We all get there in the end
Not fearing winter, different ways of practicing craft and being cautiously creative
It’s a little strange how the last months of the year tend to feel as if life has sped-up on fast forward. Despite having grown up near the equator and having lived a significant chunk of my life in the southern hemisphere, I still can’t decide if it feels this way because the days are significantly shorter at this latitude, or that, as another year passes, I’m simply getting older. Wiser or not, it’s not for me to judge.
Winter came early this year, and being the introvert that I am, I can normally be found with a hot cuppa, a book (whether reading or writing one), with some soft music (usually a soundtrack from a video game), surrounded by plants (pining for more daylight like me)—content to wait out the cold season. But this year, the day job had demanded some long days and semi-regular travel, then I’d managed to meet friends I hadn’t seen in a while, and connect with fabulous people I met for the first time. Some cherished moments savoured at BristolCon at the end of October, fascinating hours passed traversing the history of the Silk Roads, and random occasions of sharing dinner tables with strangers.
Perhaps I’ve got it wrong all along; the trick is to not fear the winter.
Sometime back in November, I braved the storm on a Saturday afternoon to a crochet workshop. Despite being a decent knitter, it must have been the third or fourth time I’d tried to learn. Online videos that have obviously been flipped during the edit have never helped. Later on, I would discover from two other left-handed knitters that there’s indeed something a little trickier with learning how to crochet if you’re of the sinister sinistral variety.
It was a small class of four; all the other participants had attempted to crochet at least once—an interesting insight in itself. The revelation for me, however, came from observing how we all deal so differently with a creative challenge. One of them would constantly mutter under her breath every few moments, “Oh, I’m stupid, I’d never get this!” Sitting beside me, another just kept going despite dropping stitches or making mistakes. In contrast, I was quite intent on getting the technique right early on; if I wasn’t happy with it, I’d rip it up and start again. But each time, I’d speed up and gain confidence.
By the end of the session, my partner’s longer scarf was scrappy and uneven but could almost be functional; whereas I had very little to show—mine well-formed with surprisingly even stitches, though not nearly long enough to be usable yet.
Lightbulb moment! This is me with my writing process! Whereas my discovery writer friends would have happily kept going where their stories took them—something I envy them for—I often need to pause, reflect and course-correct.
Me: the cautious creative.
I have long ago dealt with my perfectionist streak, but I wondered if I’d picked up some habits as a former musician, for which there are many different ways to practice. For example, there’s the play-it-through-till-the-end-regardless-of-what-happens, to avoid the temptation of stumbling over tricky bits, but then there’s also the slow practice where we’d go over the same bars repeatedly, slowing down to until we correct mistakes before playing again at speed. In short, I’ve learned that it can be worth the while to train one’s muscle memory to do the right thing because it can be harder to unlearn later on. But it does mean I often forget to let loose.
Recently, I’ve found other ways teach myself to practice craft differently, such as learning how to draw with a pen instead of a pencil, therefore having to live with the inability to erase a line or a stroke. True for both artists and writers: the pen is boss.
After two solid hours of poking hooked needles through holes in yarn, we all managed to get into a good rhythm. The woman who harboured negative self-talk all the way through made a nice long strip, as did the other older participant who struggled for half the session with holding the yarn. It just goes to show: there’s no right or wrong way to learn something new—we all get there in the end. Though I’d hasten to add: if we can overcome the negative monologue, we’d probably have a more enjoyable time.
Also, life-goal fulfilled: I finally learned how to crochet.1
In the daily flurry of trying to get words down and hitting submission deadlines, I’d somehow managed to have a novellette and five short stories published this year. It has been so wonderful to work with editors and publishers who are not only amazing at what they do, but also caring and kind.
I started out 2024 meaning to write a novel, and did not expect the first 10,000 words of it to place second-runner up in the Mo Siewcharran Prize. The novel still needs work, thus one of my goals for 2025 has, quite literally, written itself.
Rabbit holes!
Apostrophe Protection Society. I suppose we’ll also need one for the em dash, or perhaps the semi-colon.
Biomedical Explanations and the Fear of Fiction is a post worth reading several times.
Clothing still generates so much waste, but here’s how H&M’s Recycling Machines Make New Clothes From Used Apparel, and Prato shows us how it’s done at scale.
French philosophers with their cats, because.
Best wishes for 2025! May the new year fulfil your dreams, and bring you joy.
There may be photos of amigurumi forthcoming in future posts. It’s not a threat, promise.