Rip It Out: A Knitting Metaphor

Once upon a time, I knit horrific scarves. Lopsided. Dropped stitches. The width in the middle was nowhere near the measurement of the width at the ends. For me, a beginning knitter, I was simply happy to finish something that vaguely resembled a clothing accessory that a human being might wrap around his or her neck to keep warm in the winter.

I used a lot of fun fur. For you non-knitters I included the link. Fun fur, while a pain to work with, is VERY "forgiving." What does forgiving mean? Hides your screw-ups really well. This is the writing equivalent of choosing your grandma for a beta reader . . . without knowledge of what back story dumps are, she will find your digressions "interesting." She is a forgiving reader. As are a lot of people. What you want are exacting knitting professionals.

Anyway, recently, I learned how to knit lace. I call it knitting holes. You add a fake stitch on one side (called a "yarnover") but then knit the fake stitch on the other side. It creates a hole . . . put enough of them together, and it makes a kind of lace.

At ONE point, I would have been happy, like I said, with a scarf that looked like feral wolf children in the wild had knit, but now I am a lot fussier. I want neat scarves. And now that I have MOVED ON from scarves, I want neat lace.

I had knit a LOVELY ruffle, and several rows of lace on a shawl in a beautiful ruby red angora when I realized to my astonishment, that I read the pattern wrong. And it showed. Horribly. I tried to "finesse" fixing the lace but keeping the ruffle (which was perfect!). Um . . . guess again. I couldn't QUITE finesse that. So, I was left with one option.

Going nuclear on my shawl.

I had to rip the ENTIRE thing out and start over.

And I was happy about it.

Not happy as in "Gee, I want to do all this over," but happy as in , "Gee, I really want this to be beautiful when I am done so when I donate it to a nursing home, some lonely person is going to feel very loved . . . and it will be perfect."

Now, there's no such thing as a perfect shawl. Just as there is no such thing as a perfect book.

But at some point, every writer . . . at least I believe every writer . . . will come to a painful crossroads. They will know JUST enough about writing to know that what they have on their hands isn't quite good enough.

It will be a nagging thing. This dropped stitch staring them in the face. Logically, they may tell themselves that worse stuff gets published every day. Just as, I am sure, a person in a nursing home or homeless shelter, where I send a lot of my stuff, may just be grateful for a warm blanket . . . but doesn't EVERYONE deserve something beautiful and extraordinary once in a while? Listen to that voice that tells you to rip it out.

Good enough won't cut it anymore. And sometimes the only choice is going nuclear. But take it as a sign of progress. I would NEVER give one of my old scarves away. They're THAT bad.

Progress.

Rip it out.

Go nuclear.

Thoughts?

Demon in Diapers

There is a myth--especially among women--that you can have "it" all--whatever it is. You can have a career, a perfect house, perfect kids, perfect pets, a perfect marriage . . . and not break a sweat. This myth is perpetuated by women who resemble the Stepford Wives, who never let you peek at their imperfection. Their kids are all "gifted," and their car doesn't look like a candy factory and a cereal truck crashed and imploded on the upholstery with a demon child spraying a giant juice box.


As a writer, I have a great life--I don't punch a clock, and I get to work in my pjs. I get to make stuff up for a living. But in order to do that with four kids, three dogs, and no nanny, I have to give myself permission to have a messy house, imperfect children, and a wardrobe that consists of jeans, a t-shirt, and bare feet. As a writer, I also learned that Newton's Third Law really does exist. With four kids, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Thus:

• If you have just cleaned the kitchen and mopped the floors, the baby will decide to "paint" said floor with a juice box.
• If you have just deposited an advance check in the bank, one of the following will occur: the A/C unit will need to be replaced, the roof will spring a leak, or one of your kids will need a big fat tuition check paid.
• White shirts and mothers do not mix. Enough said.
• When you don't have a deadline, the baby will be sweet and cuddly and undemanding, and your teenager will have no crises. If you DO have a deadline, the baby will exhibit demonic tendencies and your teen will affirm that the Anti-Christ has taken up residence in the fourth bedroom.
• Those neighbors? The ones with the Barbie households? They will drop by when you're gotten so insanely busy that three days of dishes are in the sink, and a science experiment seems to have sprouted in adolescent son's room.

These are just a small glimpse of the life of a writer-mom or, more realistically, mom-writer. I think it's really easy to read blogs and to see this external author and think it's easy . . . and/or pretty. And it isn't. Realizing that is half the battle. You don't have to be perfect. When you let go of that idea . . . you're more free to write.

Has anyone else decided to let some things go? Let go of perfection?