Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Process and Patience

In the yarn world, it is said, there are two types of knitters – product knitters and process knitters. Product knitters want to have something to show for all their effort – a finished scarf, a sweater, a pair of mittens or socks. Process knitters are all about the effort itself. For them, having a finished piece is nice, but the act of knitting is where they get the most enjoyment.

I am definitely a process knitter. I do finish pieces. Eventually. But the repetitive motion of right needle in stitch on left needle, wrap yarn around right needle, left needle up and over right needle is some of the best meditation I’ve found. My brain can far more easily wander around, stretch, drain the gludge and solve problems while knitting than it can if I try sitting zazen and focusing on my breath. Whatever works, eh?

And I’m one of those weird knitters that doesn’t mind huge sections of a single stitch pattern. My current project is largely stockinette stitch, and I easily get into the stitching groove while listening to an audiobook or a CD or “watching” a movie (I listen to movies more than I watch them these days, and have you seen Interstate 60? I saw it recently and loved it, and I can’t remember the last time I could say that about a movie.)

I’m also a process writer. Same deal. I finish writing projects, sooner or later, but constructing the plot lines, character sketches, and scene lists, as well as writing the scenes themselves in the layering process I use, and the noodling and nudging and swapping and revising is what keeps me doing it.

No surprise then that I’m fast turning into a process cellist. Even when I first started lessons last June, I had no illusions about being able to play the Elgar Cello Concerto in a week. (Someday, maybe…) I actually looked forward to starting from the beginning and slowly learning bit by bit to see (and hear) what might happen. The fact that I will likely spend the rest of my life learning to play this instrument and never learn it all is not daunting to me.

Learning to play the cello has reminded me, just as knitting and writing remind me, that I have patience. There are a few things with which I am impatient, but for whatever reason, creative endeavors make me think I have all the time in the world, or maybe time slows down for them. I will happily sit with a Schroeder book (which is Emily's fault because she turned me on to them) and play a couple of exercises over and over as the structure and pattern of them comes into focus, and I giggle at how cleverly it was written out to do just that.

Well, at least I think it's clever.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Babette

I finally finished Angel's Babette Blanket, and now that she has it, I can show the world what the finished project looks like:



There are 126 squares in this blanket, and I grossly underestimated how long it would take to make them all and then sew them all together. However, my sewing skills have definitely improved after working on this. I also added a border of the three colors for that nice finishing touch, so my bordering skills have improved, too.

I'm pleased with how it turned out, and Angel likes it, so all is good.

You can see other examples of the Babette Blanket here.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

writing stash

Knitters, crocheters, spinners, and probably weavers, too, have a yarn stash (or fiber stash, in the case of a spinner). This is like having a stack of books in your to-be-read queue, only it’s yarn.

You got it at a fiber festival (Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival – 59 days, not that I'm counting or anything), or your local yarn shop, or a yarn swap, or on Etsy, or a seller’s Web site. Some of it may be earmarked for a specific project or a specific type of project (ie, you got enough of one color, type, and brand of yarn to make a sweater or a pair of socks). Some you may have bought on impulse because it was pretty, or it was a fiber or brand you hadn’t tried yet or had been looking high and low for and finally found, or it was in the bargain bin and you couldn’t pass it up at that price.

You store it somewhere. It sits there, waiting to be used. Sometimes you look at it and sigh appreciatively. There is comfort in seeing the materials that you can use your hands to work into something beautiful and/or useful. Sometimes you avoid looking at it because there’s so much of it and your tastes have changed and what were you thinking when you picked up that fuchsia mohair?

I’m happy to say that I have a modest yarn stash. Some of it sits on a bookshelf, nicely wound into yarn cakes. And there’s another medium-size box in my clothes closet. That’s it. That’s all I have. I know people who have yarn stashes that take up entire rooms. It possibly borders on hoarding. That kind of stash would make me nervous – there’s more there than a person could possibly knit in a lifetime.

I recently did a bit of de-stashing. I took a large Target bag full of yarn I’m not likely to ever use for various reasons to my knitting group’s yarn swap. And I didn’t come back with any new-to-me yarn, thankyouverymuch.

Recently, it occurred to me that I also have a writing stash. These are to-be-written ideas sitting patiently in a queue. I add to it on a fairly regular basis.

I really like having a writing stash because it solves two problems – what should I write next? and what if I run out of ideas? Without a writing stash, both problems could be paralyzing and lead to Not Writing. At least for me, they could.

The trick with my writing stash is knowing if an idea is still in a to-be-written stage or if it’s gone stale and I’m no longer interested in the idea anyway. If it’s the latter, I de-stash it. None of this “oh, but I might use it someday maybe” nonsense. (I didn’t inherit my father’s and grandfather’s pack rat tendencies, can you tell?)

My one bad habit with my writing stash is that sometimes, unfinished stories go into it, and I try to keep my stash as a place for new ideas to work with, rather than abandoned, half-developed ideas (temporary or otherwise). The same is true for a yarn stash – unfinished objects are still yarn, after all, which is how they find themselves being counted as stash, even though they are in some metamorphosis stage of being turned into a thing.

Right now, I have two unfinished children’s stories and a mostly finished novel in my writing stash. They are sitting alongside two novel ideas and a short story idea, which properly belong in the stash. I don’t want the latter crowded out by the former. I don’t want the new ideas to go stale either, because I like them a lot.

I got stuck on one of the children’s stories. A big hole that I couldn’t fill, let alone get around, and struggling with it was steering me toward Not Writing. I’m starting to get an inkling of way to fix that. The other story was originally written as a screenplay, but I think it will work better as a novel. Technically, the entire story is written, just in the wrong format, and therefore, has to be re-written and added to. The novel is The Phoenix Sonata, which I wrote most of for National Novel Writing Month last year. I kept working on it even after NaNoWriMo was over because there was more story to tell, but then I finally reached the conclusion I’d been avoiding for awhile. It’s a boring story. It’s a bit of a sob story, and it’s still boring. So that got stopped until I could figure out if there was a way to make it interesting and make a reader not want to slap the main character and give her a cheer-up-it-may-never-happen lecture.

And lo and behold, there is a way! I’ve got an idea. (I’ve seen people go pale when I say that.) There’s something I can add to it and some things that can be re-worked to make it interesting. There is relief in this. It was worrying me that I’d put all that work into a boring story.

And when that here’s-how-I-can-fix-it idea hit me, I was already outlining another novel idea.

So there is my dilemma – re-work the Sonata novel or start the new novel? Either way has its merits. Re-working Sonata would mean I’d be able to finish it. I like finishing things, hard as it is for me to do sometimes. However, starting the new novel means something fresh to work on. I’m protective of new ideas. It’s painful when they go stale because you were working on other things. One of them is going back into the stash, though, but which? I've been rolling this around in Morning Pages, but nothing's come forward yet. (Yes, I'm still doing Morning Pages regularly.)

Obvious answers are “work on both” or “alternate each day.” Tried that. I tend to get going with one and all the focus goes there, and the other falls off the radar. I’m the same way with knitting – I can’t have lots of projects going at once. Gives me hives.

So what would you do? What do you do if you’ve had a similar situation? Is a writing stash a bad idea?

Maybe I should have given up overthinking for Lent instead of chocolate.