Sure Hope There's A Pool

Can you tell by looking whether or not this high-diver is worried about his luggage being lost?  Wondering what happened to his book-signing pen?  Missing his children, who begged him to bring them along?  Second-guessing how much he should have tipped the restroom attendant?

Me either.  Of course, I'm not qualified to judge, but the fact that this guy is not actively throwing up is enough to impress me.  Dude obviously knows how to take a leap.

I like to think I'm like that:  Brave (enough), Self-Reliant (ish), and Composed (sorta) to the degree called for.  And mostly I am.  I only start to wonder about myself when I have no idea what degree will be called for.

Thinking ahead about my book launch in Rhinebeck feels like standing on the dive platform.

Last week I was interviewed for my first podcast.  I wasn't really nervous, but it sure is surreal to talk about oneself.  True, I'm pretty knowledgeable on the subject of Me.  But I was brought up to avoid seeming conceited at any cost, which means self-deprecating in the face of accolade, aw-shucksing at the threat of compliment, and actually hiding behind a newspaper in case of flattery.  These behaviors, while now instinctual, are not especially conducive to publicizing ones work, and by association, oneself.  I was answering questions that I knew the answer to, but the whole time I was thinking "Oh my gosh, did I really just say that out loud?"

At least with a podcast, they can edit out anything truly heinously stupid; I just have to have faith that they will do so.  It's real-time transmissions, like talking to people, where you really have no control.  Funny how that doesn't scare me at, say, the deli counter or the gas station.  But put me in front of a real human who either has read, or is about to read the book that I made, and I have no idea what will happen.

My gift is the ideas that come outta my head, and my head is the thing I hang my face on, and my face is the thing people know me by.  It's also the location of my mouth, which has the documented ability to get me into trouble.  No different from anybody else.  But something happens when your thoughts get written down in the form of a book:  There's all this unexpected credence given.  And you can't go around apologizing for it, just in case it makes you sound like you have a big head "Oh - sorry - I didn't know you were actually going to read that!" 

So I'm spending some quiet time in contemplation (and prayer) this week, before I go out to meet the knitters.  I'm going to focus on smiling, nodding, and listening.  Nobody ever got too badly off track by paying attention to what others have to say, after all.  And of course, I'm reminding myself not to take anything too seriously.  I'm not at all afraid to dive in.  I just really hope there's a pool down there.

Bits of Fluff and Nonsense

The Cosmos.  Or some dust.  You tell me.

It's been a spot of bother focusing this week.  I stopped long enough to count the projects I have going simultaneously and came up with no less than four.  That is a lot for me, because when I say "simultaneously" I mean that they are all actually in my lap at the same time.  My attention span has dwindled to the flick of an eyelash, and I'll actually put one of them down, mid-row, and pick up another one every time the urge strikes.  This is extremely erratic behavior for me, and I don't mind telling you that my progress on any of the four is negligible.  I normally approach my knitting with the directness of a surface-to-air missile.  No distractions, no side trips; Surgical Strike.  I describe myself as "result-oriented", and usually operate with singular purpose.  Phillip refers to me as "freakin' relentless".  To-MAY-to; To-MAH-toe, whatever.

So in my lap last night were The Frog Prince, the Knot Garden, a stray mitten which wandered into my project queue, and a new sock.  Too weird.  I'm trying to roll with it - maybe this is a new and improved way of working for me?  On the other hand, what if I am actually undermining real progress on any of these items because I don't want to finish them for some reason?  Never mind.  I know this particular forest path, and going down it will result in a knitter who is neither more self-aware, nor closer to a finished sleeve...

In more coherent news, my book tour has begun to flesh itself out into a real, breathing being, thanks to the assistance of my new Whizzbang Publicist.  There are actual dates on a calendar, and plane tickets and everything.  I always wanted to be a road warrior!  Of course, every promotional tour needs its own title.  I was going to ask you for your input, but then I realized that you haven't read the book yet, so it might be hard to get inspiration.  Instead, please comment and vote for one of the following, should you be so inclined:
        
        1.    The Left at Albuquerque Tour
        2.    The Relentless Atomic Knitting Book Tour
        3.    The "Oh please, not another book tour with a rock-concert name" Tour

Your input is appreciated.  The big news of the week is that my official book launch will take place at none other than the Duchess County Sheep and Wool Festival, in beautiful Rhinebeck, NY.  Check my calendar page for updates beginning in October, and if you'd like me to make a stop at your LYS, guild meeting or other gathering, please contact info@maryscotthuff.com .  I'll give a talk, autograph some books, we'll have a few laughs.  There's also a trunk show, and I'm teaching classes when possible, too.

I'm off this weekend to pet the sheep at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival.  Phillip and the smallies have elected to join me.  I was surprised by this development until they pointed out that the last time I was allowed at a fiber festival without supervision, I came home with a whole raw fleece.  These people.  Geez!  You bring home one little sheep and everybody turns into the Fiber Gestapo.
 

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

I have known for quite some time that this day would arrive.  I didn't know which day it would be, just that sometime, it was coming.

534 days ago I sold an idea to a clever and talented bunch of people.  And today is the day it became reality.

Here it is, standing on my very own desk, with real pages and everything.

I didn't realize until I held it in my (shaking) hands that I secretly suspected it would arrive with all blank pages, or someone else's writing inside, or a title page that said "April Fools!" or something.  Not rational, I know, but the power of doubt is substantial.  Fortunately, so are the powers of optimism and tenacity.  While repeating to myself the mantra that I really could do it, I have also been pinching myself to believe that my book was really happening.  For 534 days.  

I have been wondering if, when it finally arrived, I would have the intestinal fortitude to read it again.  I surprised myself by actually wanting to.  And read it I did, cheered on by the smallies, who chose it for their bedtime story.  Higher praise, I could not ask.

Hope you like it, too.