Supernatural elements

I've finished reading Ice by Louis Nowra and The Lacemakers of Glenmara by Heather Barbieri. The former is a blend of literary fiction and literary non-fiction. The latter would be found in the popular fiction section of a bookshop. Both have a strong sense of place.

Louis Nowra's novel (now out of print) conjures up vivid images of Scotland, Ireland, Melbourne at the end of the nineteenth century and Sydney in more modern times. The multiple strands of the plot are only revealed pixel by pixel. Heather Barbieri's novel is set in Ireland as seen through the eyes of the American stranger who just happens to be a designer and seamstress. As a reader I had a good idea about where the plot was going, but I was still happy to take the journey. I'm not convinced that the portrait of Ireland in the novel is authentic, however, hopefully Wolf Creek is not seen as an authentic portrayal of Australia either.

It took me a long time to read Ice, but I knew that I would come back to it and I think I was more satisfied by reading it over a period of months. I read The Lacemakers in one day, just because I was in the mood to read something with a straightforward plot.

What struck me about both novels is the way that supernatural elements and hauntings were interwoven into the story line - more so in the literary novel in fact - but also how easy both writers made it for the reader to take that leap.

Readers seem to have developed a sharpened appetite for paranormal elements in the past few years. I wonder why that is.

A project finished

Nothing to do with socks or crafting, but more satisfying in many ways.

Recently I received a present - a book that I'd dropped hints about wanting to read. Once I had it, I read it within a few days.

The Happiest Refugee is a memoir by Vietnamese-Australian comedian (and much more), Anh Do.

The style is anecdotal and this adds to the understated drama of the events that it covers. Much of it is funny, even in the midst of (or maybe because of) great hardship and tragedy. But what a story! I was left with a sense of a really amazing person and an equally amazing family.

Margaret Throsby conducted an interview on ABC Classic FM with Anh Do that can be downloaded from here.

Cheap frills

I have a friend who is a fashion fiend. She spent some time in Japan in the last little while and has well tuned antenae for fashion trends. Anne says that frills, especially neck adornments, are more popular than ever.

Also peplums. Basically frills attached to or just below the waist line. Fine if you have a waist!

Frills are quick to knit in some ways, especially if you have a scarf in mind , but can be tedious in others as the stitches are doubled or short rows are employed to provide curves. Here's a useful tutorial on different types of knitted frills.

Some days it goes well

and some days words only squeeze out one by one. Write two, delete one.

I'm writing a piece for an online journal - review of a non-fiction book. I have done a lot of preparation - maybe too much, but it has taken me about three days to generate a draft that looks anything like the end result that I have in mind. I'm way over the word limit and still I'm still doing write two, delete one. I started again three times thinking that it might all begin to flow if I just blurted it out afresh. Nup!

The deadline is looming but I have checked the email, put on a load of washing, tidied the house rather than sit down and grapple with it again.

Some pieces are like that.

Goodbye Solitaire, goodbye Freecell

A year well advanced and not much finished off. Maybe I'll change it to The Years of Starting Again and Again and Again.

This morning I started resolutely. I deleted Solitaire and Freecell from the main computer. Freecell - one word or two? I'm resisting turning on the laptop to find out. Already I'm amazed at how many times I've had the urge to play those games. Instead, I browsed websites that have Getting Organised/Organized as the subject.

On one website, in the context of cleaning and decluttering, I discovered a link to a video that shows you how to clean windows. And a link to another one that shows you how to clean an oven.

I wonder who watches things like that.

Making a list

But I had to make a song to go with it first. It's an unfinished song to the tune of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallejulah'. I particularly like the Choir of Hard Knocks version (you can see a short selection of it here), but kd lang is also hard to beat, even at the Logies.

A writer gets organised

I think about the life I’ve missed
And now I think I’ll make a list
Of things to do before life passes by me
And on the list is
‘Write some stuff’
Write it now, and write enough
Procrastinate no more and write it truly

Write it truly, write it truly
Write it truly, write it truly

I can do it but I need a shove
An iron fist in velvet glove
Get it down then prune it with a hacksaw
Lock me to
My writing chair
Chocolate, wine, a bit of air
And let me pick the cabbage from coleslaw

From the coleslaw, from the coleslaw
From the coleslaw, from the coleslaw

I know that I’ve been here before
The shirts I’ve washed hang on the door
And all of them I know are needing pressing,
I feel that I
Must clean my desk
So much dust it looks grotesque
It’ll be back next week so there’s no point in stressing

No point in stressing, no point in stressing
No point in stressing, no point in stressing

I’ll feed the cats, put out the bin
And notify the next of kin
I’ll be going incommunicado
When I get
The writer’s block
I’ll do some rows and finish Sock
I’ll be doing stuff and that is my bravado

My bravado,my bravado
My bravado, my bravado

If all I write is judged as shit
At least I’ll know I tried a bit
Who knows how times to come will score it
And even if
I go awry
It’s not as if I didn’t try
And told the story exactly as I saw it

As I saw it, as I saw it
As I saw it, as I saw it

Motivation strategies

Sock still stranded on the needles
Unfinished objects piling up
Not busy enough to finish this stuff

In misty, magical Daylesford there's an exhibition of Sheila Hollingworth's cartoons, part of the annual Words in Winter program. Sheila's quest to complete a cartoon a day based on the theme of Pet Hates reminds me of an article that I read in Textile Fibre Forum, by Inga Hunter, where a group of artists committed themselves to the idea of a Drawing a Day. The article featured some images of pages from a most beautiful journal with drawings and notes.

I can't possibly knit now. I'm starting a journal.

On sock knitting

I used to think knitting socks was a waste of time. Why would you? They are so cheap to buy and so on. And then my elder brother had a big birthday coming up and I decided that all I could give a man who had everything was a hand-knitted pair of socks. I added a personal message knitted in a contrasting colour close to the band.

I managed to finish the first sock for the Significant Birthday and then the second one for the Significant Birthday Plus One Year. Before long another of my brothers was due for a Significant Birthday, then a sister-in-law...
 
My next pair will be a pair of spiral socks. Spiral socks have no heels, but because they are made from a spiralling rib pattern that clings and massages the feet and legs, they fit well. They are good bed socks too. Each time they are washed, the indentations where the heels have been are smoothed out, which extends the life of the heel and probably the toe.

Good vegie knitting.

In my own defence - a reply to Sock

I can appreciate that it is no fun being jammed in my carry bag - all those redundant supermarket dockets, pen tops with no pens, dog-eared copies of The Big Issue, clean tissues just-in-case and the odd chocolate wrapper. But what happened was this-

I sat happily on the tram knitting. All good, no one sat next to me - something about the fear of double pointed needles. There's probably a fancy phobia with a Latin name for that - the best bet would be to look on airline websites to give it a name.

When I reached the city I had to put Sock In Progress in my bag. When one of the double-pointed needles jabbed me in the leg through the bag on a pedestrian crossing, I attempted to rearrange the configuration of needles. At this point, some stitches went freeform - they slipped cheerfully off one needle. On the odd occasions when I opened the bag, I thought I could hear some whooping noises.

I tried to put it out of my mind while I was shopping and to avoid disturbing the stitches so that I could pick them up later.

I tried to coerce them back on to the needle on the train ride home. Some of them are a bit twisted - having tasted freedom they don't want to go back on the needle and the ones that were already on the needle tightened up.

I don't know quite how to break this to Sock, but, assuming I finish both socks, they are destined for a someone's foot.

In this case, the journey seems a whole lot better than the destination.

Sock

I don't want to appear malicious
Or in any way repetitious
But
She was knitting on a tram
And dropped some stitches off
Consequently I find I am
Still a foot without a toe
Oh, woe

Tea cosy world

If this is a tea cosy, it must have been made in Australia. Right?

Australia seems to produce more tea cosy books per head of population than any other country in the world. For some inspiration, visit the works of Loani Prior or the Miles (Queensland, Australia) Tea Cosy Competition.

This is my prototype

Not posting, knitting

June flashed by with a click, clack of needles.
There was no time to post.
Projects finished - one feather and fan shoulder shawl in a beautiful superwash sock yarn by Lang. Knitted in two weeks - nothing like a deadline to focus the mind.
The yarn, Jawoll Magic, is dyed so it drifts from one colour to another, which has the effect of creating beautiful, but gentle, striping throughout. It has a soft feel to it and slips easily through the fingers.
I knitted it on 4.50mm needles and one skein was enough to cover the shoulders.
I forgot to take a picture before I gave it away to my mother for her 90th birthday, so I'll have to make another, won't I?

Sock now has a heel, but I'm hearing no gush of gratitude
'Oh, woe
I've got part of a foot
But still missing a toe'

Projects begun - the first of the patterns for a book I started in 2007. A practice piece will be revealed soon...

A novel finished, thoughts undone

I finished reading Come Inside a few days ago and I'm still processing it, struggling with it. Not in a bad way. It has been a long time since I read something that affected me that way. There are not many books that I've read in my life that I re-read to satisfy the urge to try and work out 'what happened' even though not much will be changed. This will be one.

It not a novel to read literally. It is read more on a sensory level (or that is the way I experienced it). This is clear from the structure when the reader opens it - the shifts of point of view and combination of bits. The only other novel I have read with a similar structure is Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods. O'Brien's novel is made up of fragments, also including (what look like authentic) primary sources, eyewitness accounts, different points of view and bits of narrative from various sources.

I didn't engage with O'Brien's characters in the way that I came to care very much about the women in Come Inside. I'm still trying to connect with them a bit more - the old thing of trying to make everything into a story.

The sense of place and time - particularly the Shipwreck Coast of Victoria in the 19th century - is pervasive. And the finer details of the voyeuristic ways that the locals responded to what was washed up on the shore is dealt with here in a way that is neglected in mainstream historical accounts.

The novel gives a real sense of the sensation that shipwrecks, such as the Loch Ard, caused in local communities. Then, as now, the best and worst of human nature was on show, although it is ironic that it took a work of fiction to show this with such authenticity.

Reading the novel also gave me the urge to re-read Jack Loney's book on the disaster or Don Charlwood's engaging stories of the Shipwreck Coast. Both are mentioned in a bibliography at the back of the novel.

Sock's Lament

recidivist n. one who relapses [into crime]

(tune) What about me?

Well I see you’ve bought some boucle back with needles from the yarn shop
While I’ve been waiting here, living with my fear
Of my stitches being ripped out to the top
Oh I hate to nag, but you’ve hit a snag
In the Year to Finish Off

[Chorus]
What about me, it isn’t fair
Socks need a heel, to walk somewhere
Can’t you see, please come and sit
Grab the needles and just knit

And I’m lying on the table and I'm worried I'm about to drop

I’m staring down the cats, they’d love to come and play

And once they do you know they’ll never stop
Once I hit the ground, so much wool around
You’d have to start it all again

[Chorus]
What about me, it isn’t fair
I'm half of one, you need a pair
Can’t you see, just how I feel
Please come and turn my blasted heel

[Bridge]
So take a step back and see abandoned projects
In lots of bags but they cry out that
Their yarns are still good
So listen, as they whisper
What about me

Still waiting on the table, I'm waiting for a heel that’s turned
Nothing’s changed, no stitches rearranged
Feeling like a lover who’s been spurned
With a bit of luck, you will pick me up
Then to the world I'll say

[Chorus]
Will you look at me, thought she didn’t care
I’m a hand knit sock, I'm a joy to wear
Slip me on, I’ll massage your feet
Just one more I’ll be complete

What about it?

Winners

Flourish flounced in. 'I'm this week's winner!'

'Only while you're out of reach,' said Moggie 1.

'And while the door is closed to keep us out,' said Moggie 2.

'Sod it!' said Sock, slinking off to sulk.

So much for that

'So much for that,' said Sock. 'Another week nearly gone and I'm still staring down the Moggies. I'm still a half calf not yet down to the ankle. I wouldn't mind, but it's been this way since February. And, unless you find an amputee, I need a twin.'

'C'mon,' says Flourish. I could almost see it point its fingers to its forehead. Thankfully it does not have one. I knew I shouldn't have worked on it while I was thinking about tennis. 'C'mon. Only two more rows to go.'

Yeah, Flourish, but those rows are 240 stitches each. And you've had a good run for a veggie project. You're supposed to be a support act you know, not the diva.

'Ugh! No need for clipped language, Flourish. And you may look a bit Victorian Gothic, but you don't know Gothic like I do,' says Come Inside. 'Come on , come inside. You know you want to. I've hooked you with my ghostly opening chapters and I know that you want to know more.'

'Forget them! Where's our dinner and when are you going to get another job?' the Moggies demand. 'We need to keep eating if you want to get any sleep, you know.'

A book, a flourish and turning a heel - this week's projects

Part of the reason for my bags of UFOs (Unfinished Objects) has to do my need for a complete absence of distractions once I pass the 'veggie knitting' stage of a project.

So I've started a project that, to tide me over until I find a quiet, cat-free hour and good natural light to turn the heel of a sock that I want to finish. (Uh-oh!)

It's a crochet scarf with a splendid name - 'Flourish'. A great word that has the lush sound of the sensation that it is describing, so who could resist a pattern with that name?

But Flourish and Sock will be competing with an intriguing novel that I purchased last week - and my ongoing search for a career change.

Come Inside is the first novel of Glenys Osborne and is the product of ten year's work. Now that's inspiring. While she was working on the novel, Glenys found time to write award winning short stories. Two of them, 'The feeder', 2007 and 'A house was built around you while you slept', 2008 won second prize in The Age short story competition.

After receiving baffled looks when I asked for it in bookshops, I ordered a copy. Then I saw that Readings have it in stock. Next time I'll go there first.

Taking a deep breath - a project completed

Take a piece of lace knitting that you’ve sweated over. Perhaps a feather and fan (old shale) shawl that you’ve found a pattern for on the internet (thanks Sarah!).

Wet it in tepid water, squeeze the water out gently, spin dry (only recommended if it has the ‘memory’ of wool) or roll in a towel. Then… take a deep breath…peg it on the clothes line. Not just the top edge but the lower edges too. Move the pegs and smooth out to accentuate the 'holes' from time to time.

Hours of work down the drain? Yet another cat blanket? Exhale. It works. And it’s quick. But if you are working with fibres other than wool, stretching, patting and pinning on a bed is safer.

Maybe you are the kind of person who would try it if others had not done it? I’m not. I was encouraged by by Liz Gemmell at a knitting workshop in late February at Grampians Texture - a series of weekend and whole week craft workshops in a beautiful setting. The 2011 Grampians Texture dates are here.

The focus of Liz's workshop was feather and fan. From a feather and fan fancier, I became a feather and fan fanatic. It’s such an easy pattern. And pegging it on the line turned my shawl from a non-descript looking garment into a graceful lace adornment.

It’s good to take a deep breath and leap into the unknown once in a while.

A Quest

I’m on a mission. I want to be more obsessive-compulsive about order in my house and find good homes for the things that I’m clinging on to. Starting with my wool stash.

Trust me, you may not be able to see the Great Wall of China from outer space, but my wool stash is clearly visible on a clear day. If I were a Trekkie I could be the Klingon of Klutter. But I’d rather eat gagh than use a ball of my most precious stuff to knit a garment that is usually too big or too small.

When I enter a wool shop I develop an automated response like the Borg. I assimilate yarns that come before me into my pile at home.

A trip to the Bendigo Sheep and Wool Show is a trap. I tell myself I’m going just to look at the sheep. Before long, I’m disarmed by the lustre of English Leicester, the luxurious staple of premium mohair or the silky smoothness of alpaca. Resistance is futile.

I’ve known for years that this stuff is weighing me down, but I can’t put it in garbage bags. In fact some of it is stuff that has come into my house in other people’s garbage bags from friends and mothers who have gone to that big wool sale in the sky.

Is there a way of being more ruthless about these acquisitions? How can I tap into my inner Ferengi?

And then there are the books and patterns...

This is my quest. A project a week in the Year of Finishing Off.