The content of the picture to the left is the reason you haven’t heard from me in a little while. Ringing in at nineteen chapters, 342 pages, 87,000 words (approximately), and just over three years in the making, that stack of papers is my first novel.
Just before I put the finishing touches on my manuscript last week, I also wove in the last yarn end on , which I will hopefully be able to show you soon. Both of these projects were substantial, but the knitting project was much, much easier. In fact, compared to writing, all knitting is easy.
It’s not that knitting isn’t challenging, or that I don’t ever feel like hurling my needles against the wall and swearing off yarn forever. It’s that knitting projects have obvious dimensions. They have beginnings, middles, and ends. Novels have those, too, but they’re not as clearly defined. What you thought was the middle turns out to be the beginning, the end is really the middle, and the beginning often gets lopped off altogether. There’s no binding off, there’s no blocking, there’s no sewing in the last yarn end and calling it a day. When I say that I’m finished with my novel, what I’m really saying is that it’s finished with me.
And this is one of the biggest reasons why I love to knit. Knitting projects have tangible goals and concrete satisfactions. The frustrations are manageable, and the worst mistakes are solveable by ripping out and starting over. My hand-knit sweaters, unlike my writing, have never demanded that I stare into the gravitational center of my soul and try to balance my life on it.
More knitting on the way . . .