On pens and needles

This post appeared on 9/22/25, on the book blog of Gina Rae Mitchell (ginaraemitchell.com)

Guest Post: On Pens and Needles

By M. F. Jones

When I’ve had a hard day of writing, or an exhaustingly good one, I lay down my pen (or, more often, turn off my computer) and pick up my needles. The rhythmic movements of knitting, the fun challenges of new patterns, the feeling of the yarn’s gorgeous colors seeping into my skin, all restore me.

Working with my hands is a perfect antidote to staring at a screen or a page. Sometimes I listen to audiobooks as I knit, but much of the time I’m content to let my thoughts wander, to look up from my work and gaze around the room or, outdoors, over a scene of natural beauty.

So much of writing is solitary. It can be lonely. My lovely local yarn store is a place where I can always find good company. I take a two-hour class once a week, and it’s more than knitting instruction—it’s encouragement, life advice, laughter, and psychotherapy, in a setting where the joy of creativity is the air we breathe. The online knitting community is also warm, helpful, and noncompetitive.

Rejection is an unfortunate reality of the writing life. With knitting I get to experience creativity without rejection. I believe every writer should have a handcraft outlet—needlework, woodwork, painting, pottery, mosaic, gardening, cooking—something absorbing that lets us make something beautiful with no fear of judgment. Something, too, that grounds us in the physical world after spending so much time in ideas and imagination.

Knitting teaches me patience. Sometimes I’ll find a mistake so far back that there’s no choice but to rip out inches and hours of work. Resignedly I rip away, knowing it’s all part of mastering the craft and making something of beauty and integrity. So, too, is cutting and editing my writing. It may hurt, but the end result is always so much better.

Last, putting on my handknitted sweater and having it fit perfectly and have no visible mistakes is a great reward. Even greater, though, has been holding the first printed copy of Stones River, my first published novel—twelve years in the making, a lifetime in the dreaming. The satisfaction of these dual accomplishments makes me happy to spend the rest of my days on pens and needles.