Lessons of a spinning n00b: an apology to the Cheviot

I’ve been doing some thinking about the Cheviot of Sad, and about what I wrote last week. Specifically, about the claim that I like crunchy, wooly wool, and how incongruous that claim was with how I actually felt about such a wool. Do I really like wooly wool, I wondered, or do I just like to think of myself as the sort of person who likes wooly wool, in the same way that in my twenties I liked to think of myself as the sort of person who read Nietzsche, and so carted that copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra through eleventy…

You can’t love ’em all

Once again, it’s been too long between posts. Most of October was taken up with putting together submissions for magazines, which cannot be posted about on pain of…well, rejection. I’m also working on a couple of new designs, which are too early in the process to be written about; it’s almost as though exposing them too young will cause failure to thrive. Then November hit, and with it the annual urge to knit ALL the presents. I succumbed this year, against my better judgement, and of course I can’t go posting those projects all over the internets, lest my family…