Start by writing a few short paragraphs from the point of view of one of the tools you use for your craft. Then, write a dialogue between yourself and this item.
Life as Alice’s knitting scissors is not all sunshine and rainbows, but I take pride in dedication to my work. I was not born to a rich family; my humble beginnings started at a nearby craft store. Although I have a noted resemblance to more expensive stork scissors, I cost less than five dollars. Despite this rough background, my work has always been stable and reliable. Am I really defined only by the price tag associated with me? I am much more than the sum of my base metals, for my blades are sharp enough to cut yarn in a single snip and I have not yet accidentally stabbed my mistress.
I sniff and sneer at the collection of paper and “common” shears in this house; I am above them. I may have begun as a budget pair of hobby scissors, but I am a tool with tenure in the knitting bag. For this I demand respect from the other yarn craft tools. (I am not going to mention the attitude of the Clover Chibi yarn needles, who seem to think that they deserve the highest rank in the tool bag. Although they are used frequently, they have not served as long as I.)
I believe we are ready to begin the interview. Proceed.
Alice (represented in pink): Thank you for agreeing to this interview, Scissors.
The Honorable Stork Scissors: I’m sorry, miss–I must request that you use my full title unless I have granted you authority to address me so informally.
Pardon my lapse in etiquette, Honorable Stork Scissors. May I please ask that, in the interest of conciseness, I will be permitted temporarily to refer to you by your given name?
I will begrudgingly acquiesce.
Please, tell me a bit about your early days in the knitting tool bag.
As you know, I am the oldest surviving tool in the knitting bag with the exception of the plastic pouch that I reside in. Which I must say is showing its age rather unkindly.
In the beginning it was myself, a plastic finishing needle with a bad drinking habit, the plastic pouch, and one of those barrel-shaped row counters with a terrible accent. He resided outside the plastic pouch, which was tucked into a shabby resealable sandwich bag.
I much prefer our current living conditions–the polka dot case is a significant upgrade to our living style.
Would you describe the other residents of the tool bag?
Well, I’m not one to gossip, but the current and past occupants of the tool bag have not generally been accommodating roommates. I was rather relieved when the plastic finishing needle finally snapped under the weight of his habit (and some chunky acrylic yarn), but the Clover Chibi needles chatter incessantly about themselves.
The little notebook cries from neglect on a regular basis; I can hear him nightly through the plastic layers of my protective pouch, and it is both heart-wrenching and obnoxious. The pencil tries to comfort him, but with little success.
The other Clover row counters are very snappy things, always trying to one-up each other. (At least, until they’re called for, in which case they have to scramble to reset themselves. Utterly foolhardy behavior in my opinion.) The stitch marker chain gang is always plotting escape tactics from the safety pin that binds them. The Hiya Hiya stitch markers are miserable recluses; they never leave their brocade home.
The tape measure is the most pleasant of the bunch. We enjoy regular conversation, that tape measure and I. He’s very witty, you know, and generally in a cheery state.
Where do you see yourself in another year?
I am still as sharp as the day I was opened, so I plan to continue advancing my career. I’d like to interact with fibers not previously snipped. If I’m feeling particularly dare-devilish, I dream of steeking. I know, I know–it’s shameless of me, but doesn’t a good steek sound like a jolly time?
Well, you may get your wish at some point! I am interested in trying new techniques.
Is there anything about the job that you dislike?
Pom poms. [He pauses.]
Those miserable things! Stuffing my blades into a suffocating abyss and then sawing them back and forth across innumerable strands of yarn with a total disregard for evenness and a clean cut. Just when I think I’m free, it starts over again with the other side. And that’s not the end, oh no! There’s still more trimming to be done! You don’t even wait until I’ve had a chance to rest my shears. You just shift me over, tightening your vise-like grip on my handles, and snip without mercy!
[At this point he has worked himself nearly to a frenzy, tears glistening in the eye of the stork that forms his body. I pause to allow him to collect himself.]
Please tell me about your favourite part of your craft.
I delight in those final, close clipping of yarn ends that have been fully woven in. They’re so satisfying! With my swift and precise motions, the piece is officially finished and ready! Just think of the difference between the sorry state it was in before I removed those offending lingering tails and how beautiful it looks when they’re fully incorporated and I’ve erased the last trace of their involvement. No longer is it a project, it is a finished item!
It’s clear that you take pride in your excellent work. Thank you for taking the time to chat with us, Scissors.
…I really would prefer that you use my title.