When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I spent my third trimester on bed rest. The drugs my doctors gave me to stop unwanted contractions made it impossible for me to read. I played countless hands of bridge on a laptop and I learned to knit.
A thoughtful cousin supplied me with a pattern, yarn and needles and she taught me how to cast on, cast off, knit, pearl, count stitches, etc. I made the baby who was causing me such trouble a sweater. Next I tried a pattern with multiple colors and I learned intarsia and how to carry yarn. By the time my oldest daughter arrived, I was hooked.
I quickly discovered the romance of new yarn. The colors, the feel and the possibilities fired my creativity. I bought more than I needed. I created a stash - I've since learned many knitters maintain one.
New yarn proved to be a siren's call. Just when a project seemed dull and never-ending, hand-dyed virgin wool or a clever eyelash skein could tempt me to begin something new.
And then there's the finishing. I find "finishing" a knitting project - sewing seams, weaving threads, blocking, etc... to be completely uninteresting. New yarn could always lure me away from finishing.
So, here I sit with a skein of new ideas and research. The new ideas seem so much brighter and more colorful than the writing projects that need finishing. The new ideas are begging to be written. Who am I to argue? After all, I finished all those sweaters - eventually.
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