Pulling Stitches

In "Politics and the English Language," George Orwell speaks to the sometimes oblivious writer, admitting that he is sometimes guilty of the same problems he advises against. He says being awake and in control is the key to writing and reading effectively. Unfortunately, Mr. Orwell's "heavy on example" writing style in this essay made me sleepy. This is likely my failing, rather than any mistakes on his part. I found his advice sound and sonorous, if lengthy, and I also found idioms I didn't even realize were idioms, running through my head.

I'm going to take a leaf out of Mr. Orwell's book, possibly opening a can of worms, but hopefully a stitch in time will save nine, even if I can't hold a candle to Mr. Orwell's talents.

To start a sewing project, I pick a pattern and then choose a fabric first. I'm careful to select a color I like in a texture that won't snag or bunch up. My tools are pins,

thread, tape measure, scissors, a sewing machine, and a lot of patience because I'm not a very talented seamstress.

When I write, I pick my brain and choose some words. I don't use any particular pattern, and I'm not that careful at first, because mistakes are easier to fix with a delete button than they are with a button hole. My tools are a deadline, an urge to make myself laugh, a computer, my memory, and a lot of patience, because talented or not, I'm a

raging perfectionist.

Sewing can be dangerous. The pins are sharp, the needle moves quickly and there is a reason scissors are not allowed on airplanes. Once I traded in my pencils for a keyboard, writing didn't make me bleed anymore. But, as Orwell says, writers can be dangerous - but with intent and mostly to the reader.

My sewing machine moves in two directions - forward and reverse. My writing moves all over the page, and back and forth to and from the recycle bin.

I never change the stitch on my sewing machine, not only because I don't know how, but because I don't think it matters. The stitches hold things together invisibly or I've sewed my skirt wrong side out. Words, on the other hand, the stitches that hold the thoughts together and make something interesting to read, matter as much as or more than the finished product. Without words, there are no stitches. Without stitches, we're just naked.

Word arrangement matters too. The stitches are mindless, staying on the straight and narrow, with no flair for rearrangement. If the stitches have rearranged themselves, it's usually into a knot and severance is the only solution.

Orwell's essay points out that words too can become so tangled, even we, as the writer can't unravel them. That's when it's time to rip out all the words, and throw the "lumps of verbal refuse - into the dustbin where it belongs." (149), and begin at the beginning, working harder, being clearer and getting the final version all sewed up.