It seems I start a lot of posts (either in reality or in my head) by apologising for the loss of my yarny mojo. Indeed, this affliction is not limited to knitting: I seem to have stalled on a horrible number of projects in pretty much any fibre-based medium you care to mention. One of BlogHer’s earlier prompts for NaBloPoMo was to describe your writing space: I had initially planned to describe my crafting space (generally known as the Wool Room), complete with photos, as I initially thought it would be a more interesting proposition than just writing “whichever end of the sofa Stephen isn’t sitting on” in large letters under the title. However, a brief look through the door was enough to convince me that I couldn’t photograph that troll-cave of a workspace, to paraphrase Allie Brosh, in its current state. Maybe I could do it later in the month, but, for the moment, there’s no way that any sane person should see the carnage that’s going on behind the door.
My problem is only partly startitis (the knitterly condition in which one casts on numerous new works in process, only to let them languish in your yarn bag after the first few rows). It’s also a form of pre-startitis, in which I plan immense amounts of projects, buy or dig our the raw materials, tools and patterns, and then proceed to do absolutely nothing about starting the actual work. Zilch. Nada. I don’t even have the warm, fuzzy feeling of having started the project, which means you can at least console yourself with the thought that one day you will finish what you started. Instead, I have large, accusatory piles of fabric, yarn and unspun fibre, books and magazines, quilt wadding and crochet hooks strewn about every available surface in the wool room, as well as the floor. The crochet hooks are particularly ridiculous: I can’t crochet beyond the most limited sort of granny square, but I evidently hold a belief that I can learn by some sort of osmotic process, just by leaving enough of the requisite tools around.
It’s not even as if I’m picking hard projects: I recently bought this fabulous cheater quilt top from Spoonflower: if you like owls, I would urge you to have a look at this, as it is absolutely gorgeous in the flesh, so to speak. Or, at least, the unquilted top is gorgeous, even if I have not actually managed to assemble into any sort of quilt sandwich yet. I think I may need someone to give me a virtual slap over this: it’s not as if I really need to do anything: there’s no designing, no complicated piecing. It’s just a question of putting some wadding between two layers of fabric, and breaking out the running stitch, for goodness’ sake. Somehow, though, the constituent parts are still strewn about the wool room. The footstools I am recovering have suffered a similar fate: one has had a shiny new cover for the last few months. The other still has its old, tatty cover, while the paltry three – count’em – pieces of fabric I need to make the replacement remain unsewn.
I’m hoping that NaBloPoMo, with its attendant need for bloggable material, might give me the impetus to finish a few of these projects. I’m realistic about the likelihood of my learning to crochet any time soon (it’s slim), but I am sure I can at least manage to put together Eoin’s new winter jumper, or finish the braid of fibre which I started spinning in May. May! Seriously, I need a good shaking, don’t I?
I’m trying to sort myself out, in a creative sense. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with some pictures of the aforementioned part-finished spinning project. It’s a merino/soya blend from L Hogan, colourway “Bathing Suit”, which I bought in This is Knit, the last time I was in Dublin. As you can see from the unspun fibre I have left, it was pretty crazy in the braid, but I’m hoping it will come shading calmly from one colour to another.
Wish me luck: I really hope that, before the month is out, I’ll proudly be showing you a finished skein of plied yarn. After all, I haven’t got much roving left to go, and plying’s way faster than spinning. Right?