kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Of Tents and Wibbling. Well, dear NonScheduled reader, the contract is signed and sent. We are going to be at a three-week Renaissance Faire starting the first weekend in June. I’m still of mixed mind about this. Since I am rarely of unmixed mind, this is not unusual...but. There have been a lot of small hassles about getting organized for this: creating more jewelry for stock, arranging for insurance, getting a tax certificate. It doesn’t help that a mere month ago, I hadn’t considered doing this faire….But those are minor, really—I make jewelry all the time (my in-front-of-tv activity) and I’ll soon be back up to what I consider a respectable inventory level (although I’ve never done a three-week show before, so how would I know what’s respectable for this?)and I’m not too concerned. The insurance and the tax certificate are small matters, but they take time. The larger things that cause me some trepidation are things like The Tent. We bought a tent—actually, a Show Tent –and the outlay of money frightens me a little. I’ve spent $100 at a time on supplies, but I know that that money will be going straight back onto my table and be bought up….I’ve never spent that kind of money on a non-perishable, so to speak, item. On something that I won’t turn around and sell again. Although, as the Darling Husband points out, if we so desire and decide this is not the thing for us, we got a sufficiently good Tent that we could always sell it after the season. The fact of the fair itself also makes me nervous. It will be a busy three weekends—I’m taking a day and two ½ days on the Fridays off from work to do this—but working a normal schedule otherwise. I’m not sure exactly how exhausted I’m going to be after this. And, well....I haven’t been camping since I was twelve. As a friend of mine pointed out, this isn’t really camping, it’s faux camping—there are, after all, flush toilets and 25-cents-per-five-minutes showers. This is not the kind of pack-in-pack-out no trace camping I did as a child, thank god, because I would have to break a solemn oath if it were. Thanks to my mother’s hard-headed practicality, I don’t think of camping as haring off into the woods to go larking about, but am fully aware of all the sorts of supplies one has to bring for such an outing. My head is full of lists, and of the things we’re borrowing or making do with –not only have I never really had a desire to camp, post girl scouting, I have not acquired the stuff for it. I’m such a hoarder of parts, it seems strange to me that I should have to start from scratch in gathering these supplies. The lists are getting longer. I’m praying for good weather. This is an outdoor event. We did one weekend in the rain already. Fellow vendor doubts: will they think I’m selling garbage? It was a lovely boost at my last Renaissance faire, where we got adopted by the cast and crew. They were wonderful to us. And we sold like hell. But there are no guarantees. This could be an expensive three weeks. You know me, the Cheap New Englander. But I've been to the sniffy squiffy craft shows, and having a fellow vendor wander over to say "Oh, THIS is what you do" is really humiliating. This is also the most stringent show contract that I have ever signed. The usual craft show contract is maybe a page, saying that here’s my money, I’ll show up. While I’m grateful for the stringency of this particular show (they’re careful about authenticity, specify that the crafts must be at least moderately period, costumes, et al) –it means there won’t be flea marketers on their weekend off in the vendor area—I wonder if I’ll be able to measure up. I’ve been buying fabric and am preparing to blitz out a few costumes this weekend. Will I look right? Will I act right? Oh, heavens. And of course, there’s all the usual artistic doubts. Will anyone buy anything? Is there enough variety? Am I good enough to do this? I'm finding gradually that I'm more worried with my visual art than my written art. I admit it--I'm a ham. I know that I can write a poem and present it in such a way that I can get an audience rolling--no problem. My jewelry--what it looks like--is all it is. Visual art lives and dies on a glance. Funny, to me, to think that most people are more afraid of public speaking than standing in a retail area selling. The Darling Husband says "As long as we break even, we'll have fun." Oh, god. 6:02 p.m. - 2002-05-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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