Sometime last year Liebling and I were jokingly tossing around ideas for what one would need to make an epic fantasy story with yarn and knitting as a central feature of that world. It was one hell of an awesome several of hours of world building, let me tell you.
Out of that evening, along with an even stronger desire to knit my geekboy all the amazing geeky things I can get my hands on, I got some major inspiration to try writing some short stories about yarn and fibre in a more fictional setting. I mean, what if you could have something like The Dresden Files, but with YARN? I think that sounds pretty damn cool and I'd buy it.
I dabbled and dabbled and knitted and dabbled and eventually came up with a collection of stories about The Knitter. Here is one of these short stories. This is my first try at fictional writing since...erm...high school, so please bear that in mind when you read it.
Also, if you like it, let me know and I'll share more. ;-)
The Knitter vs Monday
Ugh, I love Mondays, the Knitter thought to herself. Especially Mondays I have to share with all the bleary-eyed, Monday-hating morning commuters into the city. Yes, being stuck in close quarters with a bunch of grumpy under-caffeinated white collars who can’t appreciate Mondays, particularly this Monday with its soggy weather, is exactly how I wanted to start my week.
The Knitter sat down on one of the rear-facing end seats of the tram. The carriages were mostly empty, but that wouldn’t last long. It’s only a couple of stops from the start of the line and the birthing point of this tram includes a train line serving the same central city endpoint.
Nevermind the extra cost in transport fare. It’s a gift… Wait, just because my overpriced coffee was burnt and I dropped my once-in-a-blue-moon pastry into the lake of run-off water just outside the tram stop because council couldn't be bothered to clear the storm drains does NOT mean I have to get snarky with everyone else.
The Knitter pulled out a library book, settling against the semi-scratchy fabric of the bench seat to read. The lights of the tram flickered twice, then went out completely.
Sighing inwardly, the Knitter reached into her bag, swapping out the library book for her current project. Hopefully, doing a few lines would take the edge off. In one practised gesture the Knitter arranged the scrunched up socks along the needles, tensioning the yarn through her fingers and crooking her hand.
Of course the lights would go out NOW. It’s too dark to read without them, damn storm…
The tram slowed, then pitched forward in a sudden stop. There was a high-pitched whine followed by a grinding noise and a shudder throughout the tram as the wheels slid along the rails. Then, nothing. The tram stopped moving entirely.
“Your attention passengers. We are currently delayed due to an unknown issue with the track ahead. Please sit tight and we will continue along our regularly scheduled route as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.”
The Knitter sneaked a peak at her phone; 8:55am.
Shit, I’m going to miss my interview. That’s just swell. It isn’t like I have enough of them to not feel the opportunity slip by unattempted. Thanks, Universe.
The Knitter turned her attention back to her project, sliding the needle into a loop and bringing up a stitch. The staccato tick-y-click broadcasted by her needles paralleling her growing frustration with the situation
9:00 am ticked over on the clock.
I am going to miss my interview. I’m going to miss my interview, look like a flake, and not be able to reschedule because they won’t want to consider someone who can’t be on time to what is supposed to be a very important meeting. No matter the impressiveness of my CV, I’m going to remain jobless for the rest of eternity because I’m going to be labeled a flake due to Sydney’s inability to maintain their public transport.
Her knitting became faster and her eyes lost focus. She had no real need to watch her fingers and the needles marching around the leg of the sock in her hands. They knew their dance.
A faint humming began to build in the air around her, not dissimilar to the static hum of halogen lights in old gymnasiums. Slowly, the overhead lights began to brighten. The Knitter didn’t notice, she was too busy trying to push her frustrated energy into her needles.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click.
Why did the tram have to break down TODAY? I really needed to get to that interview...It could have turned into a job. A GOOD job, doing good work...helping people. At this rate we should all just get out and push.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click..
A grinding sound peeled up from below the carriage and the floor shuddered. The Knitter didn’t notice. She continued to knit, turning her work, clustering the fabric near the tip of the front needle and sliding the previous needle out from the back and preparing to work another row. She missed the first loop and dropped the needle into her lap.
Lucky these are cabled. I don’t want to add manically searching the manky floor of the tram to my list of adventures this morning.
The whining and shuddering of the carriage stopped abruptly. The Knitter looked up from her lap, blinking. Only then did she notice the lights and the vibrations ebbing away under her feet.
But...weren’t we meant to be stuck? Perhaps they got the go-ahead from up the track and I just didn’t notice. Well, we’ve stopped again, regardless.
The Knitter entwined the yarn back through her fingers crooking her hand to begin stitching again. A faint vibration moved through the floor, but the Knitter didn’t not notice, once again settling into the movements. The carriage slowly inched forward along the track.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click.
A collective sigh from those sitting nearby caught the Knitter’s attention and she looked up, her hands continuing their dance without the encouragement of her eyes. The familiar da-dunk, da-dunk of the carriage rolling along the tracks lined up surprisingly well with the staccatoed ticks and clicks of her needles. The Knitter stole a look out the window and realised she was more than halfway to the city.
Have we stopped at any of the platforms since being delayed earlier? I must really have lost myself in this project this time.
As if in answer to her query a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Good morning passengers. This tram is now and express to Central. For those of you traveling to those stops between here and Central, please alight at Central and take the tram leaving that station on a return journey. We do apologise for any inconvenience.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” Said the woman seated next to the Knitter. “We don’t have express trams in Sydney - that would be too much like Melbourne! At least we are no longer just sitting on the tracks. I wonder what went wrong.” The Knitter groans inwardly.
Fantastic, I needed to get off BEFORE Central station. In this rain and at this hour walking over from Central Station would ensure that I arrive late AND look like a drowned rat. Exactly the look you want when trying to persuade someone to take you seriously and give you the job.
The Knitter’s hands sped up, matching her returning frustration in fervor and intensity with each stitch. The hum that had disappeared returned. The Knitter didn’t notice; nor did she notice when the lights began to brighten overhead.
In, around, out, off… tick-y, click, tick-y, click.
There was a loud groan of metal on metal accompanied by the carriage coming to a staggering halt. The ball of yarn the Knitter had been working from jumped out of her bag and merrily skipp-rolled along the length of the carriage, drawing the attention of each passenger as it passed in front of their feet. The heads of the other passengers followed the line of yarn back to it’s origin, coming to rest on the Knitter. The Knitter gave a sheepish smile.
“Hazard of the hobby I’m afraid,” said the Knitter to the carriage. She stuffed the socks into her interview bag and made her way to the doors, looping up the trail of yarn as she went. When she got to the door she snatched up the cake, which had been sitting smugly in front of the exit.
Over the loudspeaker a harried and bewildered voice sounded, “sorry again for the unexpected delay. We will now be waiting here until we’ve the all-clear to proceed. If you would prefer to exit here, please proceed to the forward side door and you may access the platform.”
The Knitter looked out the window in front of her and her eyes widened. A surge of hope replaced the Knitter’s annoyance.
This is my stop! I’m certainly not going to wait for the replacement transport at Central to get to my interview. those buses are more unreliable than the regular routes. I might just make it on time.
The doors opened and the Knitter promptly exited, before the tram could change its mind.
As soon as the Knitter was on the platform the door closed promptly behind her and the tram lurched forward, moving along. The Knitter checked her reflection in a large poster window. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, set her interview bag on her shoulder, straightened her smart jacket, and walked off down the covered path to the large building at the end, ready for her job interview.
Enjoying the blog?
it takes a lot of caffeine and yarn to make this happen! ;)
Out of that evening, along with an even stronger desire to knit my geekboy all the amazing geeky things I can get my hands on, I got some major inspiration to try writing some short stories about yarn and fibre in a more fictional setting. I mean, what if you could have something like The Dresden Files, but with YARN? I think that sounds pretty damn cool and I'd buy it.
I dabbled and dabbled and knitted and dabbled and eventually came up with a collection of stories about The Knitter. Here is one of these short stories. This is my first try at fictional writing since...erm...high school, so please bear that in mind when you read it.
Also, if you like it, let me know and I'll share more. ;-)
The Knitter vs Monday
Ugh, I love Mondays, the Knitter thought to herself. Especially Mondays I have to share with all the bleary-eyed, Monday-hating morning commuters into the city. Yes, being stuck in close quarters with a bunch of grumpy under-caffeinated white collars who can’t appreciate Mondays, particularly this Monday with its soggy weather, is exactly how I wanted to start my week.
The Knitter sat down on one of the rear-facing end seats of the tram. The carriages were mostly empty, but that wouldn’t last long. It’s only a couple of stops from the start of the line and the birthing point of this tram includes a train line serving the same central city endpoint.
Nevermind the extra cost in transport fare. It’s a gift… Wait, just because my overpriced coffee was burnt and I dropped my once-in-a-blue-moon pastry into the lake of run-off water just outside the tram stop because council couldn't be bothered to clear the storm drains does NOT mean I have to get snarky with everyone else.
The Knitter pulled out a library book, settling against the semi-scratchy fabric of the bench seat to read. The lights of the tram flickered twice, then went out completely.
Sighing inwardly, the Knitter reached into her bag, swapping out the library book for her current project. Hopefully, doing a few lines would take the edge off. In one practised gesture the Knitter arranged the scrunched up socks along the needles, tensioning the yarn through her fingers and crooking her hand.
Of course the lights would go out NOW. It’s too dark to read without them, damn storm…
The tram slowed, then pitched forward in a sudden stop. There was a high-pitched whine followed by a grinding noise and a shudder throughout the tram as the wheels slid along the rails. Then, nothing. The tram stopped moving entirely.
“Your attention passengers. We are currently delayed due to an unknown issue with the track ahead. Please sit tight and we will continue along our regularly scheduled route as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.”
The Knitter sneaked a peak at her phone; 8:55am.
Shit, I’m going to miss my interview. That’s just swell. It isn’t like I have enough of them to not feel the opportunity slip by unattempted. Thanks, Universe.
The Knitter turned her attention back to her project, sliding the needle into a loop and bringing up a stitch. The staccato tick-y-click broadcasted by her needles paralleling her growing frustration with the situation
9:00 am ticked over on the clock.
I am going to miss my interview. I’m going to miss my interview, look like a flake, and not be able to reschedule because they won’t want to consider someone who can’t be on time to what is supposed to be a very important meeting. No matter the impressiveness of my CV, I’m going to remain jobless for the rest of eternity because I’m going to be labeled a flake due to Sydney’s inability to maintain their public transport.
Her knitting became faster and her eyes lost focus. She had no real need to watch her fingers and the needles marching around the leg of the sock in her hands. They knew their dance.
A faint humming began to build in the air around her, not dissimilar to the static hum of halogen lights in old gymnasiums. Slowly, the overhead lights began to brighten. The Knitter didn’t notice, she was too busy trying to push her frustrated energy into her needles.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click.
Why did the tram have to break down TODAY? I really needed to get to that interview...It could have turned into a job. A GOOD job, doing good work...helping people. At this rate we should all just get out and push.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click..
A grinding sound peeled up from below the carriage and the floor shuddered. The Knitter didn’t notice. She continued to knit, turning her work, clustering the fabric near the tip of the front needle and sliding the previous needle out from the back and preparing to work another row. She missed the first loop and dropped the needle into her lap.
Lucky these are cabled. I don’t want to add manically searching the manky floor of the tram to my list of adventures this morning.
The whining and shuddering of the carriage stopped abruptly. The Knitter looked up from her lap, blinking. Only then did she notice the lights and the vibrations ebbing away under her feet.
But...weren’t we meant to be stuck? Perhaps they got the go-ahead from up the track and I just didn’t notice. Well, we’ve stopped again, regardless.
The Knitter entwined the yarn back through her fingers crooking her hand to begin stitching again. A faint vibration moved through the floor, but the Knitter didn’t not notice, once again settling into the movements. The carriage slowly inched forward along the track.
In, around, out, off...in, around, out, off...tick-y, click.
A collective sigh from those sitting nearby caught the Knitter’s attention and she looked up, her hands continuing their dance without the encouragement of her eyes. The familiar da-dunk, da-dunk of the carriage rolling along the tracks lined up surprisingly well with the staccatoed ticks and clicks of her needles. The Knitter stole a look out the window and realised she was more than halfway to the city.
Have we stopped at any of the platforms since being delayed earlier? I must really have lost myself in this project this time.
As if in answer to her query a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Good morning passengers. This tram is now and express to Central. For those of you traveling to those stops between here and Central, please alight at Central and take the tram leaving that station on a return journey. We do apologise for any inconvenience.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” Said the woman seated next to the Knitter. “We don’t have express trams in Sydney - that would be too much like Melbourne! At least we are no longer just sitting on the tracks. I wonder what went wrong.” The Knitter groans inwardly.
Fantastic, I needed to get off BEFORE Central station. In this rain and at this hour walking over from Central Station would ensure that I arrive late AND look like a drowned rat. Exactly the look you want when trying to persuade someone to take you seriously and give you the job.
The Knitter’s hands sped up, matching her returning frustration in fervor and intensity with each stitch. The hum that had disappeared returned. The Knitter didn’t notice; nor did she notice when the lights began to brighten overhead.
In, around, out, off… tick-y, click, tick-y, click.
There was a loud groan of metal on metal accompanied by the carriage coming to a staggering halt. The ball of yarn the Knitter had been working from jumped out of her bag and merrily skipp-rolled along the length of the carriage, drawing the attention of each passenger as it passed in front of their feet. The heads of the other passengers followed the line of yarn back to it’s origin, coming to rest on the Knitter. The Knitter gave a sheepish smile.
“Hazard of the hobby I’m afraid,” said the Knitter to the carriage. She stuffed the socks into her interview bag and made her way to the doors, looping up the trail of yarn as she went. When she got to the door she snatched up the cake, which had been sitting smugly in front of the exit.
Over the loudspeaker a harried and bewildered voice sounded, “sorry again for the unexpected delay. We will now be waiting here until we’ve the all-clear to proceed. If you would prefer to exit here, please proceed to the forward side door and you may access the platform.”
The Knitter looked out the window in front of her and her eyes widened. A surge of hope replaced the Knitter’s annoyance.
This is my stop! I’m certainly not going to wait for the replacement transport at Central to get to my interview. those buses are more unreliable than the regular routes. I might just make it on time.
The doors opened and the Knitter promptly exited, before the tram could change its mind.
As soon as the Knitter was on the platform the door closed promptly behind her and the tram lurched forward, moving along. The Knitter checked her reflection in a large poster window. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, set her interview bag on her shoulder, straightened her smart jacket, and walked off down the covered path to the large building at the end, ready for her job interview.
Enjoying the blog?
it takes a lot of caffeine and yarn to make this happen! ;)
that leaves me wanting more of a story to when it clicks the knit is magic...well done
ReplyDeleteThank you! I definitely have some ideas on this. ;o) I think I will definitely be posting more!
DeleteThis was a great short story! Love it! (And the Sydney Trams are eerily similar to the Streetcars in Toronto. . .) :D
ReplyDeleteThank you! Yes, I was musing with someone the other day that I could probably remove the name of the city and every reader would probably assume it was their city based on transportation alone! XD
ReplyDelete