I still remember my first skein. Lumpy and overtwisted, it was hardly enough “yarn” to be useful in any way. But it marked the beginning of my journey toward understanding how, with just a little bit of work, you could transform almost any jumble of fibers into yarn.
Like riding a bike, I gradually got better at keeping my spindle (and, soon, wheel) in steady motion while managing an even draft and twist. It seemed absurdly hard at first, but I kept going, and then one day, it clicked.
My fiber consumption slowly increased from a few ounces to a few pounds to a sheep’s worth of fleece. Now that I deal in flocks, my currency is the bale. I have someone else do the scouring and spinning and plying and skeining for me. But if I hadn’t begun as a handspinner, I’d be completely lost. Learning to spin is the very best way to understand how yarn really works — and in that regard, I wish every knitter would learn how to do it.
Only after I tried knitting with my handspun did I discover another problem: it turns out spinning yarn is rather easy, but spinning a yarn that serves a purpose, that fulfills your hopes and dreams for a specific knitted project? That’s where the journey toward wisdom really begins — and that’s where this book begins as well. It assumes you already understand the basics of spinning and are ready to go further.
A masterful explainer of things, Jillian walks you through all the tiny but vital variables that come into play when you’re creating a lovely and useful yarn. She touches on choosing your fibers and fiber preparations, working with solid and multicolored fibers, and even juggling the nuances of drafting and plying and finishing. Best of all, Jillian makes it abundantly clear what beautiful rewards await you at the end.
How I wish Jillian had written this book when I was first learning to spin. It would’ve saved me a lot of trial and error . . . okay, mostly error.
Lucky for you, the book is now here, and it’s in your hands. Use it well.