On Point

Pointers for pinecone chaos

By: Linda McCarthy
This time of year begins a craft show frenzy. Every organization, from peewee scouts to wee-pee seniors, staples a flurry of advertisements on every telephone pole from here to Pennsylvania. For years I frequented the shopper’s side of the table but recently I’ve gained a new perspective. Being a crafter is a unique experience and not one for the fainthearted. I thought, hey, what a great way to turn my insomnia into cash. My naiveté showed with the first inquiry.
Apply and Lie:

   The application to get into some shows is nothing short of intense. You must submit pictures, descriptions, affidavit of handmade authenticity, DNA sample, first born and application fee. I pulled up my old applications to Princeton and Harvard, fudged a few credentials, shipped off my oldest and voila! It worked; I joined the ranks of "Professional Crafters. "
Prep and Schlep:

   My medium is pinecones. Not much creative thought went into this. I can make something nice from things that drop in the yard and it works much better than dog poop. As I mentioned before, I sometimes have trouble sleeping. Rather than wake the house, I slink downstairs to the basement, step over piles of laundry and break out the hot glue gun and start turning out wreaths. We crafters call this "generating inventory". Apparently I’ve had many sleepless nights. Packing it up and moving it to my designated space was an exodus of biblical proportions.
Schmooze and Snooze:

   Born of a primal need to glue, wire, stitch, weave and knit, crafters of all degrees of talent and taste gather to spend eight long hours together. On the surface, these are very nice people. But let’s face it; we’re all peddling variations of the same stuff. How friendly can you be? If a rouge pinecone drifted across my allotted space I was greeted with looks of disgust and disapproval. After I explained my virginal status, I was forgiven but considered warned. Foot traffic was light and apparently I had overestimated the appeal of my one-of-A-kind creations. I settled in for a long nap.
Cease and Desist:

   Admittedly, I have no business savvy, this coupled with the fact that I think everything I make is worth a billion dollars clearly spells disaster. In a frantic effort to avoid lugging everything home, I tried drastically slashing prices. "Crazy Eddie" in his final days couldn’t hold a candle to me. I was willing to pay $5 and bring it to the car. Still nothing. I’m afraid I have to rethink my strategy. Looking around at the tables doing business I have discovered the criteria for success: 1. Does it induce vomiting? 2. Is it suitable for my mother-in-law? Clearly, I must learn to crochet hot pink tea cozies and make plastic sun catchers with "ATTACK CAT" on them.
   So far I’m in the red, which is a real danger for crafters. The temptation to buy is great. You can promise yourself to buy only after you sell but sometimes impulse takes over. Besides, my cat is very surly.
Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.