The Drawing Board (Back To)

My new publisher would like to see drawings of my design ideas before giving the collection a final OK.  This is very sensible, in my opinion, since drawing a knitted garment takes far less time than knitting one.  It just makes good sense to be sure that the publisher and I agree on the direction the collection should take, before the knitting commences.

Which is why I can't believe I've never been asked to provide sketches before.  That's right:  In two whole books of knitting, amounting to more than 50 projects, nobody has asked to see a preview of the projects I was designing.  They actually took it on faith that I would make up a collection that was cohesive in palette, varied in skill level, diplomatic in yarn choices, and illustrative of technique.  Looking back, I'm floored by the trust my previous editors have placed in me.

But this time, I'm drawing.  And by drawing, I mean, using pencils and paper at a prodigious rate to make pictures I hope will represent knitting.  Which, it turns out, is not at all easy.  I have never been to art class.  I had to have a friend give me a crash course in art supplies at the store.  And I am so happy that I only have to make hats for this project, because I'm pretty sure that trying to draw real fashion illustrations would kill me.  But it's going fairly well, all that considered.  And I'm kind of enjoying the fact that I can really see the whole collection emerging, rather than only imagining it.

On the down side, although the book calls for 20 hats, I have only culled my idea pile down to 36. (or maybe 37 - I just had a really cool thought).  So that means that I'll have to draw them all and let the publisher choose.  And that's assuming that my ideas are anything like what they had in mind for the book.  It could be that I'm drawing apples and they want oranges, in which case more drawings will need to be done.  I'm submitting the collection on Friday for review, and after that I'll know more.  Until then I'm drawing.  And Erasing.  The level of eraser dust and pencil sharpenings is such that I actually have to vacuum the table off between pictures. 

I'll share one neat thing I've discovered, should you ever find yourself needing to represent your knitting on paper:  Non-white drawing paper.  I got some in gray and some in tan, and both are great for really showing up colors - particularly white and black.  I also am deeply in love with woodless colored pencils.  They are so much more versatile than the wooden ones.  Who knew?  Artists, I suppose.  Not that we aren't artists, too, Gentle Readers.  It's just that our preferred medium is String.


 

One List is Very Like Another

See this and other fabulous comics on Married to the Sea

When you hate to cook as much as I do, going to the grocery store falls somewhere on the enjoyment scale between a face full of acid and bamboo shoots under the fingernails.  But loathe it though I do, food procurement is a necessary part of my glamorous life, at least until I can figure out how to make my children do it.  In order to manage the shopping, I employ various coping mechanisms, such as trying to suck it up and be grateful that I CAN get food, unlike many less fortunate souls on this earth.  Another of my strategies is my personalized "Grocery Store Spreadsheet".

The Grocery Store Spreadsheet (GSS) is the product of years of research, and not a little OCD.  The GSS is a magical device which allows me to spend the absolute minimum of time at the store.  It groups the items on my list based on their physical location in the store (yes, I had to actually map the aisles of my grocery store) so that I can shop as efficiently as possible, minimizing my exposure to mysterious foodstuffs and dumbass fumes.

Each week, I populate the cells of the GSS with whatever items I can no longer avoid getting, then save that version as a reference for what I'm planning to cook.  I frequently panic when I step into the kitchen and forget what I'm supposed to do, so referring to the GSS helps me pull it together, at least for as long as it takes to boil a noodle.

So much a precision instrument is my GSS that I have proclaimed it my Favorite Spreadsheet Ever (Oh, sure; like you don't have a favorite spreadsheet?).  When I need to create a new spreadsheet, I often haul out the GSS and use it as a template for whatever else I might be doing, just because I like the look of it, and I don't have to tinker with it as much as I would a blank document.

Such was the case yesterday, when I sat down to organize the project ideas for my new book.  Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: I have a new book to write.  Yay!  It's about hats.  Crazy hats, silly hats, cuddly hats, hats you never thought of.  Can't imagine why they wanted ME for such an assignment. 

I cracked open the GSS and started repopulating fields from groceries to hat ideas, and the sorting feature took over, just as it is supposed to do.  Which meant that "Giant Squid" found its way to the Seafood heading.  "Cherry Pie" naturally sought the Bakery area.  And "Sushi", surprising no one, went straight to the Deli.  Something about this collision of two worlds tickled me so much that I kind of fell down a rabbit hole.  I started to test the GSS by dropping other ideas into it.  Turns out that "Petulance" is a vegetable, "Ferocity" belongs to canned goods, and "Ennui" can be found in the pharmacy.

I think I'm going to try categorizing people I know in the GSS next.  I'm willing to bet that at least 3 people I love will be located in my grocers' freezer.

Ruffled

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the craft store (no idea how I got there - must've blacked out from the wool fumes).  Naturally I went over to the yarn area.  My fascination with cheap and widely-available yarns must be fed from time to time, after all.  On a table next to the Cascade yarns was this little gem:

Always a sucker for the Smally Clothes, I casually snatched it up.  I flipped all the way to project number 7 before remembering that I MADE A DESIGN FOR THIS BOOK:

Talk about surreal!  This publisher is really great about sending copies of the book to all its contributors, but this time I hadn't received mine before it hit stores.  In the mayhem surrounding publication of my own book, I completely forgot having a design in this one.  It was such a strange sensation to be standing in the craft store, holding a copy of the design, with near total amnesia surrounding it.  I always laugh when people ask me how I get so many pieces knit.  I never feel all that productive, never mind prolific.  But this hinted to me about what those people must mean:  It was like forgetting exactly how many children you have.  Not a little disturbing.  I felt, well, ruffled.

Smally clothes are the most fun to design, because I can be as silly and whimsical as I want.  You can make babies wear anything, because they have trouble getting away. 

When Lindsay was little (you know, like 11 minutes ago?), Phillip and I used to dress her in those tights with the lace ruffles on the butt under her little baby dresses.  We would put her down and let her crawl around every chance we got when she was dressed like that, so we could wink at each other and say "Bottoms Up!".  It was our sleep-deprivation-induced hilarious inside joke.  "Ha-Ha'" we would say, "Ruffle-Butt!"  It tickled us to death.  Getting to watch baby LuLu scoot around with her ruffles akimbo was adequate payback for the sleepless nights and days of exhaustion (punctuated by moments of panic) that was new parenthood.

I wish Lindsay had had these pants.  Hell, I might make her some yet.  Bottoms Up!