I'm learning how to knit. I'd rather have someone teach me, and thus show me the proper techniques, but instruction is not to be had in this area. If I want to learn, I must teach myself. I'm making some mistakes, but in doing so, I'm learning how to knit correctly.Yesterday, as I knitted a fuzzy scarf (for that's all I can do at the moment), I took a moment to examine the project for errors. As I did, I marveled at the structure. Each stitch must be made consecutively and cannot stand on its own. The creator must tediously craft one stitch at a time, stitch by stitch, row by row. All with one long continuous piece of yarn.
Or in the case of this project, two pieces, which intertwines or runs parallel to one another. If a stitch drops, a hole appears, which is noticeable. The hole must be fixed or the project abandoned (and in my case, fixing it means tearing the piece apart and starting over. Oy.)As I searched for holes, I noticed the interdependency of the stitches, and points where the yarn intersected, and I realized knitting, in many ways, is like writing. We start with one idea and one word, and then we build on each. Consecutively. One word-->one sentence-->one paragraph-->one page-->one chapter. We write the next chapter in the same manner, but eventually, all chapters must be joined seamlessly so the work flows as one body.
I love the analogy.
And yes, I know the scarf is ugly--my first novel is as well (no instructor there, either. Thank the Lord for ACFW)--but Lion Brand was selling the kits for $4.99. Since I'm learning, and teaching myself, I don't spend a lot of money on yarn. If you need a scarf this winter, give me a shout. I have several. Some better looking than the others. You can't have the first scarf though--or the first novel. I have to keep those. Oy.