In the Pterodactyl Claws of an Idea
If you are a fellow creative, you've probably gotten those envious remarks:
"It must be nice to be able to think things up like that and not need a pattern."
"Wow, I wish I could come up with those ideas!"
(Also known as "Where do you get your ideas?" I always want to say, "There's a store where I buy them, but if I told you where it is, I'd hafta kill ya.")
In a way, it is nice. I do come up with ideas I can't execute, mainly because they involve skills or equipment I don't have. (If you've seen my attempts at pottery, you know what I'm talking about.)
But usually when an idea seizes me, if I have the skills, I can make it happen. And those first days and even weeks, when I'm soaring on that idea's wings, wow. They're great. Wouldn't trade 'em.
That's the up side, when the idea is gripping you, and you work on it in every spare moment, forgetting meals and bedtimes and having hours zip past in the blink of an eye.
The down side is, at some point the pterodactyl drops you.
Depending on how far from the ground you are at the time, it can be quite a jolt, and a long painful crawl towards finishing. (Think Dragon Skin bag, or the purple waffle scarf, for example.)
The pterodactyl has me again.
This idea started when I took Galina Khmeleva's Orenburg lace knitting class in August. Later I saw a photo of someone's Scheherazade stole (Mystery Stole 2). Then I checked out Donna Druchunas' Arctic Lace. And then I found a photo I'd taken of a Persian carpet.
Next thing I know, I'm printing out knitting graph paper, stretching the Persian carpet, converting it to grayscale, cutting it in quarters, and printing it over the graph paper.
I haven't cast on yet. I could maybe still escape. But oh help! I'm afraid it's got me.