I was bemoaning to a friend in the shop yesterday that I hate “selling.”
“You have to yell this time of year to be heard,” he said.
I wonder. What happens to our minds in all of this loud noise? Can we filter?
I dislike filling the social media I handle with pleas for people to come see us (even though I love what we do). This time of year is crazy. Everyone wants to get their message out there. And dealing with so many accounts (I volunteer with two organizations), I am proud that I’ve only put the wrong photo on the wrong social media twice in the last week. Not bad, eh?
Seth Godin says, “the people who care are the people who will listen.” So, friends, here you are if you care to listen :)
In the meantime, I’m going back to my press for a while.
and my personal one!
I’ve been having a hard time writing lately. My dreams are of presses and type, my spare moments have me reading instead of composing. The words roll around in my head. Until they decide to take some shape, I will ignore the guilt.
Besides artist and author, Nin was also a publishing entrepreneur. In January 1942, she sets up her own small press in a loft on Macdougal Street, and soon set out to print and self-publish a new edition of her third book, Winter of Artifice, teaching herself typesetting and doing most of the manual work herself.
I totally get this:
You pit your faculties against concrete problems. The victories are concrete, definable, touchable. A page of perfect printing. You can touch the page you wrote. We exult in what we master and discover. Instead of using one’s energy in a void, against frustrations, in anger against publishers, I use it on the press, type, paper, a source of energy. Solving problems, technical, mechanical problems. Which can be solved.
One of my letterpress teachers created this poster, which I bought and hung above my press.
The words inspire me. I’m not a designer. I have no background in art. And, yet, for most of my life I’ve been drawn to type and white space. I’ve been trying to figure out where to go with my writing studio and my presses. What I am beginning to realize is I don’t need to “go” anywhere. So each day I do what moves me. One day I create a card. Another, an inspirational poster. Or I write. Or I meet my writing group. For me, the greatest gift in this journey is learning not to care what anyone thinks, but to create a life that matters to me.
I should have named my shop, “Even if nobody cares.”