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A letter of introduction from the editor, Amy R. Singer

We are different, aren't we? Knitters. We take strands of fiber and from them we create wonders. We share what we know. We're anxious to do it. We want there to be more of us. People who look at the world a little differently. A little less gimme and a little more let me try that. We enjoy process as much as product. We knit.

My grandma taught me to knit when I was just 6 years old. I suppose I made a lot of scarves and other rectangular projects for years, but I didn't turn to knitting consciously until I was in college.

I was fortunate enough to live
within walking distance of a Pingouin yarn shop. Despite my wool allergy, I could always find something enticing and cottony to knit there. My first project was a double cabled vest in bright red mercerized cotton. The lady at the Pingouin store taught me to cable and off I went.

I spent the next few years making sweaters that were fashionable at the time: a cropped stripy boatneck, a tall cabled turtleneck in a soft camel color, a silly pink v-necked vest. I made a lot of vests. I made two hugethickwarm cardigans - one for me and one for my boyfriend at the time [who is now my husband, so the curse doesn't ALWAYS come true] - in my favorite heavy Gloucester cotton.

And then I put down my needles. In the time that passed between then and now, I played with other crafts. I decoupaged. I beaded. I painted pottery. I picked up quilting for a long time and for a while thought it would be my creative outlet for the rest of my life.

Then my grandma died. There are no words.

One of the few things I wanted to take with me as we dismantled her house were her knitting needles. That's them, up there on the left. I took grandma's needles and brought them home with me. I arranged them artfully in that white pitcher, and they sat on my quilting table for a year. I wasn't quilting anymore; it was too time consuming and I didn't have enough space in my brain for the concentration it required.

One day, I decided I needed to knit hats for friends. And I liked it. I knit my mother a sweater in Mission Falls 1824 cotton. I used grandma's needles and it made me feel better. I made scarves. I knit more hats for more friends.

I hadn't realized the comfort and solace knitting provided me. I realize it now. Quilting feels like work but knitting is like breathing.

So that brings us to now. Knitty. When I started my blog last year, I didn't realize how a passing mention of knitting would bring other knitters out of their lurk. They wrote me and invited me in. There are a lot of us. We share patterns and knitting secrets. We inspire and encourage each other. It's all very good.

It soon occurred to me that we needed a like-minded knitting magazine on the web. One with a sense of humour. And one that took advantage of the changes in the craft of knitting over the last 15 years -- both in the people who knit and what they're creating. In 1985, Pingouin was as revolutionary as you got. Sadly Pingouin is gone now, but with its heir, Phildar, and magazines like Rebecca, knitting is not.

As I hoped, Knitty seemed to be exactly what online knitters wanted, too. My call for submissions was enthusiastically received and the result is the magazine you're now reading. I hope you'll find something in its pages that you just have to knit. And when you do, e-mail me a picture and we'll display it proudly in our gallery.

Thank you for stopping by. Tell your friends. We knitters have to stick together.