a-tishoo a tissue

So among the spoiled wastes of tissues I lay, sprawled in a sea of crumpled white paper like virgin roses shrouding me in my coffin. A cough, a splutter, I am gone now...alas... *puts palm to forehead in dramatic style*

I hate being sick.

So, burning the candle at both ends, as it turns out, is not as economical as it seems. I am sick. And as I am sick, I have decided to be completely self indulgent and wallow in my martyrdom for a moment.
For the last 8 weeks or so, I have been working 12 hour days. I have not had weekends off, or even the occasional day at my leisure.
Sure, I only go out to work for the 'man' for 2 1/2 days a week (thank you lovely 'man' for paying me :) ), but every other spare minute, I am at home sewing, cutting patterns, taking care of admin or cleaning the house (haha, that last one was a lie).
As it is almost Halloween, here is my horror story: you can be extra terrified by knowing that it is TRUE! mwuhaha...

I felt it creeping up my back like the hand of doom last week.
Hunched over a patch of candy apple felt with needle in hand, a sharp twinge in my spine was the first signal that the pox was upon me. Complaining to my husband that my back was aching with unusual intensity, I was rebuffed with taunts of 'stop being an old lady'. I went back to my sewing, trying to be as youthful as possible, seeing that this was the only advice given to ward off a sore back.
However, the next day dawned with an evil portent in the sky. The thunder clouds roiled and broiled on the distant horizon as I felt a tickle in my throat. I again complained to my husband, with which I was rebuffed once more with 'did you brush your teeth last night?' I had to admit he was right. But still, something was wrong, more than just furry teeth could attest to.

It wasn't until later that day, my back sore and my throat raspy, that I walked in on a horrific sight. Husband was reaching to the very top of the pantry. I quickly ducked behind the fridge where I wouldn't be seen. He rummaged around for a while, pulling out ear medication and laxatives (don't know whose those are?) until I saw it. The bright orange wrapper gave his game away and I leapt out to confront him in his nefarious deed.
"Haha!" I said "sore throat husband?!"
I had caught him. It was always the way.

Where I might bring home flowers or homeless kittens, Husband brought home colds and flu's. 

The Vicks vapo-drop, butter menthol flavoured wrapper fell to the floor. It was all over, the truth was out. I was sick and the harbinger of illness had bought it upon me.
Cue thunder and lightning.

Hope you are all doing better than me. I will retire now to my bed and sup upon warm tea. *uhuhm-uhuhm*  no no, I'll be fine, really.

A stitch too far

How do you know where the line is?

You know, that invisible line we all subconsciously draw in the sand when we head down a particular path.
I envy those who are single minded, solidly focused on the end goal like a horse with blinkers on. But, as they say, it is about the journey, not the destination.

If you are of a creative bent like me, you will feel an affinity with the point I am ambling towards here.
Simply put: I get distracted. I stop to smell the roses, notice a bumble bee, follow it to the next garden, find a picnic, have a bite to eat, lie down for a nap, wake up and forget where I was heading in the first place. It's a little bit like fridge-itis (fridge-itis: where you are standing in front of an open fridge with no idea how you got there or what you wanted in the first place).

I started the forest flaw with the idea of making all the foresty woodland creatures I could stitch, but it has since evolved to incorporate camels, robots and even recently pelicans! But I love it. I love that people can see what I'm doing and find other potentials for it. I love that I can be sent down rabbit holes that I never would have ventured in to and come out with more ideas than I went in with. It's all part of that journey I guess. You are not always in the drivers seat, and it is the same with business, craft, art or anything you put out into the world where others can see.

Others have the power shape your world as much as you do.

Kapow. Self help moment but it's true. This is why I have learnt that I need to make a map of where I want to go. A loose map, like one of those pirate maps with dotted lines that snake all over the page.  But written on it are directions like:

• keep left of those who will distract you. 
• Dodge the ones who want you to succeed on their terms. 
• Turn down at the offers that might seem good at the time but will ultimately make you feel like you sold your soul. 

All the while leaving huge gaps for the things I can not foresee but adhere to my general life plan - even if it might take me longer to get to end point. So that's what I will be thinking about this week. My end point. Is it when I have quit my job to sew full time? Is it when I have sold a certain amount of creatures? Or have regular orders for stores - or even just being able to play in my own garden and sew occasionally? I don't know yet, but I will start making my own pirate map. Even if only for the opportunity to wear a patch over my eye for a week or so.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to business registers and tax invoices and...eh...

It's funny to look back now and imagine the ideas I had of nurturing this craft, my notions of tenderly encouraging it along to one day grow up to be a fully fledged hobby.
Not to complain, but I just wasn't ready for the things that crop up along the way.What started as a happily lumbering, moss covered stone, has since been picked up and hurtled into the near future and now it is my job to run after behind it, arms flailing - paperwork and calculators falling from pockets.

I have learnt that with every silver lining, comes a cloud that needs to be tended to rather swiftly.

Being wonderfully inundated with orders and watching my items sell is seriously satisfying and heartwarming stuff. But with each sale comes a quarry of questions and conundrums.
First off: design the product.
If it is a custom order, then I need to conceptualize the shape and materials used.
Second: time frame. Does this need to have precedence over other creations? Do I need to stay up a few nights to complete this? Will the cranky tired factor vs the getting things done value equal out?
Thirdly: pricing. I have read so much material on this and taken equal amounts of advice. But ultimately it is my call, and I must do disgusting maths (eh) to work out how much I will be making an hour on a project and if it is going to be comparable to a real job (eh) or if I will be making someone's day and eating green potatoes and home made baked beans for the week.

All well and good. We're coasting along now and have some sort of formula to work these things out. But wait, another amazing opportunity arises - time to get the umbrella out.
A large order for a shop "send me the invoice". Brilliant, I am doing my happy dance and feel all smug and cushy inside.
However, firstly: I need to work out rate of cost. How do I do this? how do I work out what will be worth my time and materials vs marking down for an amazing opportunity?
Secondly: I need an ABN to create a tax invoice properly. How do I create a tax invoice? What about Me? What happened to my TAB- no time for that now*

Ok, working all these things out, I am approached by a couple of retail /gallery owners who sell based on commission.
Woot! Happy joy joy, get out the bucket though - because now the roof is leaking.
Firstly: How much commission?! is it worth having my items in your space for exposure vs what you will be taking from all my hard work?
Secondly: exclusivity. Now the tricky problem of who has what in which shop and where? Also Who Hung Woo Where What Why When? Keep it together, more problems that need addressing yet.
Thirdly: Wholesaling. Do I still offer these items online? I must make sure that I am not undercutting these people by having customers come to me and bypassing the shops all together.

So I have learnt that I must be aware that for every positive there seems to be a tangled knot that needs working out.

I know that people have been doing this for centuries, but I can understand why for many people it is just so much easier to put on a uniform, clock on to work, catch those chickens, crunch those numbers, sell those ice-creams and come home and do it all over again again again...

Eh. Think I'll just get out my calculator thanks.

*wild Simpson's reference.

Claw foot or Monkey hand?

I don't have kids.
I have an ageing cat who brings me mice, and a neurotic German Shepherd who is terrified of everything and a husband who is mostly at work when I am at home. I only work at a 'real job' 2-3 days a week, a sweet little garden to play in on my own, and yet I still have no time and feel mostly harassed by life.

Most of the time not dedicated to the above I am sewing. Or admin-ing. Or some similar 'Forest Flaw' based activity. But I wonder lately if my state of hurried-ness and harangue-ment stems from just two simple things:

A) I do not have a bath.

This may seem like I am oversimplifying things here - I am not dear reader!
If you take note of people who do have said item in household (and get to use it) you will note their general calm demeanor. They are capable of taking greater stress because they can simply soak their worries away! Bye bye back ache, see-ya strain, ta taa tension. Down the drain with you. I am exceedingly jealous of those who get to go to bed without a monkey claw for a hand and a hunched back to make Quasimodo look like he was just bending over to look for his lost contact.

B) Procrastination

I am reigning queen supreme.
Never has the house been so clean, the garden so tidy, the cat so thoroughly brushed as when something is about due and the clock is ticking away.
(n.b. house is not clean atm - I am procrastinating doing that also)
I am not the sort of person who gets up in the morning, eats, cheerily showers, dresses and is ready to take on the world - aka any women's cereal advert.
I am the type of person who:

•  gets up after accidentally turning alarm off instead of snoozing it. 
• fumbles into kitchen with eyes shut to make coffee
• sits with coffee for leisurely 20 minutes until it is cold
• races to get dressed, fed, hair and makeup done in remaining 10 minutes and runs out the door forgetting lunch and with skirt tucked into pants.

So I must learn to organise myself better. Take the right amount of time to complete tasks. Check the mirror   for clothing catastrophes and begin a practical regime of living. 

I'll do it later.

Meanwhile, I'll dream about a bath, while I sit here with my coffee...let my mind go for a little nap. 

Then I'll cook tea, sew my orders, feed the pets, water the garden and pick up husband in the remaining 10 minutes of my night.

This one's for you S.M - the leisurely lady of the hour long bath.

A Template for life

A template for life. Sounds religious doesn't it? Or like something you would find in a 'women's temperance' pamphlet.

It's just that I've been creating them lately. (Not women's temperance pamphlets)
As I've been sewing each creature again, I have been taking the time to translate the shapes onto a piece of thin card. Time consuming, but at least next time I sew the same shape, all the bits that are relevant will be easily and quickly referenced. So instead of assessing each cut by eye and feel, my previous actions can be re-lived, re-cut and reproduced.

This, however has become a new obsession of late. It's got me thinking why we don't prescribe to this way of thinking for all things?
It would be helpful to every element of my life, from the smallest incidences to the big things. For instance: why is it that I always bang my knee on the bedpost near the door? If I mentally make a template of the path I should take, use that every time I walk through in the room, then voila! No more banged knee!
When placing full carton of milk in the fridge door - push extra hard. Do this every time and no longer will I walk past half an hour later and notice the two inch gap where all the cold and light are spilling out onto the kitchen floor.


But mainly it's the big things that I've been thinking about. For instance, why can't I make a template for dealing with heartache? Cut one giant piece of me into the shape that can handle rejection. take when needed.
Or make a template for dealing with difficult people: cut one shape for poise, one shape for patience and the tricky shape of standing up for myself and finish with dignity.

So, how many times do we need to do the same thing over and over again before we make a mental template? Presumably it happens, or we would never progress: I would still be trying to make a trampoline out of leaves on the front lawn. Or trying to make a cake out of desiccated coconut, or going out with the same egotistical selfish loser again and again until I made a template of how to avoid it (ok, that one I did take a few bashes at).

Taking the time and extra care on these templates has also made me produce more quality work. If it is going to be used over and over, then it had better be the best version of that that I can do. It all comes down to planning in the end. I thought I was terrible at that, but it turns out it's something I can do - and do well. And slowing down to put some thought into what I'm doing, because it is what I will be doing again and again and again -
If I'm lucky ;)

Technology Apocalypse

What kind of hero takes on hyperlinks and htmls? Who in their right mind succeeds with spreadsheets?

What does application virtualisation mean?! 

No, I am not 80 years old.

In fact, I grew up with computers. We had a commodore 64. On it, you could play hangman and spend a whole day inputting binary 01011110010101 to make a coloured block (representing a hot air balloon) sail gracefully across the pixelated screen. It was a far cry from the video machines that thrillingly allowed a stick hit a ball from one side of the screen to another. For one thing, it had a keyboard.

I was up with the Amiga. I could draw pumpkins and print out reels and reels of perforated paper to create banners I didn't need. "WELCOME HOME FROM WORK DAD" with accompanying pictures would take about 20 pages.
"HOW ABOUT A CUP OF TEA WITH A BISCUIT _ I'VE GOT CHOCOLATE" would take probably about 35 pages. And about 35 minutes to print.

When we got our first IBM, I could play games that used text, scrolling screen and colour. Breakthrough! I could print out reams of paper at about one third of the speed (and about equal usefulness).

I kept up with technology. I worked in admin, I can word process, de-frag my computer, download (legally...) upload, learn any computer program. But DAMNED if I can drive Facebook!

I boycotted facebook since it first appeared.
I said "ugh, who wants to be on that?" I also said "you will never find me on that ego-centric, networking, meat market web site."

You can find me at http://www.facebook.com/TheForestFlaw  

Since beginning the Forest Flaw I have been 'Facebooking' because it is the MOST valuable networking tool I can find. Everybody who wants to know what I'm up to can get instant feeds. Even my blog feeds into my page (eventually, but another story).
However, as au fait as I am with the computer world, I can not get my head around invites. Or personal pages vs business pages, events, notes, links, wallpapers, info and rss feeds. Status, photos, links videos and questions.

So if you follow me on facebook, I apologise. You may get things three times, you may see things you shouldn't and you will probably get things you may not understand.

I think it's Facebook revenge, had I joined from the start, I would probably be the Emperor of Faceook by now. That's how it works right?

Constructive vs Critisism

I do not take criticism well.

I don't know what it is, perhaps my ego is too big. Perhaps my ego is too fragile. Either way, I'm sure it's ego related.

Years ago I painted.
I took a year or two off to study this. I learnt illustrating, ceramics, etching, linocuts, sculpture, you name it. I did well (for a young girl with no attention span at all), except for when I had to work in a group.

Now, art and I are old friends. We drew on the pavements with chalk and arranged objects into aesthetic positions and cut up dad's paper (before he read it) way back when I was a tyke. We would dress up the dog and make elaborate houses for the cats and draw doorways for the ghost that lived in the bungalow back when I was a wee lass.
Which was fine, because I did this all on my own. I could spend all day on my own - still can - and not get lonely, because art and my imagination always kept me company. It was when I had to work with others that the problems occurred.

I know what you're thinking, but no, I'm not an only child. Neither am I selfish with my things, I shared toys, it's just that no-one seemed to have enough imagination to play with me.
I remember being told off by friends when playing dolls (ugh, dolls), because Barbie did not walk 5 feet off the floor, nor could horses speak or werewolves live at Ken's house.

It was somewhat similar when I signed up for a professional writing course. I aced the assignments (shyeah!), ruled the editing room (woo!), and flew through creative writing (you know it baby!). However, I was DISMAL in group assignments (boo!). And why? Because no-one had enough imagination to play (I mean work) with me! I couldn't (possibly wouldn't) listen because I don't like linear rules or having a group of people question my methods.

It is the same now. I get to play with all my toys (that I create) all by myself. I can make up background stories for them and decide what they're doing all on my own. It works, but not as well as it works when I push my ego down and gulp on my pride and get a second opinion from my quality control (AKA husband). He will tell me things I already know but was perfectly happy to ignore because it would mean another hour of work. He suggests things that, although I don't want to do, have to concede that make my creations really pop.

I don't envy his job. I have a good throwing arm. And I can mumble obscenities on a competition level.

Not sure It will improve, but I'm learning to take it better. Today, I was constructively told my Lion needed teeth and once again he was right (I swore a bit).

So here's to constructive criticism. May it always be dodged when followed by a heavy projectile.

Finding Room in Outer Space

A peacock balances gracefully on the tip of a wire dome bird cage.

The wire birdcage sits empty next to a beautiful fairy house, whitewashed and roofed with baby's tears moss. The fairy house is sandwiched next to a wire cake rack, inside sits a hand blown glass cake stand. The cake stand and above mentioned items are perched atop a dark wood display cabinet, holding a selection of black toile crockery, pewter coffee sets and empty vases.

This takes up approximately 1.5 metres across x 3 metres high. Times this by 30 and this is how my house is packed. PACKED.

Anyone who lives in a hundred something year old townhouse would know what I'm talking about. But anyone who CRAFTS would REALLY know what I'm talking about!

When I started sewing for this venture, I naively thought it would be a nice little creative outlet that wouldn't take up much space. Something I could do to while away the hours and keep my hands busy.

I could go back in time and slap myself.

Where as before, I had to wend my way around clothes and furniture to get to bed, now I am re-locating bags of stuffing, wayward creatures, and re-purposed cloth.
When once I would simply slide into a chair at the kitchen table, now I have to scoot over cotton, move half sewn blobs and re-position precariously towering objet d'crap.

I have simply no room to have a room to my self. No space to create a work-space and no area for hysteria.

Meantime, I have to put up or shut up (shop). Who can afford to move? who can afford the time to move?
I will just have to console myself that there are dozens, hundreds, possibly thousands who are in the same craft-dilemma as me.

However, it is not the end of the world as we know, merely a small, centrally located craftastrophe.
(*cringe*)

Re-use, Re-cycle, Re-live

It would have been a strange sight to look in my kitchen window the other night.

On the floor surrounded by buttons, buckles and various cogs, tears streamed down my face. Were they tears of sadness? frustration? anger? No. They were tears of remembrance.

Now, since beginning The Forest Flaw, many strange things have flooded back to me. The first creatures (owls) required blanket stitching. This stitch was taught to me by my Gang Gang (or Grandma to you lay-people). Gang Gang would diligently sew back on ears and eyes from much loved stuffed toys. She would happily fashion new arms and darn patches and re-fashion bits of cats and pandas.

But another revelation was in the materials she used. My Gang Gang was handy with the material box.
My much loved sausage dog had his floppy ear replaced with a flannelette face-washer. And I thought that was grand.
My cat's eyes would be replaced with a button taken from a worn out cardigan. And I thought that was wonderous.
My smurf had the tip of his hat replaced with a bit of pillowcase. And I thought that was strange - but loved it none-the less.

Gang Gang sewed and told me stories. Stories about the old days, how she would walk to town with no shoes and see a movie for a penny. She sewed and told me tales about her childhood. But the main thing I remember is that she sewed (and knitted itchy jumpers, but that's another story).

So perhaps without knowing it she has influenced me in my creative pursuits. I sew creatures using socks and tea towels. I stitch creations using jumpers and tops.

Recently I was given the most precious gift to my business endeavor yet. The large Pablo coffee jar with yellow lid that Gang Gang would save all her buttons and gismos into. She would dip into this jar to mend my cat's face's, my bears noses, and even the jumpers I wore.

So It was this jar that I sprawled out on the floor to rummage through. I picked up buttons from dresses she wore, buckles from the belts she saved, and remembered all the nifty things she created and crafted with them.
So thanks Gang Gang, you've influenced me more than I had realised, and now each creature I send out into the world is just that little bit more special.

The gorgeous price of success

Who would have expected positive feedback could be overwhelming?

You would imagine that being heaped with praise could be a never ending thing, something to take in your stride and put in your pocket. Be a little smug over later, in private.

Well, I just had my first market and it was fantastic, enjoyed it much more than expected. Not only for the sales that piled up - but for the feedback.
Face sore from smiling at prospective customers, I began to take compliments. "gorgeous" being the word of the day.
"gorgeous" they would say.
"thank you" I would say.

Ha ha, I began to think to myself, aren't I clever.
The people beside me with markets of their own heaped me with praise, "gorgeous", "thank you", and then sell to them too.
Then the same customers would come back, with friends.
"gorgeous",
"thank you".

But it was when store owners approached me with "listen, gorgeous" that I began to take it on board. "Please place said gorgeous things in my shop" they said. "thank you" I said.

Now, maybe it was the praise going to my head, but I think that too many "gorgeouses" may have got me and my ego in trouble. "listen, gorgeous, " they said, "I'll do it!" I said.
Now, hours later, cat on lap, tables packed away, money counted, face recovered, smugness worn off (a little) - that I smugly look at my diary.
20 creatures to make by next month for shop. 4 personal orders. 20 Orders for another shop by November. another 20 for another shop. 10 for window display for yet another in December.
ahh...it is now I wonder how long the power of praise will keep me going?
Will the mere memory of all those
"gorgeous!"
"thank you"
transactions keep me going when my eyes are failing at 2am? Will the memory of delighted faces keep me from crying when I break needles and am sick of embroidering for three hours straight?
Must remember to be gorgeous. Can not let quality slip. At all times, keep creatures gorgeous. because I don't think "nice" is going to cut it.