"I don't believe in writing every day though I'm at my desk every day. So much of writing is thinking before you write, reading, or simply brooding."
- Stanley Kunitz
There's snow drifting down. Earlier it was rain, then as the mercury headed towards zero, it turned into thick rain, and now it's that wet, sloppy variety of snow - snowdrops, really.
It all points to knitting.
After spending most of last week compiling and editing Part I, Draft I of my novel, I found myself curiously inert. I needed to do something, but Part II was not forthcoming. So I fussed around the house, cleaning dog-hair-bunnies (created by this fine creature) and baking cookies. I tried all manner of procrastination techniques, but drew the line at scrubbing the toilet for the third time in as many days, and got to work preparing story submissions to journals and contests. Then, drawn by the deepening cold, I pulled out the knitting needles and some scraps of yarn, and started what I thought was going to be a cowl. But when I listened to what the knitting was telling me, I realised it was actually not a cowl, but a hat. In no time I was finished. The thrill!
After admiring my newly-knitted hat for a day, and deciding on the spot that everyone's getting hats for Christmas, I climbed back up to the writer's garret and listened to what Part II was trying to tell me. And then I got back to work.
And no, the metaphor of knitting words together is not lost on me.
1 week ago