Skip to main content

Becoming Marvin

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Present-ation!

I've finished making a whole pile of frayed ruffle hearts . They're cute the way they are, but to make them extra special, I'm putting them in pretty cellophane bags, with curly ribbons and hand-made tags. Sometimes I get lazy and don't spend the extra effort on great gift wrap, but it's so worth it, isn't it? The other exciting part of this is I'm not just sending these hearts to family and friends. I've got 3 set aside for Aunt Peaches Valentine Swap ! Yea!!!

Lessons from BlogHer '13

BlogHer '13—my first blogging convention—was last weekend. And I learned a lot! For example: #1 No Russians are reading my blog. When I look at the statistics for who's looking at Smalltropolis, it's very impressive. For example, today I have 43 pageviews from Latvia. Switzerland is represented, as is France, Denmark, China. Just a world-wide appeal I have goin' on. (Gloat.) Thing is, as I learned at BlogHer, that's almost certainly because the analytics I'm looking at aren't very accurate. Lots of spam is included. To get the real numbers, I need to sign up for Google Analytics. Блин! #2. Great photography doesn't come from the womb. The kick-off keynote speaker was Ree Drummond. I'd certainly admired the beautiful photography on her blog, The Pioneer Woman multiple times, so it was pretty enlightening when she showed some of her early photos. They were, quite simply, dreadful. It really drove home how good writing and good photography a

How to be free

You know the projects. The formerly shiny ones. The ones in paper bags, that elevate your blood pressure when you think of them. The ones that haven't seen forward progress in months. Or years. Let them go. I'm officially giving you permission. You can grieve. Sure. Look at me. I'll never restore a vintage stove, even though it was my heart's desire for twenty years. As my big pandemic project, I finally bought one. Took it apart even. Then it sat. And sat. And sat. I sold it this weekend, all 15 boxes of it. The tears I shed as the buyers drove away were partly because they seemed even less competent than me and partly because, well, you know, that whole remorse of failure crap. Get over it, just like I did, when I walked down to the basement, looked at my work table, and saw...nothing. The work surface was bare. Free. Just like me. And now, the most deliciously, delightful question us makers can ever ask...what's my next project?