Sock Architecture Cover and the Yarn

The work on Sock Architecture continues apace. The team at Cooperative Press and I are pretty excited about it!

...and just in case you're wondering, all of the sock yarns in the book are Simply Sock Yarn Solids by Simply Socks Yarn Company.

Allison, founder of Simply Socks and generally all-around awesome person, supported my book from the get-go and even helped me choose the ten colors for the socks. I'm a bit scared of color and was worse when this project started. If it had been up to me, I probably would have just run the gamut from Brown to Natural!

I can't say enough good things about this yarn, and I swear it's not just because it's in my book. I made Dee's Moss and Diamond Socks using that yarn and, after 2 years and 9 months of being worn and machine-washed at least once a month (I machine-wash most socks and hang them to dry), they really almost still look brand-new. It's soft, tough, reliable and not too expensive. You don't find all of those things, at the same time, very often. Also, seriously, check out the stitch definition on that particular pair. AMAZING. 

It Happens...

I have a new pair of slippers: Sherwood Slippers.

They are a little less structured than some of my others, but I really like them. I decided I wanted to offer sizes, this time. They go from women's small to men's large. Knit on large needles, they are a super-fast knit. (This is good, since every relative who has seen a pair wants some.)

I sent the pattern out to testers and got some notes back - the slippers were unusually large. Like, maybe a whole size larger than I meant for them to be. The ones I knit, in women's medium, fit my size 8.5 feet and Dee's size 6.5 feet (with socks), so I couldn't figure out what was wrong.

I popped open the spreadsheet and fiddled with numbers. I had accidentally figured out the circumference needed for the slippers by using the length measurement. Whoops! No wonder they were too big. I worked up some revisions and will try again...

Book Folder, #1

This is the first folder for the book. It's stuffed with yarn samples, swatches, and the scribbles of my notes on quasi-patterns as I knit through what I wrote. I hauled it around in my knitting bag. In quiet morning moments and during lunches alone, I wrote out, by hand, my ideas and formulas, trying to peel back three-dimensional shapes into sets of numbers that made sense.

Stapled into the front of the folder: every receipt for all of the yarn provided for Simply Socks Yarn Company. Stapled into the back: a chart of foot/sock sizes.

When I started revising the book, I made a new folder. It allows me not to be so overwhelmed, but I can still keep my old notes in case I need them for later.

Journalists are terrible about either keeping or losing everything. I'm trying to stay somewhere in the middle. Still, something tells me that I will hold onto this folder for a very long time.

Call Me Kip

I'm reading The English Patient at night, before I go to sleep. As usual, if you like the movie, you'll probably love the book, since it's better.

I have something in common with Kip.  I work better when I have music to focus my mind. It has to be in a language I don't know. I wrote, and am now revising, my book while listening to various versions of Don Giovanni.

I'm glad I'm untangling my own mistakes and cleaning up words instead of bombs, though.

Writing, Revising, and Startitis

A tiny preview of something in my book.

"Startitis" happens for a reason. Casting on a project is way more fun than sewing on buttons or darning in ends, at least for me.

I'm working on the first round of edits for my first book. I say this hoping it will not be my last book. I'm on the stage that feels like choosing buttons. I'm not even to sewing on buttons, yet!

Editing, even though it is so important to good writing, isn't quite as much fun as writing, for me. It takes discipline. You have to love and hate your writing at the same time. Love it enough to spend time reading it carefully. Hate it enough to cut, delete, and change it.

There's a saying in the news business for a hard-nosed editor: "She doesn't mind killing other people's words." (In reality, that phrase is put in a way that is much colder, but I don't want the Google results that might come up if I use the one I know best.)

It is painful to realize that I have written something out in 2 pages what I can re-write in half a page. But, it's exciting to see that half a page when it is finished...and to realize that the half page maybe wouldn't have been possible without the 2-page draft that came before it.

I felt better about my ambiguous relationship to rewriting when I read A Moveable Feast. There's a section where Hemingway damns Stein's writing with faint praise. He writes about her great affection for writing, and how much she loves turning it out on a daily basis. But. She doesn't edit, rewrite, or even read her proofs for herself.

"This book (The Making of Americans) began magnificently, went on very well for a long way with stretches of great brilliance and then went on endlessly in repetitions that a more conscientious and less lazy writer would have put in the waste basket."

OUCH! I hope no one says something like that about me. I know some of my weaknesses. I tend to hyperbole. I use too many words when fewer will do. I'm trying to fix that, now.

Folder As Timeline

I use physical folders to bring together the few non-digital things I create as I'm working on a pattern. It holds my swatches, my first draft of the pattern with my notes, and any sketches I draw by hand. All of the folders go into one storage file, so that I don't lose them. The patterns, samples, and swatches for my book are all in their own storage file box. (I borrowed this idea from Hunter Hammersen, and I love it.)

In theory, it could ALL be digital, but I still end up with some physical stuff because I find proofreading (and making notes while knitting) on paper easier.

As I near the launch date for a pattern, I like to use the outside of the folder to outline finishing-touch goals for myself, with deadlines. I have a terrible memory and if I don't write things down, I literally lose sleep because I'm so worried that I forgot something.

The pattern is back from the tech editor (the lovely Stephannie Tallent), so all I have to do now is add some finishing touches to get ready for the pattern's pre-release next week. 

Adorable Baby and Lighting

One of my friends agreed to let me photograph her adorable 3-month-old in the sample of Keys to the Castle. We made a date for me to come over on my lunch hour one day. It was a fun shoot. He is a super-relaxed and happy baby. The weather was pretty warm - in the upper 70s. I wouldn't have been cheerful if someone wrapped me in a wool/mohair/silk/cashmere sweater!

The sweater was a little big on him, but I think it still looks really cute. That might all be him, though. I tried three different methods of lighting him. They all work, just in different ways.

From first set of photos, light from handheld strobe, bounced off white ceiling. Color on sweater looks good, but skin tones can get a little strange with this method.

Second set of photos. This is all natural light coming in through the front door. In many homes, this is your best bet.

I'm still using a strobe, bounced off the ceiling, here, but I've lowered the shutter speed of the camera to allow more of the room's light to come in.

This last method usually gets pretty good color, but a fit of the cute squirmies can lead to somewhat blurred photos!

Illustrator and the Self-Publishing Knitter

I realize that Illustrator is out of reach for a lot of people. I wouldn't have it myself if I didn't have the entire Adobe suite because I teach photojournalism at a local college.

I'm hardly an expert on that software, but I know Photoshop and InDesign pretty well, and a lot of the controls are similar, so I don't feel completely lost. I decided not to redraw the whole sweater in Illustrator. I wanted to see what it would look like if I took a photograph of the sweater and used it as a basis for the schematic. I also could have used my original sketch, but I think the photo looks better.

I pulled a flat photo of the sweater into Photoshop, turned most of the background completely white, and imported it into Illustrator. Then, I just drew the lines and ovals I needed to show the measurements and added a few numbers with the Text tool.

It looks pretty clear to me. Although, I should probably whittle away a little more at that background and add a measurement for the length of the sleeves. The arrowheads are also maybe a little too big?

P.S. - If you want to learn new-to-you software in a way that's fast and easy, I can't recommend Lynda.com highly enough.

Shooting (and Editing) Photos

The draft/test/sample version of Keys to the Castle knit up in a flash. I couldn't seem to put the little knit down, even when I was supposed to be doing other things at home.

After washing and blocking, I was ready for photography. I have a photo tiny studio in the corner of the living room. It's a little bit more sophisticated than this $12 set up, but it's not too far off. I have white paper instead of foil and two small strobes for lighting. (If you want info on how I choose strobes, I wrote about it here. One of mine was my mom's when she was in college.)

I shot the little sweater, along with all of the details I thought I needed, and one little one of it folded over that I couldn't resist. I am a huge sucker for detail and close-up shots of knitting and I always just kind of hope that people don't think that's really strange.

I pulled the photos into Photoshop, color corrected them and removed the spots that are a fact of life when you're using a 10-year-old digital camera. Then, I opened them all at once and looked at them, together, to make sure their colors match. Even in a studio-like setting, different angles will make the light bounce differently off of the fiber. I've noticed this is especially obvious with yarns that include silk, like this one.

Checking Color

Color is color and there's no such thing as perfect, but I want the colors to be as close to 1) reality and 2) each other as possible. 

I'm pretty thrilled!

So far, I've used Word, Google Docs, Adobe Acrobat, a Nikon D100, some really old strobes, an iPhone (to record video and shoot the first hand-drawn sketch), and Photoshop. I'm planning on using Illustrator to make a simple schematic, Premiere to edit the video, and a free Vimeo account to host the final video. Oh, and yarn, needles, and a little Soak. Does Netflix count as a design tool?

It takes a lot to do what looks so simple.

Coming Up: Illustrator and an Adorable Baby Model (not both at the same time.)

Good Editing = Good Writing

Kate, who is just so adorable.

Years ago, one of my favorite teachers told me, "Good writing can't happen without good editing."

He was doubly correct when it comes to writing knitting patterns.

You can have a lovely knit sample and gorgeous photography for a pattern, but nothing can make up for unclear, ambiguous writing or mathematical errors.

If there's anything I've learned from working as a journalist, it's that no one, no matter how talented, experienced or careful, can be trusted to truly edit his or her own writing. At the absolute minimum, I firmly believe that every pattern should be printed out and read by at least one person who is not the original author. If nothing else, they might catch a grammar or spelling error.

Why does a grammar or spelling error matter to a knitter? Consider the relationship between a photographer and her subject. Some people are so nervous about having their picture taken that the slightest hesitation or misstep on the photographer's part blows apart their confidence entirely. They bail. They cut and run, at least emotionally. They challenge and criticize. Good photography might happen under those conditions, but great photography will be almost impossible.

A spelling error in a knitting pattern, even in the preamble that a lot of people don't take seriously, shakes the knitter's confidence. They may have paid good money for this pattern that looks like a rough draft.

Worse, and hiding in a thicket of k1 and p2, is a Math Error. This is often enough to destroy the knitter's confidence in the pattern, the designer, and even his or her self as a knitter. It's horrible.

Fortunately for all of us, there are people who have trained in the art and science of avoiding both. They're called Technical Editors, but they really should be called Pattern Guardian Angels.

I was really lucky and landed a great one with Knitty, Kate Atherley. She was prompt, gentle and kind. It takes a special kind of person to point out that you made a big, honking mistake without making you feel like an idiot.

Even better, when my pattern used a technique that she hadn't used before, she picked up yarn and needles and TRIED IT. (And, whew, said it worked.) That, ladies and gentlemen, is super awesome.

So, raise your needles (or hook, or spindle, or shuttle) in salute to the humble technical editor, who doesn't even always get credit for his or her work. Without them, we would all be sending each other many less-than-happy messages on Ravelry.