Although I have a lot of experience knitting, I still make mistakes all the time.
Every garment I have ever knitted has included at least one mistake. Some of them are minor enough to ignore and some are major enough that they need to be ripped out and redone. But in the choose-your-own adventure game of knitting, learning to embrace these mistakes is part of the fun.
My mom said that one of the best sweaters she ever knitted involved turning a mistake into a feature.
She was three quarters of the way through the torso of a bottom-up sweater when she realized she wasn’t going to have enough yarn to finish it. With strategic planning, she added widening stripes in a second color and between the two colors, she had just enough yarn to finish the sweater. Problem solved! She said she used to get compliments on that sweater all the time.
Every sweater I’ve ever made has been a learning opportunity.
In elementary school, I made myself a cowl-neck pink sweater, only to discover that I hated the way the Pepto Bismol pink yarn looked on me. No more pink sweaters for me!
In college, I knitted a “Charlie Brown” sweater out of yellow yarn and black for the zig-zags. I didn’t know how to carry my floats across the big changes of color, so what I ended up doing was knitting the sweater in yellow and then using a tapestry needle to embroider the black stripes as a second layer of needle-point. I later sold this sweater and the young woman who bought it was so thrilled she put it on immediately after purchasing it, even though it was 90 degrees outside. (My only regret is that I wish I had taken a picture of it before I sold it.)
In college, I knitted my first Aran cable sweater. I made the design and pattern myself using graph paper and multiple swatches. This sweater took me nine months. I am so proud of this sweater. It is definitely a flex item that I whip out to show people — “See! I can knit!”—even during the years when I didn’t knit.
But even with this personal masterpiece, you can see a mistake where I forgot to cross one of the cables. I didn’t notice it until several inches past the mistake. At that point, I had a decision to make: I could either unravel several days-worth of work, or I could just accept the imperfection and move on. That’s what I did. Now, with the help of YouTube, I know how to fix this type of mistake by only unraveling a small portion, and not the entire sweater.
One of my favorite sweaters is this blue raglan zip-up cardigan I made for my husband. I love everything about it: the colors, the fit, the style. I got the free pattern on Knitty. With this sweater, I learned about using smaller needles for the ribbing, and how to knit a double-layered hem and stand-up collar. It fits my husband perfectly.
He even has even worn it to the office. “Ooh, somebody loves you!” the office matrons would exclaim. Out of all the sweaters I made, this is the closest I’ve come to perfect execution. But even here, I can’t help but notice my sloppy finishing—how I didn’t choose a matching color thread for the zipper, so my stitches are still visible. (Note: This sweater was immune from the Sweater Curse because I made it after we were already engaged.)
Around this same time, I also knitted a red sweater for my brother. It was also a raglan-sleeve cardigan with a front zipper, and it had a beautiful eyelet design on the sleeves. Unfortunately, I did not wash both the sweater and the zipper before I sewed the zipper in. The first time the cardigan got washed, the cotton yarn of the sweater stretched out and the zipper remained the same, so the whole front of the sweater looked puckered and bunchy. The zipper had to be ripped out, and I never got around to sewing it back in, so now it’s a loose cardigan. Nevertheless, my brother still has the sweater, and he still wears it once in a while, even though it’s been fifteen years since I gave him that sweater.
The green wool sweater I made for my husband for our first anniversary was a lesson on why it is so important to a) ensure your gauge is correct before you begin casting on, and b) try things on as you progress. I bought eight skeins of premium hunter-green wool. In my enthusiasm as a newly married woman, I didn’t bother with making a gauge and instead cast on the recommended stitches in the pattern. I knit it in the round, and the proportions looked right to me sitting on my lap. What could go wrong?
What I should’ve done is stop at the bottom 4 inches, put it on waste yarn, and have my husband try it on. At that point, I would’ve seen my error. But that’s not what I did. I didn’t stop to check the measurements until after the sweater was already completed and sewn together. And then… oh no! The gauge was totally off.
My husband has the physique of a tall viking. He is six foot three and weighs 200 pounds. He fills a doorway. He is tall enough to reach up and touch the ceiling in most rooms. But even this sweater looks like it was made for a man four times his size. The sleeves hang down to his knees. It pools around him like a wizard’s robe. Who did I make this for? The Jolly Green Giant?
My sweet husband—the darling man!—still adores this sweater. This is his cozy-oversized comfort sweater. This is what he puts on in winter (with the cuffs rolled multiple times) as we all cuddle on the couch as a family to watch a movie.
For years, I would look at the sweater and the perfectionist knitter part of my brain sometimes thinks about unraveling it and trying again. But then I look at my husband’s face… how happy he is, and how loved he feels every time he puts on this sweater. And I know I will never unravel this sweater. My husband loves this sweater just as he loves me: flaws and all.
That being said, writing this blog post inspired me to give it another go. With the experience I’ve gained since knitting my husband his oversized sweater, I realized I only need to unravel the sleeves just a little to shorten them. With my husband’s permission, I shortened the sweater sleeves and sewed them back on. It only took me about 20 minutes, and now the sweater fits him perfectly. This goes to show that even after 15 years of marriage, it’s never too late to make adjustments if you’re willing to put in the effort.
The year of The Big Green Sweater, I used the leftover green yarn to knit my mother a shawl-neck pullover. It was a Debbie Bliss pattern that I absolutely loved. (I love her patterns.) But this particular pattern came with a slight flaw where the capping on the set-in sleeves is a little too long and the result is that when you sew it all together it kind of looks like it has puffed sleeves… or like it needs some rad 1980s shoulder pads. As soon as she put it on, I could see immediately that it wasn’t quite right.
Like a good mother, she oohed and aahed over the sweater. She even fixed it somewhat by using a needle and thread to sew a tuck into the shoulder to hide the extra fabric.
But the twist came ten years later, when she gave me a Christmas shawl made from…. “Oh my god! Is that my green sweater?!”
I couldn’t believe it. She had unraveled my green wool sweater, turned it into a poncho, and re-gifted it back to me. Such is the danger of giving a knitted gift to another knitter: they see everything as potential material. Nothing is sacred.
In her defense, she did keep my ill-fitting sweater for a whole decade before giving it a new life. That’s a lot longer than most people keep their garments!
By the way—I love this poncho. Every time I put it on, I think of my mother and how every inch of this beautiful green yarn slid through both our fingers.
(Note: I’ve also written about this in my blog post “Gift or Burden: The Truth of the Sweater Curse.”)
This striped fisherman’s wool sweater is my second attempt at the same pattern as my mother’s botched green sweater. Only this time, I made sure to alter the shoulder pattern so that it would fit better.
I started this sweater when I was in graduate school in 2013. I knit the front and back and one of the sleeves.
Then I got pregnant and the project went into a paper Trader Joe’s bag in the closet for seven years. It wasn’t until the world shut down in 2020 that I took the sweater out of the closet and finally finished that second sleeve, the shawl-collar, and sewed it all together.
During the years between starting the project and finishing it, my body had expanded to grow a human, and then shrunk back down to my pre-pregnancy size. The world had changed. Everything had changed. But even in this new world, it felt like a kind of miracle that a project I had started almost a decade before could finally come to completion. That it could be so warm and fit me so perfectly.
During the years when my son was little, I took a long break from knitting. It was energy triage. The entirety of my focus was dedicated toward helping this tiny, wonderful being grow. Whatever was left over went to marriage, family, writing, and basic hygiene. I didn’t even have time for hair—I wore it short for years because I didn’t want to deal with it touching my face. Who cares about knitting? Not this gal!
I was so certain I would never knit again that I gave away all my yarn and needles.
But the time arrived when I felt ready to take up the needles again. It had been a while, so I needed an easy project. I borrowed some of my mom’s needles and bought a Pound of Love acrylic yarn at the local Michael’s. I knitted a gauge and then a raglan pullover for my son. I had forgotten how to knit raglan sleeves in the round, and I had to rip out the yoke four whole times before I finally got it right. I also did a sloppy job sewing in the kangaroo pockets, so the stitches are a bit visible.
But my son loves this sweater. He wears it all the time, so I quickly knit him a few more sweaters so that he can change between them. At the moment, these mom-made sweaters are all he wants to wear. As soon as they are out of the wash, he puts them on. He says he can feel my love when he wears them, like a big soft hug.
Now my son is giving me commissions.
Can I knit a sweater with stripes? Absolutely!
Can I knit a sweater for our dog? Sure!
Can I make a bear hat with ears? I’ve never knitted a hat before, but I’ll try!
I combined patterns from the Brock Cap and the ears from the Polarynn Bear set by the Velvet Acorn and switched up the gauge to make the hat.
This “Love” cable vest designed by Kate Chioccio took about two months to make because I kept getting the gauge wrong. I was using worsted weight yarn instead of DK yarn, so I basically had to rewrite the pattern to make it work. It still took three tries.
With this knitted shirt made from bamboo rayon, I knitted a gauge swatch and was surprised by how much it stretched after watching. I had to learn a new way of joining new balls of yarn because my usual way would leave visible scars on the front.
This shirt was originally intended for my son, but by the time I finished, we discovered that the garter stitch around the neckline and hem basically looked like ruffles, and was too feminine for him. He gave the shirt to me.
This is another project I made recently from bamboo yarn. It is a cowl using the tumbling blocks stitch. I’m very happy with how the pattern turned out, but I did not expect the bamboo yarn to stretch as much as it did! After washing and blocking, the cowl ended up one third wider than I originally intended.
I suppose what I’m saying is that making mistakes is all part of the adventure.
This is a hobby, after all. Not a job. No lives are at stake. It’s only string. I have never (that I recall) gotten so frustrated at a project that I broke into tears. I only shrug and move on. Chalk it up as a learning experience.
And I still have so much to learn!
Every time I look on YouTube or Etsy or Ravelry I see something new and inspiring I’d love to try. I have never knitted socks or mittens. I’ve never made a Fair Isle or Norwegian sweater. I’ve never done lace, or brioche, or intarsia. When did short rows become a thing? Why didn’t I learn about Magic Loop or knitting from the top-down sooner? It would have made my life so much easier!
I absolutely love how much the knitting community has grown during the past few years. It’s easier than ever to learn something new and meet new people.
When I look at these projects, I often remember where I was when I worked on them.
The car trip to the Mendocino coast that I took with my mom and son, when I started this sweater.
Sitting in my father-in-law’s garden knitting, while my husband and son swam in the pool.
Cuddling on the couch next to my son while he reads me his favorite comic book.
The apartment my husband and I first shared in Virginia.
The snow-bound cabin in the woods where my husband and I spent a winter early in our marriage.
When I look at these pieces I made, the tactile sensation of these memories are anchored into my body. Perhaps those memories are also anchored into the stitches. And so when I look at the little errors in my knitting, I don’t feel angry with myself or frustrated. I feel forgiveness and compassion for myself. They are part of the story. My story with my family. And I love them, flaws and all.
You might be wondering how knitting and writing are related, but they have a lot of similarities. They both require a tremendous amount of skill, patience, and consistency. Like a sweater, a novel is a project that takes many days of consistent effort to complete. Both are built in tiny increments — word by word, stitch by stitch. Sometimes you have to unravel a section and start over. Both require craft, creativity, and patience.
While it’s hard to get a firm number on how many people in the world knit, Forbes magazine estimates that approximately 45 million Americans know how to knit, so it seems inevitable that there would be some overlap between knitters and writers.
I had no idea how pervasive that overlap was, though, until I came across two essay collections edited by Ann Hood (who has herself written a novel about knitting). The two collections are Knitting Yarns and Knitting Pearls, and they feature such literary giants as Barbara Kingsolver, Elizabeth Berg, Jodi Picoult, Ann Patchett, Sue Grafton, Diana Gabaldon, Dani Shapiro, Andre Dubus III, Bill Roorback, and Steve Almond.
Until recently, I never really thought of knitting as something special, or that it would be a worthy writing topic. I learned to knit when I was ten years old, and it was a hobby my mother and I always shared. Sometimes it can be hard to recognize something special about your family until you see it through the eyes of another.
For the past few months, I have been going on a deep-dive on fiction and narrative non-fiction stories about knitting. It has been absolutely fascinating to learn about how knitting has impacted the lives of other writers, and in the role knitting sometimes plays in their creative process.
The more I looked, the more stories I found about writer-knitters. I think Tara Ison does a good job describing what knitting gives her as a writer:
“My professional life as a writer is a life of the mind. But knitting is a bodily, sensual, tactile experience. Knitting offers an escape from the writer’s mind […] Even if I’m thinking about my work while I knit, it’s almost as if the yarn […] absorbs the interior white noise, which frees me up to focus.”
She goes on to say that she uses knitting breaks the way another writer might use a cigarette break. Or a drinking break. Knitting is certainly healthier!
“Sometimes I put in 12-hour days [writing]. Numerous times throughout the day, I’ll literally have a sudden need to go to the couch and knit for half an hour. Like someone else might take a cigarette break. When I feel my body physically choking up, and I need to get out of my chair. Or when I hit a place in the work where things are snarled, then I need to work with something that isn’t snarled. Working with my hands […] I don’t consciously try to think of ways to undo writing knots. But after about 20 minutes of knitting, I’m able to go back to the work. I then find that my consciousness has done a lot of the work for me.” — p. 130-131, Tara Ison, screenwriter and author of A Child Out of Alcatraz. This quote is from an interview in the book Zen and the Art of Knitting by Burnadette Murphy
How knitting affects my work as a writer:
For a while, I gave up knitting because it was too easy—whereas writing was hard. I would knit daydream about the stories I wanted to write someday, but the act of knitting took time away from producing those stories. I only have two hands. The hours in the day are limited. Knitting got pushed to the back of the closet.
Additionally, I have to be aware of my hands. When I write or knit too much, my wrists become inflamed. Wrist tendonitis.Strength training has certainly improved my stamina and eased my discomfort somewhat, but I still have to respect my body’s limits. For writing, I can use dictation to protect my wrists and save them for when I have to edit, handwrite, or when typing isn’t avoidable. I have a split ergonomic keyboard, and I try to write at a stand-up desk whenever I can.
For knitting, I need to pay attention to my body and know when to stop. I’ve also noticed that using needles or material that is too small is rough on my hands, which why I’m reluctant to knit socks because they require the tiniest of yarns and needles. I feel most comfortable using needles between size 3 and 9.
Now that I have written and published a couple of books and my son is a little older, I feel like I am not as rushed. I’ve brought knitting back into my life because it brings me so much joy.
I love the idea of using knitting as a smoke-free way to take a break and look out the window… so long as I put the knitting down and go back to my writing desk.
I’m a very wiggly person and sometimes the hardest part of writing is just sitting down. Without knitting keeping me put, I’m most likely to get up and pace around the house looking for something to clean.
Most often, though, I find myself knitting during times when writing doesn’t make sense, like when I want to be physically and emotionally present for my friends and family. It feels wonderful to snuggle next to my family on the couch with a knitting project in my lap. Or to look out the window, as a passenger on a long car ride, with a puddle of lace slowly gathering shape in my lap.
It has been interesting to notice how knitting, sewing, weaving, and embroidery have started to appear in my stories. Right now I’m working on a story where one of the characters is able to make magical garments through knitting certain patterns into her work. It is really fun to write about a craft I already have a deep knowledge of.
Books About the Knitting Life
While it is possible to knit and read at the same time with the help of a book stand, I think that audiobooks and knitting are the perfect companions. The books listed below aren’t pattern books—although some of them do contain patterns. These books are narrative stories by, for, and about people who love knitting.
Collected Essays and Memoir:
Knitting Yarns: Writers on Knitting, edited by Ann Hood — Fabulous essays by incredible authors about their experiences knitting. Authors such as Barbara Kingsolver.
Knitlandia: A Knitter Sees the World by Clara Parkes — More essays by Clara Parks about her adventures traveling the world as the author of a knitting and yarn industry. She visits textile expos and travels to knitting retreats, and contemplates how the knitting world has grown and changed over her many years as a knitter.
Knitting: A Novel by Anne Bartlett — Sandra and Martha are two women who seem to be opposites, but they are both suffering from large stores of grief. When they begin to collaborate on a knitting exhibition, they find comfort, friendship, and healing.
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens — Madame Defarge is a knitter and main antagonist in this classic Dickens novel. She would famously sit beside the guillotine during executions, knitting the names of those destined for the chop.
The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood — A woman loses her child and ends up joining a knitting club where she meets people facing their own grief, trauma, and illness by mindfully making one stitch at a time.
The Friday Night Knitting club series by Kate Jacobs — This is a women’s fiction series focused on the women who attend a local knitting club. The series follows each of the women as they experience love, careers, motherhood, disease, graceful aging, and reinvention.
The Blossom Street series by Debbie Macomber — This ten-book series focuses on the women who attend Seattle’s Blossom Street knitting shop as they seek friendship, comfort, self-actualization, and romance.
Beach Street Knitting Society and Yarn Club series by Gil McNeil — Jo Mackenzie is a newly widowed and single mother of two boys who moves to the English seaside to take over her Gran’s knitting shop. Jo finds friendship, camaraderie, and plenty to gossip about with the local knitters club.
Romance Novels Featuring Knitters
Real Men Knit series by Kwana Jackson — A romance series focusing on the Strong brothers who have inherited a Harlem yarn and knitting shop from their mother. These four brothers break racial and gender stereotypes by keeping their mother’s memory and legacy alive through running her knitting shop. This is a relatively new series with only two books in it so far, but hopefully there is more to come.
Knitting in the City series by Penny Reid — This seven-book romance series follows a group of friends who have a weekly knitting club. The friends gossip and commiserate as each lady pursues her happily ever after.
Cozy and Paranormal Mysteries with Gumshoe Knitters
The Miss Marple series Agatha Christy – This series of crime novels and short stories features Miss Marple, an amateur consulting detective who has developed a keen understanding of human nature after having spent many hours knitting and people-watching.
Haunted Yarn Shop Mystery series by Molly MacRae — This six-book paranormal mystery series follows Kath, who inherits her grandmother’s yarn shop in Blue Plum, Tennessee. These stories feature ghosts and the paranormal.
Knitting Mysteries series by Maggie Sefton — This sixteen-book mystery series follows Kelly and the rest of the gang at the House of Lamb knitting club in Colorado as they solve mysteries large and small in their home town of Fort Connor.
The Vampire Knitting Club series by Nancy Warren — This fifteen-book paranormal mystery series features American-raised Lucy Swift who moves to Oxford England to take over her Gran’s knitting shop. Little does she know, but her basement is the home of a group of late-night knitting vampires who pass the centuries knitting sweaters and baby booties. Lucy soon discovers that Oxford is filled with paranormal activity, mystery, and murder.
In Conclusion
It has been an absolute delight to discover there are so many wonderful books about knitting and knitters. I’m sure there are hundreds of more books that feature knitting that I haven’t had the space to mention, but these are just the ones I was able to find through my local library. I could spend multiple years only reading books about knitters. How wonderful!
While I haven’t had a chance to read all of these yet, it has certainly been a wonderful surprise to discover how many other people enjoy knitting enough to write about it—and even build whole careers writing about it.
If you know an avid knitter, or if your local knitting club is thinking about sharing books, please consider sharing this list!
E. S. O. Martin is a novelist, short story writer, and avid knitter. She blogs about books and Slavic folklore at esomartin.com. Consider signing up for her email newsletter to receive a free story and receive monthly updates about her works in progress.
Knitters often joke about the “sweater curse”, which is when you knit a present for a significant other and then the relationship promptly ends. This dynamic can also play out between friends.
Imagine this scenario: you are someone with a very clear sense of what you like to wear: comfortable t-shirts, jeans, and your favorite hoodie. Then someone gives you a hand-knit sweater…
a) You don’t wear knitted clothes, and the knitter didn’t bother to notice. Even if they did notice, it seems they didn’t care because they are trying to change you from a fleece and hoodie-person into a turtleneck sweater-person.
b) The sweater doesn’t fit you. The itchy wool turtleneck feels like it’s strangling you. There are all these fussy cables that make you look fat. It sags at the armpits. It’s too short. The sleeves are too long.
c) The sweater is in a horrible color that doesn’t match any of the rest of your wardrobe. Has the knitter not even been looking at you?
d) The sweater is made from very expensive wool that has to be hand-washed with baby shampoo and dried flat in the sun. (Great! More chores!!!)
e) The knitter says they spent a thousand hours on it and they “knit love into every stitch.”
Oh my God, now you feel guilty AND suffocated. There is too much pressure and expectation in this relationship. It has to end!
Voila… The Sweater Curse has struck again!
The poor knitter has just wasted many hours of misdirected energy. They put more time into their knitting and fantasies of how the gift would be received, rather than getting to know the person who was the object of their affection.
The truth is that when a gift comes with a load of emotional baggage, it is no gift at all. It is a burden. Wanting to receive unending praise for such a “gift” is manipulative, passive-aggressive hostage-taking.
I have been on both the giving and receiving end of the sweater curse. I’ve received hand-knit presents that were too precious to use because the material was not appropriate for my lifestyle. I’ve also given presents to people that didn’t fit properly and then the present went unused, was donated, or thrown away.
A Lesson in Gift-Giving:
I once knitted my mother a beautiful wool sweater from this gorgeous olive-green yarn.
But it turned out the shoulders didn’t fit quite right. A few years later, she unraveled that sweater, used the wool to knit a shawl, and gave it back to me.
At first I felt incredibly hurt. She had unraveled and re-gifted me my own sweater?!
But then I had to laugh at myself. The fact that she unraveled my sweater to make a gift for me was a wonderful lesson in the impermanence of objects.
My mom said that with every stitch of yarn that went through her fingers, she felt like she was touching my hands, my love for her, and multiplying it by making something to give back to me. She hadn’t destroyed my gift. She’d doubled it by giving each of us a story of one ball of yarn, touched by two generations of women expressing our love for each other through handmade gifts. That’s actually pretty incredible!
My mother’s re-gifted hand-knit shawl. Best gift ever!
Now, when I look at this green wool shawl, I think about my mother and how grateful I am that she taught me that a person doesn’t have to be overly sentimental about objects. It’s the relationship that’s important; not the object.
Gifts don’t have to be overly sentimental or emotionally burdensome. A true gift means giving something with no strings attached (excuse the pun). The person receiving a gift should be free to unravel it, sell it, wear it, give it away… whatever best suits their needs.
At its best, knitting gifts is basically a loving-kindness meditation. You think about the person you are knitting for. With each stitch, you weave in love, compassion, and good wishes for health and peace.
I recently knit my son a sweater and I was astonished by how much he loves it. He wears it every chance he gets. It’s the right color, the right fit, and the right material for him. I involved him at every step of the decision-making process.
He loves this sweater so much that I knit him a second sweater so that he can rotate between the two of them.
My son’s new favorite sweaters
“Maybe buying a sweater is cheaper,” my son said, “but this is so much better because it is made with love. And it can be made exactly the way I want it.”
When you get it right, a handmade gift can be the best thing in the world.
There is a world of difference between what is fun for the knitter to make and what the person receiving the gift might actually want to wear.
I’m overgeneralizing here, but most people seem to prefer wearing a simple, stockinette-stitch piece in one color, made from a non-fussy fabric that they can throw in the washing machine. For advanced knitters, this type of project can be a bit boring because it doesn’t show off any of our fancy skills. But when you want to avoid the Sweater Curse, it’s best to play it safe by sticking to something really simple.
Tip #1 — Involve the person (or a trusted ally) in the project. Ask if you can look through their closet to determine their favorite color scheme. Take measurements from their favorite sweater. Ask them what they want. Ask the person if they are allergic to dyes or materials: you don’t want to give a wool sweater to someone who is allergic to wool. As if they have ethical objections to animal-based fibers.
The surprise factor: I know there is a fantasy of giving a gift as a surprise. If you aren’t sure if you can execute the gift well, you can quietly give up without them being any the wiser. The pressure of creating a custom-made garment that either never arrives or is poorly constructed can ruin a relationship. (But then, if a relationship is ruined by a few dropped stitches, then perhaps it wasn’t on firm footing in the first place.)
Tip #2 — Choose smaller projects. Hats, scarves, cowls, fingerless mittens, cotton washcloths or dish cloths, kitchen towels, bath mats. These small projects can be completed in a weekend, and are relatively low stakes.
Tip #3 — Budget a reasonable amount of money and time on this gift. DO NOT spend 900 hours and hundreds of dollars on material. This is too much of a burden to put on the receiver of a gift. Use cheaper material, like cotton or polyester.
Tip #4 — Choose the right yarn. Consider your audience: what material will they appreciate? Is this the kind of person who will handwash their cashmere sweater? Is this a person who just needs to throw the object in the washing machine and dryer? Do they have pets? Children? Will the item get stained? Are they allergic to wool or synthetics? Are they vegan?
Tip #4 — Choose the right colors. Black, charcoal gray, and navy blue looks good on most people. But more importantly, what colors does this person usually wear? Do they like stripes? Do they like bright yellows and reds? If you don’t know this person well enough to know the colors they prefer, don’t knit them a sweater. If you want the item to be loved, choose something that’s similar to what you already know they love.
Tip #5 — Size and fit. The safest choice is to make something that doesn’t need body measurements. Dish cloths, shawls, blankets, pillows. The next best choice is to ask to borrow and measure one of their favorite items of clothing and use this as your model for whatever you make. If you don’t know this person well enough to ask them (or a trusted ally) for measurements of their favorite item of clothing, DON’T make them clothing as a gift.
I hope you’ve found these tips helpful! If you like what you’ve read, consider signing up for my newsletter. Newsletter subscribers will receive monthly-ish emails with updates on my writing works in progress, book reviews, and updates on my Slavic Spirits series, which is about Polish and Slavic folklore and mythology. Happy knitting and happy reading!
Note: An abbreviated draft of this essay first appeared in my newsletter.
Not a lot of people know this about me, but my experience with textiles is pretty vast. When I was a child, I learned how to spin wool into yarn with a drop spindle. I’ve woven cloth on a Louet loom. I’ve done needlepoint and crochet.
When I was in college, I paid my bills working as a seamstress at an alterations shop. I also made costumes for the university theater department. There was a time in my life when I designed and made most of my own clothes.
But one of my longest-loved skills is knitting.
Fiber arts run in my family. My great-grand mother in Poland was skilled at crochet and would make elaborate curtains and table cloths. My other great-grandmother in Poland would make socks, hats, and down blankets. My mother taught me how to knit when I was ten years old.
My mom is a very skilled knitter in her own right. Growing up in communist Poland, it was hard for her to get new styles of clothes, so my mom would up-cycle old sweaters by unraveling them for the yarn and knitting them into a new outfit. At her peak, she could knit an entire sweater in a four-day weekend. Then, when she was bored of that sweater, she would unravel it and knit another one.
When she came to America, she continued knitting clothes for herself and her children.
Me, age 3, in a red knit dress my mother made
My first project was a sampler blanket knitted with multi-colored cotton and metal needles. I remember how proud I was as I completed every square. My first squares were misshapen and full of holes and ladders from dropped stitches. But with every swatch completed, my knitting became more even. It thrilled me to see this project grow in tiny increments, how I could build something larger by crafting one small piece at a time.
When I was in 5th grade, I entered a Montessori school, where knitting was part of the curriculum. We would sit in a circle and knit while our teacher read aloud to us. Knitting was a way to practice our fine-motor coordination. It also kept our hands occupied while our teacher read to us — instead of poking each other or picking our noses.
I remember we all used acrylic yarn and straight size 9 metal needles. We kept our knitting projects in pillowcases in our cubbies.
Pretty much everyone at the Montessori could only knit garter-stitch scarves. I had come into the Montessori already knowing how to knit, so I took on more challenging stitch patterns and projects, like stuffed animals and sweaters.
I had learned Polish-style continental knitting (which is sometimes called “combination knitting”), which is faster and more ergonomic than English-style knitting. And its purls are simpler and faster than either German or Norwegian-style continental knitting. Polish/Slavic combination continental is still my preferred style of knitting. But by the time I was in 6th grade, I had also taught myself to knit English-style, left-handed and right-handed, and I could knit without looking at my hands at all — a very important skill if you want to knit in front of the TV. I was one of the kids the teachers would send down to the lower grade classroom to teach the first-graders how to knit.
Me, age 11 or 12, knitting in front of the TV
I continued to knit throughout junior high, high school, and college. I most often knit while listening to an audiobook or sitting in front of the TV. I’d knit when traveling. And when my teachers would let me, I would sometimes knit in class—occasionally pausing to take notes on the lectures.
This is an Aran sweater I made when I was in college. It is still a favorite for when I wake up during the early mornings to write.
But despite many years of enjoyment, I gave up knitting for about a decade. I was so certain I would never knit again that I gave away all my needles and yarn.
The reason I gave up knitting came down to this simple question: Is knitting a waste of time?
An early form of knitting began in Egypt during the 11th century. However, there are some examples of knitted socks in the Middle East dating back as early as the 3rd century. Knitting as we know it came to Europe via Muslim knitters employed by the royal families of Spain.
Then, with colonial expansion, knitting quickly spread throughout the rest of the world starting in the 1500s. At first, knitting was restricted to knitting guilds, the leisure class, or only to men. But all around the world it gained more widespread popularity during the 1800s. Each region developed its own distinctive style.
In British Columbia, Cowichan knitting was known for its thick, bulky yarn.
In Japan, knitting started as a popular pastime among the samurai class. The knitting patterns from Japan are floral-inspired and acrobatic to execute, with short-rows, and light-weight materials that are excellent for warm weather.
In South America, the Andean Chullo hats are famous for their distinctive ear flaps.
The knitting gilds in England and Scotland helped that area specialize into many styles of lace and patterning. The Argyle sweater and sock patterns are inspired by the tartan weave of Western Scotland. Shetland lace shawls were once more valuable than gold.
In the British Aisles, In the fishing communities of the British Isles, the patterns knitted into the Gansey (sometimes spelled Guernsey), Aran, Argyle, and Fair Isle sweaters were highly specific to regions and favorite patterns and techniques were often shared within the community. The knitting guilds in these areas were also part of a social program to help raise people out of poverty.
Latvian mittens were ceremonial items, most notably used in weddings. The patterns were highly symbolic and were so intricate that a single mitten could take as long as a year to complete.
Currently, the popularity of knitting waxes and wanes, depending on the economy. It is a relatively cheap hobby so it tends to become more popular during times of economic hardship.
During the 2000s, there was a resurgence of knitting interest among twenty and thirty-somethings with Debbie Stoller’s Stitch’n Bitch series. The 2008 recession also increased interest in DIY culture. Etsy, Ravelry, and YouTube knitting tutorials have made knitting even more accessible. Most recently, the coronavirus pandemic has created another surge in knitting interest. Forbes magazine estimates that 45 million Americans know how to knit or crochet, and these continue to be an incredibly popular hobbies, worldwide.
One of the challenges I’ve had with sewing and knitting my own clothes is that factory production has made this age-old activity basically worthless.
In material terms, buying a sweater and knitting a sweater costs about the same. An acrylic sweater can be knitted for as little as $20 in materials. But that doesn’t factor in the hourly labor of designing and knitting. In practical terms, it takes most knitters 20-100 hours to make a sweater, depending on the complexity. This means a hand-knit sweater would cost at least $300 in skilled labor if you were paying California minimum wage.
Wouldn’t that time have been better spent doing something that would earn more money?
One of the curious things I noticed about people who sew professionally is that once making clothes became their day job, almost none of them sewed or designed their own clothes for fun anymore. They only wear store-brought clothes, because the economics doesn’t make sense anymore.
If the goal is to clothe yourself, than buying a machine-made garment is cheaper.
If the goal is the enjoyment of the knitting process, than the garment is merely a byproduct of time spent with an enjoyable hobby.
Is knitting anti-feminist/ Is knitting only for women?
First of all, you should understand that both men and women knit. Fishermen knit their nets and men were the master craftsmen in charge of the knitting guilds. Soldiers would knit socks while they waited for battle. In the 1600s, many samurai took up knitting to supplement their income. The knitting community is once again growing among men because they too enjoy the sense of community and accomplishment that knitting can give them.
My understanding of feminism is that it should be about people having the freedom to pursue their interests, regardless of their gender, orientation, or sex.
My mom taught both my brother and me how to knit, but I’m the one who really took to it. Similarly, she provided both my brother and me with piano and music lessons. I never fell in love with playing music, but my brother did and music has become both his passion and his career.
You just never know what will speak to a person unless you let them try it.
If a person wants to pursue activities in the “male” sphere, they should be free to do so. If a person wants to pursue interests in the “female” sphere, they should feel free to do so, without judgment or guilt.
So long as you’re not hurting yourself or anybody else, do what you want.
I was assigned female at birth. I identify as female and use she/her pronouns. That didn’t stop me from being an athlete in high school. (I was a three-time junior olympian in foil fencing.) I still enjoy sports. Currently, I run and lift weights—even though free-weights are typically thought of as a “male” form of exercise.
I like knitting and sports—both. I feel that it’s my prerogative to pursue my interests. I don’t feel like this is a contradiction to my gender identity, but rather an expression of me as a whole person.
When I was sewing clothes, I was astonished at how much waste I produced. Cutting curved objects (clothing patterns) out of a rectangle yard of fabric leaves behind a lot of scrap material. I used recycled and discarded fabric, and I tried my hardest to arrange the pattern pieces to use minimal fabric. I saved and re-used scraps of fabric in smaller projects as much as I could. But there was still a lot of waste in making custom-clothes.
Theoretically, factory assemblies waste less material because of the economy of scale.
The problem with the fashion industry is that we produce more clothes than we actually wear. If you haven’t yet, I urge all of you to check out the documentary The True Cost, which is about how fashion is one of the most polluting industries. It’s right up there with oil, transportation, and animal agriculture. Most people don’t even wear their clothes 30 times before throwing them away.
According to this Future Proof video, the average garment is only worn an average of seven times! (Granted, there is some trial-and-error involved in figuring out one’s preferences and personal style, but still!…) “Fast fashion” is destroying the environment, putting us in debt, and literally burying us in trash.
It is high time we become more mindful of our clothes at every stage—how it is produced, whether it is something that fits and will last a long time, and how the materials are recycled or composted. Slow-fashion is a much better path.
I actually think that out of all the fiber arts, knitting and crochet are the most environmentally sustainable. Knitting is the opposite of fast fashion. It is as slow as it comes.
You can choose materials that are low impact and which you know will eventually compost. Plant-based fibers are the lowest-impact. But even among these, there are some plants that require less water, land, pesticides, processing, dyes. There is tremendous amount of innovation happening in plant-based fibers right now, producing yarn from coconut, bamboo, mushrooms, cellulose… you name it. Do your research.
Animal fibers tend to have a lower carbon footprint than synthetics at every stage, and some animals do less destruction to the environment than others. However, there are ethical concerns about how animals are treated and whether there is such a thing as “cruelty-free yarn.” Sheering practices can be cruel and painful, and animals are slaughtered once they no longer produce at a certain level. Again, do your research.
Synthetic yarns are cheap, warm, resilient, insect-resistant, and highly versatile. However, they tend to have the highest environmental impact to produce and they don’t decompose as well as natural fibers. Then again, a well-knit polyester sweater could last 50 years and be worn by multiple generations. To offset their carbon footprint, many big brands have begun selling yarn made from recycled materials.
Plenty of people unravel thrift store sweaters to get their yarn. This is probably the cheapest and most sustainable way to get yarn. Check out a video of this retired gentleman, who buys used high-quality cashmere sweaters at a thrift store and then unwinds the yarn so he can give them a new life. I also liked this video, which talks about sanitizing the yarn and what to do if you discover that a factory-made sweater is woven with two strands, which can be tricky to unravel.
If you are intentional with your math, you can knit whatever you need without a lot of wasted yarn. Many knitters will even save those little scraps at the end to produce small projects as Christmas gifts: washcloths, mittens, hats, socks, scarves, dog sweaters.
When you knit a piece of clothing, you are basically creating a high-quality custom-garment that is made specifically to last a long time and be worn a lot. A carefully produced hand-knit sweater should last a person at least five years of daily wear. It’s better to have a small number of garments that you love a lot and wear every day than to have a whole pile of unused clothes.
Project 333 can help give you ideas for putting together winter and summer clothing capsules so that you learn how to do more with less.
Personally, I tend to choose a silhouette and color scheme I like a lot, and then I build myself a daily uniform from there. In an average week, I basically rotate between 7 shirts, 5 pullover sweaters, 3 jeans, and 3 shoes. I have a summer wardrobe, a winter wardrobe, and exercise clothes. That’s it. Pretty simple. Every five years or so, the wardrobe gets an update.
For me, it’s fun to look at old photographs and reminisce about my favorite outfits. During my early 20s, I wore a-line summer dresses that I made myself. In my late 20s, I wore skirts with leggings and cardigans. In my early thirties, I wore jeans and plaid shirts. In my late thirties, I wore jeans and striped shirts. Now I’m gravitating more toward dark, solid colors and I’m excited about the idea of making myself some tunic length sweater-dresses with pockets.
But let’s say you are a knitter who has already made cherished sweaters for yourself and your immediate family… What then?
You could sell your knit projects and recoup some of your costs. You can unravel a sweater you already own and knit another one in a slightly different style. Or you could volunteer your knitting services at a hospital, knitting hats, socks, and baby blankets.
Why I Started Knitting Again
Our dog, Merlin, sitting on my latest knitting project.
A few years ago, I declared I was done with knitting. Never going to knit again. I’m already doing so many things that feel intrinsically valuable, but which are considered valueless wastes if time by the capitalist machine. Cooking at home. Childrearing. Writing. Running. Learning a language.
But I recently started knitting again, because I missed it.
If the goal is just to clothe yourself, then buying factory-made and/or thrift store clothes makes the most sense. Mostly, knitting, and sewing one’s own clothes is a leisure activity.
And that’s okay.
Knitting has always been a source of joy for me. There’s something incredibly satisfying about watching a ball of yarn transform into a piece of fabric, stitch by stitch. The rhythm of the needles and the soft texture of the yarn create a meditative state, allowing me to unwind and focus on the present moment. Each project is a unique creation, a tangible result of my time and effort. Whether it’s a cozy scarf or a detailed sweater, the end product always brings a sense of accomplishment and pride.
I have certainly gotten carried away with my knitting — using it as procrastination when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I’ve overdone it to where my wrists became inflamed, my hands cramped and my fingers went numb. But mostly, knitting is something I do during moments of peace… in waiting rooms, while watching TV, while commuting by train, or while spending time with friends or family.
It’s important not to give myself a deadline for my projects, so that knitting feels relaxing, rather than rushed. I enjoy projects that I can pick up and put down easily. I take meticulous notes so that I can quickly remind myself of where I left off. I like knitting in the round on circular needles because then I don’t have that “I have to get to the end of the row!” mantra going through my head.
During times of stress, I tend to develop anxiety lite symptoms: pacing, face-picking, doom-scrolling, hypergraphia, future-tripping, insomnia. Occasionally, a panic attack. Knitting forces me to sit, count stitches, and calm my ass down.
Daily exercise also calms me down. I need both. I need to exert energy to burn off the excess, and I need something that gives me permission to rest.
Knitting may not make sense economically on an hour-by-hour basis, but its value extends far beyond the financial. It’s a productive outlet for my fidgeting, a social activity, a way to create meaningful gifts, and a practice in mindfulness. By embracing these aspects, I’ve found that knitting is far from a waste of time—it’s a deeply rewarding and enriching hobby.
For some, knitting is their preferred form of meditation.
“Knitting is a process craft. Anyone who sets out to knit with the sole objective of wearing the finished work will soon be disappointed. If the finished piece were the sole aim, one would purchase a mass-produced garment at a local mall for a fraction of the cost and time required to make a sweater. The true joy comes from discovering the individual beauty of each segment, the feeling of accomplishment when completing a particularly difficult section, and the sense of challenge that lurks as you plan the next project. In other words, knitting is like life. We have to enjoy the journey if we expect the destination to mean much.
“Best of all, knitting is slow. So slow that we see the beauty inherent in every tiny act that makes up a sweater. So slow that we know the project’s not going to get finished today—it may not get finished for many months or longer—and thus, we make our peace with the unresolved nature of life. We slow down as we knit. Our breathing and heart rate drop and knitters who’ve been at it a while experience a trancelike state that provides the same benefits as other forms of meditation.
“Unlike other forms of meditation, though, when all is said and done, knitting produces a beautiful, handcrafted, wearable work of art. Each garment reflects its unique moment in time and is a singular in its construction as the person who knit it—an image of the creator’s spirit.”
— “Zen and the art of knitting,” by Bernadette Murphy
Later in her book, she states:
“There are two basic steps necessary to evoke this relaxation response, steps that [Dr. Herbert Benson, founding president of the Mind/Body Medical Institute at Harvard Medical School] found to be present in almost every culture around the globe. The first is the repetition of a sound, phrase, or prayer. (This, by extension, includes the repetition of an activity, like making a knitting stitch.) The second is the passive setting aside of intruding thoughts and returning to the repetition.”
“Zen and the Art of Knitting,” by Burnadette Murphy
Meditative knitters can heighten their knitting experience in some of the following ways.
Knitting as Loving-Kindness Meditation — Knit something for a loved one, someone with whom you have a challenging relationship, or someone who you know is suffering. Think about that person as you knit, and try to focus on them feeling loved, healthy, or at peace.
Knitting as Zen meditation — Zen meditation usually takes the form of focused attention on something: a candle, a mantra, counting, or the breath. Knitting can become a Zen meditation when you take on a complicated pattern that requires focus and active attention. Projects with cables, eyelets, color-work, or a guernsey or aran sweater with decorative stitching. These are projects where you actually have to pay attention to what you are doing, but the repetitive nature of it can also harness and focus your mind. This feeling can be enhanced by saying a prayer with every stitch.
Focused knitting as anxiety, depression, or pain management — Choosing a complicated pattern where you have to count stitches can help distract you from anxiety or pain by giving you something to focus on. A repetitive pattern, like a moss stitch, or a basket-weave stitch, can focus your mind and your breath. Breathe in for four stitches, breathe out for four stitches.
Knitting as gentle receptivity — Most experienced knitters usually have several projects going. They have an active project where they have to focus on counting, and they have a passive project which doesn’t require a lot of concentration. These passive projects (like blankets, scarves, or simple sweaters) usually involve long repetitive rows of the same type of stitch. Garter, stockinette, ribbing, or rice stitch are good ones. The pattern, the clicking of needles, and the repetitive motion can become hypnotic, but it doesn’t require too much of your brain to do it. You can knit this type of project while chatting with friends and family.
Knitting as problem-solving — There is a form of meditation where you are focused on a problem in your life while working on a specific task. For example, a heartbreak-sweater or a grief blanket. After a relationship ends, you can think about that person, what they gave you, what you learned, what you hated, and process those emotions. Use the project as an opportunity set time aside for reflecting on and healing whatever issue you are dealing with. What do you do with the completed project? It’s up to you: unravel it, give it away, start over, give it to the person who broke up with you as a testament to lessons learned.
Knitting as social outlet — Humans are social animals. It is incredibly important for our physical and emotional health to have a community. Knitting communities can be found online, at yarn stores, in libraries, and at bookstores and cafes. This is an intergenerational activity where experienced knitters are often overjoyed to share their skills. One of the neat things about knitting is that the group might start out talking about the craft, but inevitably they might open up and become more vulnerable. Knitting lends itself really well to talking and sharing what is in your heart because eye contact is optional, and talking is optional.
Knitting for charity — One of the best ways to get out of your own head is to do something for someone else. The website KnittingForCharity.com can help you find a charity organization that you can knit for.
AN IMPORTANT CAVEAT: While arts and crafts have many therapeutic benefits, knitting is essentially a repetitive, sedentary activity. (Although it is possible to knit while standing, walking, or even running.) It’s important to work with good lighting, to take frequent breaks to stretch, and to not spend too many hours knitting. A good rule of thumb is to take a break every 30 minutes to stretch and move around, and don’t knit for more than four hours in a day. If your aim is to use knitting for therapeutic purposes, please consult with your doctor.
Since returning to knitting, I’ve been thinking about my personal preferences and how I can make this hobby more enjoyable for myself. Since I’m already experienced, I have some idea of the types of tools and projects I like.
I wanted to share some videos I found helpful in reflecting on my relationship with knitting, my preferences, frustrations, why I quit, and what I hope to get out of my knitting practice:
What type of knitter are you? — Choosing projects you like has a major impact on your enjoyment. I am a process knitter, but I also really enjoy the challenge of designing and creating my own patterns. I also like learning new techniques. I tend to only work on one project at a time and work on it constantly from start-to-finish. But if I’m knitting gifts for others, I set aside a project for myself in order to prioritize the gift. I definitely see the appeal of having two projects going at a time: a challenge pattern for focus, and a simple pattern for relaxation.
20 Things I Wish I Knew When I Started Knitting — There are many ways to go about completing a project. When you understand the big picture of knitting, the math, the diagrams, and what is happening in the interaction between tension, needles, and yarn, you can come up with alternate ways of doing things that fit your style.
Here are some of my preferences that I’ve developed after 20 years of knitting.
The needles — I prefer bamboo circular needles. Bamboo is lightweight, warm to the touch, it grips the stitches well, and it doesn’t make a loud clacking sound, which I find irritating. For knitting small things in the round, the magic loop method. My knitting tends to be rather loose, so I usually have to knit on smaller needles to get my preferred weave. I prefer projects that use mid-sized needles, no smaller than 2 and no larger than 10. I currently only own bamboo needles, but if I were to start knitting with scratchier yarn, I wouldn’t be opposed to getting a metal set.
The yarn — Knitting is a very tactile art, and the feeling of the yarn on your fingers tends to have a bigger impact on your knitting experience than the colors do. That being said, I am not a yarn snob. I don’t hoard yarn. I’m hard on my clothes, and I don’t like working with materials that are too precious or expensive for everyday living. I prefer DK and worsted weight medium yarn, but I will go up or down a size if the pattern calls for it. I like the practicality of synthetics, the warmth of wool, alpaca, and cashmere (so long as it has been ethically and humanely harvested), and the cooling feel of bamboo and cotton. I make my choices on a project-by-project basis. I try my best to research my yarn before I buy and balance the dilemmas of practicality, ethics, environmental impact, and price. I also try to plan my projects to have complimentary materials and color schemes so that I can combine and re-use leftover yarns to have as little waste as possible.
The projects — A stated earlier, I usually only work on one project at a time. However, it’s not uncommon for me to have two projects on needles going at a time: a simple project and a challenge project, where I’m learning a new technique. I like making sweaters, shirts, dresses, scarves, blankets, and hats. Washcloths and towel samplers are also fun. Sometimes I’ll just knit swatches if the goal is to learn a new technique or stitch design. With clothes, I like knitting in the round so that I can try garments on as I go and there is very little sewing. I prefer knitting for myself and my family. Despite many years of knitting, I’d basically call myself an intermediate knitter because there are a lot of techniques I’m still interested in learning: how to get a better fit, short rows, intarsia, color-work, lace, more complex cables, brioche, improved designing.
The patterns — I have enough experience knitting that I understand the underlying logic for how it works. I look at patterns the same way an experienced chef looks at recipes: they are more of a suggestion than holy writ. I like to I look through pattern books for inspiration, but about eighty percent of the time I usually end up creating my own pattern by combining various techniques and doing my own math. That being said, I love learning new things and if I’m learning something new and technical, then I like to have a pattern to coach me along. I love all the knitting tutorials on YouTube! This was not available when I first started knitting. It is so much easier to learn from a video than from a book! I prefer using ebooks and PDF patterns, because then I can reference them on my phone. Most often, though, I copy out a pattern into my Bullet Journal so that it is easier for me to take notes and make changes as I go.
First, I make a BIG swatch by casting on 40-80 stitches. The larger the swatch, the more accurate the math will be. If the project requires some fancy stitches which might compress or stretch the knitting (like cables, lace, or color-work) then I make sure to knit that design into the swatch. My knit and purl stitches are even, so I don’t need to do anything special when knitting in the round. I then knit the swatch to be long enough to be and accurate sample (usually 4-8 inches) and then I bind off.
I wash the swatch the way I will wash the finished garment. Washing is an important step because it helps the yarn bloom and relax, which might change the sizing. Synthetics usually don’t change much, but animal fibers sometimes shrink and plant fibers (like bamboo) stretch A LOT. This can have a major effect on the size of the finished piece.
I block my swatch and use my cloth tape measure to measure the dimensions of the swatch. I then divide those numbers by my number of stitches and rows I made to attain the swatch. The goal is to find how many stitches per inch, and how many rows per inch for a given yarn and needle-size. It’s important to know measurements down to the fraction of a stitch because when you start casting 250-400 stitches, those fractional stitches can create a cascading math error.
Once I know my stitches and rows per inch, then I can figure out the rest of the pattern and start knitting.
Every 2-4 inches, I check my measurements to make sure I’m hitting my benchmarks. If I’m not, then I unravel and start over with my newer, more accurate numbers. It’s not uncommon for me to have to restart a project once or twice at the beginning. But once I have my math right, everything usually proceeds smoothly.
Storage — I have a Takumi set of interchangeable needles and another full set of fixed cable needles that I keep in a zippered pencil case. (Yes, I use all of them.) A simple accordion file could work for this as well. I also keep the labels that come with the yarn in a ziplock bag, so that I can reference gauge and washing instructions. I sometimes yarn in plastic bags to keep the dust off. I use paper clips as stitch markers, but I also have a set of pear-shaped stitch markers I like. I store them in pill bottles. I store tapestry needles in pill bottles as well. I have a neck light, which is incredibly helpful for working with dark colors. As you can see in the photo below, my entire knitting supply fits in one small bin, which I can tuck away to keep dust off the yarn. My travel system is to just keep whatever project I’m currently working on in a large purse. I keep reference materials on my phone, and I plan patterns and take notes with a Bullet Journal.
Thanks for reading this long, rambling blog post on the role knitting has played in my life. If you would like to sign up for my newsletter, you will receive a free short story, and get monthly updates on book reviews and my works in progress.
