Frogging a Novel

I'm frogging, y'all, which is not something I ever enjoy. I'm frogging and reknitting at the same time, and I'm doing the same dang thing in my writing.

I finished the second book in my contract. I gave it a couple of passes, but no major revisions, which is what it really needed. I felt it, of course. You know when that niggling voice whispers in your ear? Okay, mine is a little louder. (WHERE IS YOUR CONFLICT? WHAT IS KEEPING THEM APART? GOOD GOD, WOMAN!)

So now I'm revising, big time. I'm in the middle of it, and I'm moving scenes, deleting them, changing characters into who they need to be and killing the ones who don't matter. It's hard work, but I'm giving it my best shot.

During all this, I've been designing a sweater for the book. I had something clearly in mind: a moss stitch cardigan with pockets. I knit the whole dang thing, and then I HATED it. I'm not even bothering to ball the yarn; I'm just reknitting it right from the prior sweater's pieces (into lovely smooth stockinette).


(Crap picture, but you can see the moss turning into smooth stockinette. Lorna's Laces Shepherd Worsted, in Firefly)

It feels good, both things. I like the symmetry.

Just keep writing. Just keep knitting.

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.

Excuse Me For Yawning . . . and Winner #2

Yes, it's really 5:18 in the morning and no, I didn't just get up. I've probably mentioned--oh, like a thousand times--that we're night owls around here. In true night owl fashion we went up to bed around two and boing! My damn eyes shot open and all the words I couldn't force onto the screen during a long hard day of writing suddenly began to spill from one side of my brain to the other.

I heard voices, okay? Characters talking to me faster than I could listen. Clearly there was no way I was going to be able to sleep with all the yakking going on and besides, I've been in this business long enough to know you never remember all the things you think you're going to remember. This was a gift, a winning lottery ticket. Time to haul my lazy butt back downstairs, fire up the computer, make a cup of tea, and go back to work.

Which is what I've been doing the last few hours. I almost succumbed to the siren song of my garter stitch blankets but I stayed strong and captured what I needed to capture.

Now I think I'm going to reward myself with scrambled eggs and hot sauce.

And a brand new Yarnapalooza winner: Heide Presson whose wonderful blog came be found right here. The package goes out first thing this morning.

Oh wait. It's already first thing this morning, isn't it? Time for more caffeine . . .

Missing in Action

The fact of the matter is I stink. I really do. What kind of rotten knitting writer/writing knitter would just disappear into the wilderness like that and not even drop in long enough to say Happy Thanksgiving?

Me.

It's not that I haven't thought about you because I have. Lots. Every time I pick up my knitting needles or thumb through the gorgeous new Harmony guides or sit here (literally) beating my head against the laptop, praying for the right words to finally FINALLY appear on the screen.

It's been a long tough grind to reach the place where the story finally has a life of its own, a life separate from me. For some reason I had a wicked time shedding the characters from my last book and slipping into the hearts of the new characters. I've been alternately overwhelmed, intimidated, terrified, uncertain, anxious, ready to grab my AmEx and race to the airport, ready to board a plane for anywhere but here.

Poor Dallas and Poor Nancy have heard all about it in email. At length and ad nauseum, I'm afraid. (Nobody on the planet can whine more effectively and endlessly than a writer on a killer deadline.) The clock keeps ticking. Those calendar pages flip faster than I can register. And I waited and waited for the paragraphs and pages to mount.

There's a weird syndrome common to working writers that I call The Butt Springs Syndrome. I was telling Goldisox about it this afternoon and, brilliant thought he is, he just didn't get it.

Me: It's like the second the writing starts going well I spring up from my chair and run as far away from it as I can get.

Him: I do that too when I'm procrastinating.

Me: No! No! It's not that. I said it happens when it starts to get good.

Him: You mean the words are flowing and you know what's going to happen next?

Me: Yes! That's it! All of a sudden the words are there and they're flowing from my brain to the keyboard without human intervention and something comes over me and next thing you know I'm at Shop Rite.

Him: (very long pause) That's just plain weird.

And it is. And also extremely common. I mean, I could understand running for the hills when the going gets tough. That's just good sense. But when it's good, when it's there, when you're finally in the zone: what the hell is that all about anyway? I mean, you'll never see me put down the needles when the cables are forming effortlessly. So what is it about writing that sometimes makes me want to flee the country?

Wearing a writer's hat instead

I have absolutely nothing to say about knitting this week because I spent my weekend at the New Jersey Romance Writer's conference so I'm all fired up about writing. (Although I am making progress on the Rather Huge Noni Bag--14 stripes done, 6 to go!)

I thought some folks on the blog might be interested to know what goes on at a writer's conference. Well, at this one, four hundred published and unpublished writers come together and talk a whole lot about the craft and the business.

There are formal workshops given by authors, agents and/or editors. There are informal roundtable discussions led by published authors. Meals include speeches by famous, best-selling writers such as Karen Robards and Sherrilyn Kenyon. Editors and agents listen to pitches for books written by attendees. (One of the more nerve-racking experiences I have gone through was pitching my book. Have you ever tried to condense a four hundred page manuscript into three snappy sentences?) A goodie room offers bookmarks, excerpt booklets, pens, buttons, etc. free for the taking. Gift baskets are given away (I won a lovely holiday-themed basket). An elegant luncheon honors the booksellers who support all us authors.

(There's also a Saturday night "after-the-conference" party where we sing karaoke and dance the night away. No one even attempts to talk at that. A few of the party-goers are pictured above.)

Mostly though, we meet our fellow writers, share our experiences, and make friends. Being a writer is a solitary existence and I treasure the times I can come together with fellow practitioners of the art, people who don't think I'm a little weird because I hear voices in my head. It reminds me of why I do this crazy thing and reignites my creative fire (coincidentally the theme of this year's conference).

So, anyone want to know anything else about writer's conferences? Has anyone else been to one and would like to share their experiences?

The finished sweater

I'm very happy with how it turned out. I made this to replace what I refer to as my 'writing sweater' -- the sweater that hangs on the back of the chair in my office, which I wear almost every day during Spring, Winter and Fall. My previous writing sweater was a thrift-shop find that I bought for $5 seven years ago. It was thoroughly worn out, with holes and stains.

This new sweater has the same loose fit and soft feel, long with pockets. To recap, it's the One-Stitch cardigan from Lion Brand knit on number 8 needles with Main Line in Blueberry. The trim is some Wool Ease I had in my stash. I opted for a zipper instead of buttons.

Now back to the top-down cardigan I'm knitting for my mother-in-law. I'm definitely a fan of top-down knitting now.