Linda Roghaar - KnitLit (too): Stories from Sheep to Shawl . . . and More Writing About Knitting

Oh, Linda! This is worse than walking into a yarn store!

Yeah, I know. Theres just so much stuff. I dont know what to pick.

The looming stacks of stories on our desks approached avalanche point. Stories about sweaters, sheep, grandmothers, boyfriends, babies, 9/11, dyepots, knitting disastersand then there were the poems, dozens of them. When we started to put together the first KnitLit book, we had about 150 pieces to choose from. This time, we had hundreds and hundreds. Whats the old saying, Nothing exceeds like excess?

So we started sorting. The first cut is always the easiest: There are pieces that are clearly excellent, pieces that are clearly no-gos, and a lot of pieces in the middle. But the second cut, choosing from that huge middle lot, was murder. Imagine many anguished conversations between your editors: But I really love this one! Yes, but weve already got seven others like that .

Making KnitLit Too was like designing a sweater from stash: You want to make it as varied as possible. We wanted stories from different places. We wanted stories by men as well as by women. We wanted stories to reflect more than the main KnitLit themes of fiber obsession and warm, loving relationships; we wanted dark colors to set off lighter hues, for light needs darkness to make it shine. We wanted stories to reduce us to damp piles of goo and stories to make us laugh so hard we got the hiccups (and yes, we got both). We wanted earthy and classy, urban and rural, plain and fancy, sexy and sacred.

What we didnt want was what we got: having to make extremely tough judgment calls. (Hint to contributors: Molly is much more ruthless than Linda.)

But we made them, and then we did a word count.

No, said our publisher, you may not hand in an extra twenty thousand words. Uh-uh. No way.

Oh, phooey, we said. Or words to that effect.

More cutting. More pain. Necessity, they say, is the smother of intention.

Trust us, people, this book should be of Harry Potteresque length; it should be as fatly, richly, nobly rounded as an 8-ounce ball of pure merino worsted. But we have behaved ourselves and kept it to the promised length. (Sigh.)

Here it is. Enjoy! (You should have seen the ones that got away .)

Linda Roghaar and Molly Wolf

IN WHICH WE TELL OF MATES, MOTHERS,
GRANDMOTHERS, CHILDREN, NIECES AND NEPHEWS,
GRANDCHILDREN, FRIENDS, COLLEAGUESALL THOSE
WITH WHOM WE ARE KNIT TOGETHER.

Our knitting heroine is a Canadian. This means that she must skate, whether she likes it or not. Let us assume that in this case, the operative word is not. She is, however, married to Darling, a Newfoundlander, and this means that the offspring of this union must skate, and often, and in inclement weather. Newfoundlanders are a hardy breed, and their only concession to the cold seems to be thrummed mittens. This particular Newfoundlander has yet to put on a hat or do up his coat this winter, despite severe cold. Our heroine only thanks her lucky stars every day that her children are girls, and she is thereby excused from taking them to hockey. (While girls are more than welcome to play hockey, it is still only mandatory for boys. With girls, people ask you if your girls play hockey, not on what team.)

It is Darlings lifes work to teach our heroine to skate backward, as he considers this a vital skill. Our heroine does sometimes try to imagine the circumstances under which her life could be saved by skating backward. Thus far, she has not succeeded. Still, because she is eager to be a good mother, she skates, if only frontward and as infrequently as possible.

Let us imagine for a moment, then, that our heroine is going skating, since it is only 15C (25C with windchill) and therefore warm.

Now, what would you do if you had to go somewhere you didnt want to go, in order to do something that you find boringbut that leaves your hands free?

Thank you for your instant understanding. Our heroine packed the bed socks that shes currently working on because they are on 6-millimeter plastic double-pointed needles that arent likely to freeze to her fingers, as metal needles would.

When her skating party reaches the pond, dependable Darling ties up all their skates and they stand up to head for the ice. Our knitting heroine reaches into her backpack, assembles her knitting, tucks the ball of yarn into her coat pocket, and takes a step, airily acting for all the world like this is perfectly normal.