I finally finished Anna’s legwarmers, just in time for ballet class to start again next month. She loves them. I had to make her take them off and put them in her ballet bag so she wouldn’t goober them. The picture shows them while they were still on the dpn’s. They didn’t take very long, once I made myself sit still and knit them, and they certainly weren’t difficult (it’s stockinette all the way with ribbing at the top and bottom).

As I was making the legwarmers, I was also working on knitting two socks on one 40″ circular needle as described in the book, 2-at-a-Time Socks by Melissa Morgan-Oakes. I certainly like the concept: no keeping track of rows to make sure each sock is identical, no single-sock syndrome. But while the method is not difficult to learn, it is awkward and time consuming. I don’t feel that I’ve gotten into the groove with this method, so that may be where the awkward feelings come into play. Still I can’t justify continuing to struggle with learning this method when I love working with double-pointed needles. I like the rhythm of the never-ending circle, the brief pause to switch needles again and again and again, the tube of yarn I’ve created focusing my thoughts…

So my next project, when I’m bored with fussing with the 2 sock deal, is gloves for my mother. (Shhh, don’t tell).

“What’s in your head, in your head…?”

I get that lyric from The Cranberries’ mid-90s song Zombie stuck in my head sometimes, but I must confess that my head is more likely to be crammed with story ideas than with thoughts of war on most days. Today after writing a whole scene (HOORAY!) I got to thinking about what’s in my head again, or rather how my head thinks. I once read one of those how-to-be-a-writer books that described coming up with story ideas as coffee in a percolator. You put the idea in your head and it percolates until it’s ready to be written. I’ve always described it as having ideas running around my head and when they’re ready I grab them.  But here’s the cool visual: the ideas are runners on a track. I picture them during circuits in my brain. Sometimes one rests on the bench; he’s getting nowhere. Sometimes one idea sparks another, like passing a baton. Sometimes they’re all running at once, whizzing by so fast that I can’t reach them. Sometimes two ideas are neck in neck and I can’t decide which one to write.

Anyway, that’s what’s in my head. What’s in yours?

At the library before our vacation last week, I decided to stray from my serious reads and go for something light. I picked up some book with NPL’s thriller label on the spine, a book of Irish short stories and a book of what must be what they mean by chick lit. I’ve stayed far away from chick lit because the subject matter is not appealing. The characters always seem to live in a big city and are single bed-hoppers (or married bed-hoppers). But I came across this book, The Queen Gene by Jennifer Coburn, and thought it looked like a light, funny read. It showed promise: the narrator’s mother is dramatic and flamboyant and generally well-drawn by the end of the first chapter. But by the end of the second chapter, with sentences like “I couldn’t help notice how well his thick gray sweatshirt expanded across his chest” and agonizingly long descriptions of random things crammed into the narrative, I lost all interest in the mother and patience with the book.

And I was frustrated. Why isn’t my book out there yet? Clearly you don’t need to write very well; “kinda good” will suffice. Part of my problem (aside from time) is a lack of confidence in my story ideas. In my college workshops my writing was labeled feminist (cringe!) simply because it featured strong female characters. Maybe it’s like therapy: you can’t control how others perceive your writing, so just write what you want. So I will write, and I will write well, and I will not worry whether it will someday be shelved as chick lit.

I’ve been singing that to the tune of “Whistle While You Work” since reading Diver Dan’s Twitter feed this morning about how he blew his casino budget last night. He seemed a bit surprised when I told him I knew about it when we talked on the phone today. I had to remind him I follow him on Twitter.

What? You don’t know about Twitter? One of the many perks of being married to Diver Dan is that I’m exposed to technologies that I would be clueless about otherwise. Diver Dan taught me some HTML when we were first dating in ‘96 and later introduced me to Google. Now I do PC support for our mothers, maintain the kids’ Web site, troubleshoot the wireless network… But back to Twitter. It doesn’t have many practical applications for the SAHM who wants to be a writer (”What are you doing?” I’m writing the Great American Novel. I’m writing the Great American Novel. I’m feeding the rugrats Mac and Cheese. I’m writing the Great American Novel.) But when Diver Dan is off at his various conferences (Oracle Conclave, anyone?) it’s great to keep up with his adventures. It’s like my own personal Show Daily. I highly recommend using it to anyone with a traveling partner.

My memory is very sensory, mainly auditory and olfactory. Play me a song and I can call up a myriad of events tied to it, or feelings, or states of mind. Ditto for scents (for instance, under no circumstance should you ever give me any Yankee Candle floral fragrance — the scent immediately and accurately recalls first trimester nausea). This ability is quite useful as a writer. When I’m writing a scene about a teenager, I like to listen to songs from my teen years. I like to think that the music tricks my mind into thinking like a kid again and allows for more realistic dialogue and characterization. Plus, it’s just plain fun.

“Desperado, you’d better come to your senses…”