If only

You could knit your way to a revision, making a book new with a set of needles and a skein of yarn. If only it were that easy, and life gave you this:

blanket

instead of this:

notes

I’ve been struggling hard with the first 20 pages of this book, trying in this draft to get the rhythm, voice, cadence and timing right to these characters and story. It’s a bitch. I’ve been in these pages again and again, and yet the stitches remain so tangled, it feels like I’ll be ripping back forever. I sit at my desk, I sit at the dining room table, I lie on the couch. I read novel openings from all the books on my shelf. I am so close, I can feel the paragraphs and pages on my tongue and my finger tips. I long to see the words line up the way they should. I keep knitting, keep ripping back.

Some day, eventually, I’ll stroll off in these:

pinksocks

Until then, there is just this, the reminder of where I’ve been:

draft

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