Cabin!

What have you been up to?

An Explosion of Metaphors

When I first got back into knitting (August 2003) I was struck by the parallels between looping yarn over needles and writing. It got to the point where I had to close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and start humming really loud to keep them at bay.

And then it stopped. Knitting was knitting. Writing was writing. Two separate activities with absolutely nothing in common but me. One was wordless. One was (God help me) sometimes a little too wordy. Both had the qualities of an addiction. Unfortunately only one could pay the mortgage. (Unless you count the two-scarf contract from Penguin that Goldisox likes to tease me about.)

Just when I thought I was over the worst of it and the metaphor monster had been put to rest along with the Ab Fabs and the multi-directional scarves and novelty yarns, it came swooping back in at me thanks to Susan Wiggs and the terrific workshop she's holding this week over at the Romance Divas Forum. Susan is talking about Plotting From the Inside Out (a technique I definitely hold close to my heart) and she asked a fascinating question. What type of writer are you? A quilter? A sculptor? A knitter?

You guessed it: I'm a knitter through and through. I work line by line, row by row, and have to frog the whole damned thing each and every time I find a mistake. I long to be a rough draft kind of writer, someone who powers through the story from start to finish in an explosion of heat and enthusiasm and then, when the passion cools, goes back and layers in detail, dialogue, changes in direction. But I'm not. I can't move forward without taking at least two or three steps backward. How can you know where you're going if you're not sure where you've been? I have to know where I've been, know it in great and excruciating detail, before I can take that leap of faith into the next page, the next chapter.

Kind of like where I am right now with the never-ending What Am I Going To Do With This Gorgeous Noro Silk Garden series of scarf attempts. That's Take #3 (WAVY from Knitty) up there. It's longer now.

Fortunately, so is the book in progress.