NaNOWriMo, Knitting, and Creative Impulse

Ever since I could put two thoughts together...

OK, generic bland story about how much I always wanted to be a writer SKIPPED! It's unimportant and boring. The point is: I've written poetry, written stories, and am now, quite unexpectedly, writing a novel in November. Doesn't that sound nice and rhythmic? Novel in November, novel in November. NaNoWriMo.

1667 words a day

To reach about 50,000 at the end of the month.

When I began to knit, and think of myself as a knitter, I wondered. Would my creative power as a writer be sapped? Was knitting a creative release, or simply a soothing and attractive outlet for stress? How do my knitting and writing fit together?

Really, I still wrestle with this question. But maybe I have a little bit of an answer, just a little.

I am a perfectionist when I write, and I have developed the deadly habit of abandoning stories, a common, but deadly infection of many writers. When I began to knit, this fear of unfinishing, combined with my fear of the dreaded SSS, fueled a quiet determination within me. Don't flake out, Genuine. Don't disappoint yourself.

I completed my first pair of socks in 17 days, complete with losing one needle and numerous froggings. I completed another pair of socks, one that I have used a lot since I finished them, and I need to whip out my needle to weave in a snagged area on one sock, and fix the hole in the gusset on theother. And I have two socks that need mates. SSS.

But somehow, it doesn't matter.

When I finished those first socks, I felt something. Accomplishment. Maybe astonishment that I could (insert tired cliche about pile of string magically becoming socks) Anyway, it kind of kicked me in the ass.

Is it only the second day of NaNoWriMo? Am I meeting the bare minimum of words? Yes. But somehow, knitting has not undone my writing, but fuels it. Some knitting I do is creative. But last night, at 2 in the morning, after meeting my word count, the most natural thing in the world to do was to pick up some soft, chunky alpaca and work on my moss-stitch scarf. Knowing that I would get up early. And I felt pride, both in those 1,695 words, and that scarf.