By Charlotte Hinger
"I simply don't understand this second sock syndrome," said my friend Angela. "I'm Virgo and German and it wouldn't even occur to me not to knit the second sock."
This was in reply to my friend, Karen, also a member of my knitting group that I've attended since I moved to Fort Collins. Karen said she had at least 22 single socks. She couldn't bring herself to knit the same sock twice. It was dull to use the same yarn again for the very same pattern.
Sadly, it's true I hate to knit that second sock. Above is my valiant attempt to knit two socks at once on magic loop needles.
Angela and Karen's back and forth brought to mind the sheer tedium of wrestling with multiple drafts of a book. At some point books are no longer fun. And yet. . . .
There's a special thrill when authors find just the right word, when plots click into place, when we can't tear ourselves away from the work.
I worked hard on the above pair of socks. There was sense of pride when I successfully turned the heel.
There was a sense of pride last week when a really difficult plot screwup got straightened out.
I'm home free on the sock. It's straight knitting from now on.
As to the book, this is the stage where I try for the perfect word. Recently I read Charlotte McConaghy's Wild Dark Shore. The accumulated effect of powerful language coupled with her magnificent plot can't have been accidental.
I would love to know how many drafts she went through.
