Seeking Patience, and Something Unusual

I'm slogging away at the Frog Prince.  Still.  Again.  Would you believe that I still don't love it and I gutted it again?  Broke my heart, but there it is.  I just want it how I want it, and the wise words of one of the Faery Ring knitters came back to me:  "I have never regretted tearing something out to make it right, but I have often been disappointed when I didn't".  Hard to argue with that.  And the thought of knitters at my door with torches and pitchforks is always added incentive. 

My frustration is nearly complete, but I'm trying to keep in mind the old adage: "Be patient, God isn't finished with me yet".  Applies so well to knitters and knitting.

Your kind words and enthusiasm, Gentle Readers, have been such inspiration for me to attack the Knot Garden again:

Here is the second sleeve, begun with a nice bit of the knot garden cable business for a cuff.  I'll turn it sideways and knit up for the rest of the sleeve.  Wonder how come I always like cables better turned sideways?  Same disorder that causes me to color outside the lines, no doubt.  Working on this is a welcome distraction when I get a gut full of the Frog.

And now for Something Unusual:  

Friends of the blog Interweave Press  have invited me to take part in a virtual Tour of Studios.  This event will be held this Saturday, October 3.  Click the magazine cover above to follow the link this weekend, and you can take in the sights, which include the work digs of many different designers.  I don't know about you, but the physical spaces in which creativity happens fascinate me.  My little corner of the design world will be on the tour, so you can see where all the magic (and sniveling) happens.  I can't wait to see where other designers work.  I'm particularly interested to learn if many others have tiny little areas, like me.  My office is actually in the hallway which joins my foyer to my dining room - barely even qualifies as a hallway - and occupies less than 70 square feet.  I long for a real room with a door, but for the time being, this little space suits me well.  Once I carved it out, I was really surprised how popular it became with the rest of my family:  I usually have to shoo one or more smallies out of the way to do my thing.

In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner, muttering curses on a frog.
 

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.
 

Knotty But Nice

Thank you, dear friends, for fearlessly picking sides as to which of my UFOs deserved the most (if any) attention.  I cannot express how delighted I am: I have not only been motivated to finish a neglected project (I actually have to do something now that I've dragged you lot into it), but also directed which one to tackle.  My way is clear, and my enthusiasm renewed.  The lucky recipient of our attention is "UFO A", the unpublished, unfinished, and as yet unloved Knot Garden Cardigan.

I thought you might like to see how I start the design process for a commercial publication (as opposed to working directly with a yarn company, which is different).  I tell you this in case you'd ever like to do it, too.  There is surprisingly little information available about how knitting patterns get into magazines, so if you've ever wondered, here's a peek at the process, at least as I know it.

Once Upon A Time (about a year ago) I answered a call for submissions to a national magazine.  It's fairly easy to get into the loop for hearing when magazines want submissions: you just ask the proper editor to be added to their e-mail list.  The strange part is getting used to dreaming up garments that you would never be in the mood to actually knit at that time of year.  The hairy hot mohair will inevitably be your focus in August, and when it's freezing in January, that's when you'll be crocheting tiny cotton bikini triangles.

Nevertheless, I did my best to conjure up something that knitters might like, that I also imagined would fit the theme and style of the publication.  I sent a proposal to them, and it looked pretty much like this, though the names have been removed to protect the innocent:
 

You will note that I did not, however brilliant I thought my idea was, actually knit the sweater.  Nor did I make any attempt to procure yarn for it.  I just sent the proposal on its way, with high hopes for acceptance.

Which was not forthcoming.

Oh well, thought I - can't win all the time.  Sure do like this sweater, though.  This is one I would really wear a lot.  Who wouldn't like a nice little gray cardi?  I wasn't ready to give up on it, so I sent the proposal to a second publication for review.  The second magazine was an even better match for the spirit of the design, I thought.  Surely publication #2 would go for it.

Somehow, between that day and this one (in which I still have not heard a word from either magazine - brutal, but that's just how they treat designers), I convinced myself that this sweater was going to get published because it was so cute, so wearable, so ladylike.  I may also have been under the influence of yarn-induced optimism.  You know how it goes - you fall in love with some really pretty yarn and you think you can do anything.  Knit a whole sweater in one evening?  No problem!  Sell a design to someone who doesn't want it?  Done!  So confident was I that it would be produced, that I ultimately bought yarn for it.  I loaded up on a great yarn that everybody loves and I had never tried.  I cast on, thinking that I might hear any time that the design had been picked up, and then I'd be ahead of schedule.

I just really liked the Knot Garden, and I wanted to make it for myself.  But it's hard to justify spending time and money on personal knitting, so I tried to work a profesisonal design out of it.  And then some project or other that actually held fiscal incentive came along, and  poor little Knot Garden got shelved.

The funny thing is how close to finished it actually is.  Here is the body, and there's a whole sleeve finished, too.

With your encouragement, Dear Blog, I bravely joined the shoulder seams last night, and worked a sweet and simple ribbed collar.  It's cozy, too - I tried it on, and I really like the way it hugs the back of my neck.

Knitting, it turns out, is just full of second chances.  There ought to be more of that in the world, no?