Tuesday, 4 September 2018

The Blasted Hour of Marketing Hangs Heavy on Me Again

Just come to Stall 13, Handmade and Vintage Doodah, CMK this weekend. Okay? It's a lot easier on all of us. To sell my beautiful Knicker Drawer Note Books I won't be wearing Shark's apocalyptic facemask, although I might dress up A Bit Steam. Not enough to frighten you with the goggles and plumbing and copper piping, just enough to enjoy myself.

I have a lot of lovely books for you there. Ridiculously under-priced. And, if you are the right person, I might even hand one over to you completely free. Yes, that might be a bit off-trolley, but I'm not out to make any more than simply feed my own addiction.

The Knicker Drawer Note Books are passion. Vulnerability and endurance; loss and remembrance; blasted hearts and broken souls and resilience and bloodyminded determination to hold the little things that matter. Like postage stamps and handwritten notes, which are timeless and endure well beyond any day's trials, like body blows and mortal wounds. Intimacy. Yes, that as well, in the materials I use and the crumpled cotton bedsheets from which I stitch. Am I rambling? Who gives a toss. I'll put those thoughts in a notebook.

My next step is to sit in front of the computer, DOING MY MARKETING. Pity me there. I will be cursing and threatening Facebook (which I hate, much like a 17thC Puritan facing down Satan), and Twitter, which is maybe not so bad, because at least Donald Trump gives me a laugh.

Ramblings. Better committed to a lovely tactile sensory notebook, tied with ribbon, scented with perfume, and stashed away in a Knicker Drawer for my great grandchildren to wonder at and assume that I just drank a lot of gin.

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