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Occasionally* I am overtaken by a sudden desire for something not immediately accessible. Recently, it was deep-fried stuffed avocados. Who doesn't want one of those, upon being reminded that they exist? (Those who dislike avocados or deep-fried food aside.**) Or the complete Dragonbreath series, or to learn to play the harmonica...
I'm usually pretty good about not following through on these things, because this is how I end up with sad harmonicas sitting around the house, staring at me with accusatory harmonica grills as I completely fail to follow through on playing them. At least consumables I'm likely to eat, but, well, sudden cravings. Not all that important. Just a bit dangerous when they overlap with my hobbyist urges.
Because let's face it, much as I love writing, at the stage I'm at it's not very tangible. I could print a copy of my latest short story out onto paper, but holding that set of paper wouldn't be much more satisfying than any other set of paper, and I'd immediately spot a typo. But if I knit an awkward scarf, then after six hours of knitting, by god, I've got an awkward scarf at hand, which I can poke at dubiously and hand to other people and try to make people wear during cold weather, if they live in an area that has any.
(I wonder if I could have a sweater finished before this coming winter was over, if I started now? Probably not. Tempted, though.)
Anyway, today's sudden passionate desire was to own a printing press. A movable type printing press, where I could slot letters individually into place, and with a heavy machinery ka-chunk print individual sheets of inky paper with...whatever I did with all those letters. The whole image gets a little fuzzy around that point, because these passionate desires are seldom full of much that could be called practical, or well-thought-out, or complete.
But think of how satisfying that would be!
Of course, an hour or two after mentioning this to friends, I've been reminded of all other sorts of things I want*** and have no space for. Much of which is congealing into this terrible desire in my head to get together all the equipment and materials and skill-increasing books necessary to make my own little bound book, from the print on the paper at the start to the embossed cover on the end. I am not quite to the point of wisting after making my own paper--I believe that creates an unholy stench, and I have cats for that--but I'm rapidly approaching that point.
Fortunately, even in the new house, there's nowhere near enough space to do anything of the sort. And given my hobbyist track record, I'd probably get distracted halfway through setting the text to the second page, with an enormous stack of unused machinery and materials left beside all my knitting stuff. (Just one sweater couldn't be that hard, right?) Probably.
But damn if I don't keep being tempted.
__
* And by "occasionally" I mean "all the damn time."
** I'm pretty sure no one outright dislikes the concept of stuffing, but I could be wrong, there.
*** Like a loom. That'd be pretty awesome.
I'm usually pretty good about not following through on these things, because this is how I end up with sad harmonicas sitting around the house, staring at me with accusatory harmonica grills as I completely fail to follow through on playing them. At least consumables I'm likely to eat, but, well, sudden cravings. Not all that important. Just a bit dangerous when they overlap with my hobbyist urges.
Because let's face it, much as I love writing, at the stage I'm at it's not very tangible. I could print a copy of my latest short story out onto paper, but holding that set of paper wouldn't be much more satisfying than any other set of paper, and I'd immediately spot a typo. But if I knit an awkward scarf, then after six hours of knitting, by god, I've got an awkward scarf at hand, which I can poke at dubiously and hand to other people and try to make people wear during cold weather, if they live in an area that has any.
(I wonder if I could have a sweater finished before this coming winter was over, if I started now? Probably not. Tempted, though.)
Anyway, today's sudden passionate desire was to own a printing press. A movable type printing press, where I could slot letters individually into place, and with a heavy machinery ka-chunk print individual sheets of inky paper with...whatever I did with all those letters. The whole image gets a little fuzzy around that point, because these passionate desires are seldom full of much that could be called practical, or well-thought-out, or complete.
But think of how satisfying that would be!
Of course, an hour or two after mentioning this to friends, I've been reminded of all other sorts of things I want*** and have no space for. Much of which is congealing into this terrible desire in my head to get together all the equipment and materials and skill-increasing books necessary to make my own little bound book, from the print on the paper at the start to the embossed cover on the end. I am not quite to the point of wisting after making my own paper--I believe that creates an unholy stench, and I have cats for that--but I'm rapidly approaching that point.
Fortunately, even in the new house, there's nowhere near enough space to do anything of the sort. And given my hobbyist track record, I'd probably get distracted halfway through setting the text to the second page, with an enormous stack of unused machinery and materials left beside all my knitting stuff. (Just one sweater couldn't be that hard, right?) Probably.
But damn if I don't keep being tempted.
__
* And by "occasionally" I mean "all the damn time."
** I'm pretty sure no one outright dislikes the concept of stuffing, but I could be wrong, there.
*** Like a loom. That'd be pretty awesome.