I'm writing again, which was a
I'm teaching an online Deconstruction of a Novel course over on the Cherry Forums. That's good, too.
I'm knitting socks. Although not pairs, it seems. I have three lonesome socks waiting for mates.
I finished my Master Hand Knitting Level 1 Program. As soon as I post this, I'm off to post my binder.
There's parenting, too, so maybe I can juggle five.
Everything else...totally neglected.
Here it is, my binder of knitterly knowledge
Funny thing about the Master Hand Knitting program. (Not funny ha-ha, although looking back...) I was at the breaking point, knitting and reknitting a couple cable swatches, knowing that I had a problem rowing out for a few stitches on the left side and unable to fix the problem. Here's how crazy I was: I cried. I cried over little swatches of wool. I screamed my frustration over at the TKGA forum and Arenda (one of the MK judges), bless her heart, told me to email her digital photos of the "problem" swatches because she had an idea I might be the teensiest bit...nutso probably isn't the word, because she wouldn't ask for email from a crazy knitter who owns a great number of pointy sticks if she thought I was crazy...the teensiest bit unrealistic about my lack of knitting skilz is more likely.
So I emailed her the pics and here's what she said: "You are worrying WAY TOO MUCH!"
Oh. In other words, I'm an obsessive compulsive perfectionist.
This binder represents more to me than the accomplishment of knitting the swatches and answering the questions. I returned to knitting two years ago because I had lost any sense of objectivity about my writing and was paralyzed by perfectionism. (Well, that, plus the mind-altering rollercoaster that is perimenopause.) Knitting was a way to remind myself of the pleasure behind creativity. I knit because I love the process. It's not all fun. There are moments of frustration, but mostly, I love it.
That's what writing used to be like for me. The Master Hand Knitting program almost sucked me into the perfectionism vortex several times, but when I recognized what I was doing I stepped back and turned to knitting-for-pleasure projects -- sometimes for months -- to remind myself of the fun factor. Only after having fun could I return to knitting swatches with a level head.
What this binder represents for me is the completion of a creative project that tested my skills, forced me to look outside of my existing craft skills, and was both fun and frustrating. I learned a lot. Kind of like writing a novel. Writing a novel is the hardest thing I've ever tried to do. Because of what's in the binder, I'm done trying. I'm doing.
Oh, and that return-to-knitting project? This is it:
5000 beads in that shawl. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I mean, I could have picked knitting a hat to get myself back into knitting. Maybe I am nutso.