
I'm certain I can make it to six posts by the end of today.
I follow British comic
Richard Herring's blog, which he's been writing
every single day since November 2002. Not that I've been reading it that long or read it every day, but I've been dabbling since having a day job with nothing to do in 2006. He started the blog as a way of 'warming up' to his daily comedy writing and beating writer's block, which is why the blog is named
Warming Up. They're not short entries either - 500+ words is normal.
Rich writes a lot about the process of creating comedy and finding his own way of communicating with an audience.
Saturday's entry, written at the tail end of his 'Hitler Moustache' tour, is to me a very familiar expression by a creative person who's found their niche.
But I think part of the reason I am excited to be going home is that on this tour I have acknowledged to myself that most of the roadblocks in my career have been put there by myself. I have been presented with opportunities and shied away from them or messed them up, partly because I feared the failure or rejection more than I wanted the success. Now I think I am ready to hanker down a bit and get on with doing some writing and not feel so personally affronted if executives or publishers or audiences turn them down... A show like Hitler Moustache does not come along every year and I think it is my personal favourite thing that I have ever done... But I want to write more TV stuff and I want to write more books and I want to write more shows and it feels like, after the reviews and audience reaction and ticket sales of this year that I may have found myself in a position to do so.
I recognise this feeling personally. It's how I felt after doing
my first Craft Hatch market, when sticking my neck out and applying for something I felt was out of my league turned out to be the best public reaction (and sales) I'd had. It's how I feel this week about my decision to
jump with both feet into Olive Grove.
The idea of committing to paying for the equivalent of a weekly market in order to have my work in a shop terrified me. It wasn't until a week after I started that I realised making twice what I paid in rent would only be the equivalent of selling my stuff wholesale - half the money I made would be going straight back to the shop. I would have to make three or four times my rent to consider the relationship an ongoing success. This terrified me - I've often been the one at markets who stands there smiling at empty space while shoppers flock to stalls of baby clothes and jewellery and things I have no aptitude for. I decided that if I lost money - made less than twice my rent - for the first two or three months I'd withdraw.
For the first week I totted up my slow sales in the ledger very nervously. I watched what people looked at and what they bought, and in a combination of financial anxiety and customer-focussed logic I quickly made stock in the popular categories -
kids teeshirts,
accessories, and
women's clothing.
I also pumped out as many cushions as I could, aiming to always have at least three in the shop, but every time I put them in the window they'd be sold the next time I visited. It was very hard to keep up with shop cushions, the last orders trailling in from
Frankie, suffering with first trimester exhaustion for the first fortnight and being brought down with tonsillitis for the last week. I only had one healthy week in March and I'm sure I made as much stock as I did in December!
On Saturday I took my newly named Brenda skirts into the shop and added up my first month's sales for the purpose of being paid. My eyes widened as I added it up - in my first month I came $25 short of making three times my rent. I had already (almost) reached my minimum benchmark for ongoing success. How? By hard work, pushing myself into new creative areas, and using my strengths.
It is a huge step from the novice market crafter I was a year ago, only making things I loved without a knowledge of what people would like and what they'd buy (which can be two vastly different things), to taking the professional 'make what sells' approach necessary to meet ongoing financial expenses. A lot of people who romanticise the handmade movement would call it selling out.
Personally I don't think it's selling out, because retail-level crafting is a completely different animal to the joy and self-expression of making one item for oneself or a love one. As soon as you set up your first 'production line' to efficiently make three or six or twenty of something at once, you've looked beyond the small comforts of craft and into the bigger, financially risky sphere I've nervously jumped into.
There's nothing wrong with only making for self and gifts, and there's nothing wrong with making for money. Don't ever be ashamed of doing either, that you're not brave enough or have enough time to have a stall, or that you haven't made anything for your kids in months because you're developing a new product range. You don't have to have the same goals and ambitions as the crafter next to you. As long as it gives you fulfillment, be proud.
Image: the shop that inspires me to achieve - Craft In The Bay, Cardiff. My goal is to sell here one day which means I (a) have to become an established craftsperson and (b) have to move to Wales.