Listen up, people. I’m going to brag: I made this wreath in one night. Count ’em: ONE.
Christmas cheer, crochet-style
Of course, when you do something like make a wreath in one night, there is an inevitable trade off. In this case, it was the back:
BEHOLD, THE FRANKENWREATH!
The good news is that I can always display the Frankenwreath side on Halloween and really scare the shit out of people.
In other seasonally-related news, we took the kids to see the Griswaldian light display in Sunshine West last night and I found myself drawn one particular electro-nativity scene. While the other characters in the scene had their heads bowed in quiet contemplation, there was this one guy who was all “ZOMG!”.
Look closer. Perhaps he’s realised that he’s left the price tag on his bottle of myrhh or maybe he’s just worked out that he’s walked for six months to see a stupid baby in a barn.
“This is it?? Seriously, guys. WHAT. THE. FUCK.”
Anyway, I think the point here is that he would like us all to have a good Christmas. You know, to make up for the one he was denied.
Let’s do it for him.
A picture paints a thousand words and a tweet uses 140 characters. I’ll leave it up to you to do the maths.
In other news, I crocheted a donut. Consider yourselves warned.
So I haven’t posted on this blog for over a month. Nor have I crocheted a single granny square for over a month. There’s a reason for this.
You see, about a month ago I found myself collecting the little scraps of wool I had snipped off from the granny squares I was making for my Forever Blanket – you know, those multi-coloured mouse tails that litter most wool-based crafters’ homes? Those little fuckers. Anyways, it turns out that I was collecting these with the vague notion that I might make my own felt. Yes, my own felt.
WHAT THE FUCK.
It was this little wake up call that made me realise I needed to step away from the Forever Blanket (and its accompanying spreadsheet) for a little while and get some damn perspective. And it was then that I really started to write.
But rest assured, I haven’t put down my crochet
needle hook all together. Since I can’t write in front of the television, I still made the following gifts:
More god-damned coasters
And admittedly, even though I haven’t crocheted any squares, I have had a first stab at joining some of the existing squares together for the Forever Blanket.
3 rows done. 13 more to go. Pass the gin, please.
So that’s what I’ve done in the past month. What have you done? (And anyone who says they’ve written a whole novel or completed a 256-square blanket gets a chinese burn. Just saying.)
I recently completed the first 10,000 words of my ‘novel’ (cue: polite applause). Some might say that, now that I’ve reached that milestone, I could remove the single quotation marks away from that sentence, but where’s the fun in that?
Incidentally, I was recently told that with every 10,000 words you write of a novel, 10% of your ‘competition’ drops away. I can only logically conclude that, should I manage to write 100,000 words, I won’t have any competition left at all but will instead publish my own novel in an I Am Legend-type situation, with only a single canine companion left on earth to read it and a whole heap of zombies to then shred it with their alarmingly lupine teeth.
I wonder if zombies would have much use for ill-fitting fingerless gloves or crocheted coasters??
I’ve run out of brown wool. No, listen. I don’t think you understand the gravity of what I’m saying here. I’VE RUN OUT OF BROWN-FUCKING-WOOL.
What’s that, dear reader? You’re asking me to tell you how my Forever Blanket and/or my novel are going?
I’ll do more than tell you, I’ll *show* you…
Yep, I crocheted a pot plant cosy. Need I say more?
You may or may not be aware that I am currently trying to write a ‘novel’. Notice the discrete use of the word ‘trying’ in there? Trying to write is very different to actually writing. Trying to write a novel, involves taking up crochet instead and subsequently embarking on a Lord of the Rings Director’s Cut Extended Edition With Bonus Extras-sized project in the shape of my Forever Blanket. Trying to write a novel also involves crocheting random gifts that I never give people and then starting a blog so I can bitch about how crocheting these random gifts is stopping me from finishing my Forever Blanket. And trying to write a novel now obviously involves bitching on this blog about how all this bitching on this blog is stopping me from finishing my Forever Blanket, NOT TO MENTION MY NOVEL. Yes, there are so many levels to my procrastination that it’s starting to sound like the plot for the next Christopher Nolan film… WHICH I MAY AS WELL START WRITING NOW INSTEAD OF MY FUCKING NOVEL.
You know… now that I think about it, my Forever Blanket and my novel are similar in many ways. For both projects, I have tools to track my progress: Scrivener tallies up my word count across multiple documents and my extremely-very-sad Excel Spreadsheet keeps track of my squares. Thanks to these tools, I know I am 150 squares into my 256 square blanket and 5,006 words into my 80,000 word novel. I find these numbers very assuring. They make me feel that maybe, just maybe, I might actually be making progress… until I realise that I still have ONE HUNDRED AND SIX FUCKING SQUARES still to make and I’ve only completed SIX GODDAMN PERCENT of my novel and that BOTH these targets completely and utterly FAIL to take into account that I STILL HAVE TO JOIN together those 256 squares and EDIT those 80-fucking-thousand words. It’s at this point that I calmly decide that my time would be much better spent crocheting everyone in the household ill-fitting fingerless gloves that they’ll lose within hours or never ever be seen dead wearing. You know it makes sense.
My hand, modelling an ill-fitting fingerless glove, about to give myself a bitch-slap.