Optimist or pessimist? Or just a completely pragmatic realist? I’m determined to go into the coming year letting my Tigger-like optimism merge with my pragmatic strategic thinking to push my business further. No more “what ifs” or “if onlys.”
One Trait of Billionaires from Sara Nesbitt on Vimeo.
Are you a Piglet or a Tigger? Or, like I’m striving towards, a Tigger with some of his bounce tamped down?
You just know it would work out this way. Three weeks of fall break, three weeks of fun, canning, movie watching, and not a peep out of my large order customers. We’re talking crickets, folks. Crick-ets! Days before it ended, orders started rolling in right and left. What??? Now?! And it’s not just that orders started rolling in, but they came in with announcements of preorders. Three weeks of “Oh my gosh, I’m so bored!” now has given way to some serious hustle, right as we’re resuming our second term of school.
This past weekend was especially busy as I worked to fulfill last week’s orders. The biggest thing is, though, I wanted to clean off the dinette table. Two batches of soap, lotion bars, and lip balms, and there wasn’t room for a dirty thought on that table, let alone room for a person or four to sit and dine. In the midst of all this, I really want to put forward with the great cleaning-before-decorating thrust, as well as begin our holiday cooking. My girls like helping me cook, but the younger one, especially, just wants to sit down with me and watch a movie, read, or snuggle. It’s so hard finding the time to do everything while still attending to the family as they need, but over the years, I’ve developed my own tricks for making this work for us.
Lists. Lists help me visualize what tasks I need to accomplish in what order. I’m a bit obsessive in my list making, thinking always in a linear fashion: A then B then C then D… And D can’t happen until C happens. Lists are a great way for anybody to square up their work priorities, but it seals the deal when I’m trying to balance work and family life.
Working ahead. When it’s at all possible, I take an hour or two at a time to knock out something ahead of time. Maybe it’s a batch of soap that’s that customer’s standard order. Or perhaps it’s 100 tubes of lip balm for this customer. Those tasks don’t take a huge amount of time, but doing them sooner rather than later can free up a huge amount of pressure and stress later.
Prioritizing my day. When it comes to my day, what’s most important to me? Usually it’s breakfast, shower, exercise, and the girls’ education. Then what comes next? Production, newsletters, blog posts, marketing, website work. Somewhere in the midst of this comes a huge pair of brown eyes and a sweet voice saying, “Mom, can we _____?” No, not right now… Wait. What. Is. Important. To. Me? Is it crucially, vitally necessary that I change my slider on my website right now, or can it wait til tonight after the girls are in bed? The point at which I start making my business more important than my family is the point where I need to give up the business. The business will be around a while, but my daughters won’t be little girls forever.
Taking time away from the business. This was probably the hardest decision for me to make. Once upon a time, I was all about doing everything possible for my business and my customers, regardless of the sacrifices I had to make. I started last Christmas when I shut down my business for two weeks. I still received large orders from customers, but all that was required of me at those times was a quick email assuring them I’ll process their orders when we reopen. Once I made this decision, I realized it was the best one I could have made for my stress level and my family.
No. Such a small word with such great power! Actually, I say “no” by saying “yes.” To the last-minute request to add soaps to an order… “Sure, and I will add two days to your order processing time.” “I’ll happily take care of that after my vacation.” “I’ll process your order when we reopen early in January.” These boundaries are my way of saying, “No, I won’t let you make further demands on my time.” Work Me ends here, and Family Me begins here, and Family Me wants to savor this time.
Family Me is now in high demand, so Work Me has to clock out for a while.
You have a spectacular event. It’s well-planned, scheduled at just the right time of year, and you are expecting some crazy-good crowds, You have tripped over my website or heard of me through the show grapevine, and you send me an application in the mail. What will make me say, “Oh my gosh, I will simply perish if I can’t vend this event” and part with a chunk of my hard-earned money? Well, barring a scheduling conflict, here are some things I look for before I sign my name on the line and mail in my booth fee.
One, how long has this event been going on? I’m more likely to toss my hat in the ring for an established event that already has a following. I might consider a first-time event.
Two, What sort of advertising are you doing? If you’re so committed to your event to invest in billboards, TV ads, and radio spots, then I know this is a huge big deal to you. Your striving for success tells me I have a chance to be successful, too.
Three, What other vendors do you have? If you’re an artisan-only show, then I expect vendors to be well-juried to weed out multi-level marketing companies. I promise you, those sellers/representatives are not artisans selling artisan products. If you’re allowing commercial vendors, then what’s your ratio? As an artisan, I personally have no desire to compete against a commercial vendor selling inferior soaps made in some overseas sweatshop in upscale packaging for $3.00 a bar.
Along with that, how many other artisan soap vendors will be joining me? Some competition is great, and I enjoy meeting other soapers. Plus, we might sell different products that appeal to different customer bases, which is cool. However, four soapmakers out of around a hundred vendors, all selling about the same type of product, is a bit much, don’t you think? Yes, that has happened.
Four, what sort of crowds are you expecting? You could be planning a small, cozy event with maybe 200 attendees who will spend lots, or a humongous event with a projected 40,000 attendees who may or may not spend much at all. I have a good reason for asking. My first show was a 4-day event, 44 hours across those 4 days. The event coordinator said that on one day, there could be 20,000 coming through in a few hours’ time period. The “surge” I was expecting was a mere trickle. A veteran vendor said at the end of the night, “I estimate we had 10,000 all day.”
Five, How can I get more information about your event? I would look for things like a Facebook page, reviews of past events by other vendors who’ve done it, or a website. A current Twitter or Instagram feed shows me you tend to be active about keeping your followers up-to-date and are likely to post right before and during the event to draw interest and generate excitement.
Six, Is your booth fee realistic for the duration of the event? Two separate events, same month. One is essentially a one-day event; the other, 3-day weekend. The booth fee for the weekend is just $20 more than the booth fee for the one-day event. Considering other expenses, it’s important for me to determine if your event is cost-effective for my business. Some argue, “But it’s contact. It’s exposure.” Sure it is, but if nothing comes of that exposure, then I’ve wasted a good deal of time and money. I’d rather invest that same amount of time in building and strengthening relationships with my customers.
I love events, speaking to customers face-to-face, seeing their expressions when they smell particular soaps (a little Perfect Man, anyone?), and teaching them about the amazing benefits of artisan soaps. As my business has grown and I’ve matured as its owner, I have learned to be more picky about the events I do. No more selling myself short or cheap chasing after the almighty dollar.
What things do you look for in events you would do?
Although I do not participate in many shows and events anymore, I still receive letters and applications to my post office box from event coordinators inviting me to participate in their particular events. Occasionally, these come by email, but mostly, it’s snail mail. Perhaps it is an event in which I participated in the past, or maybe it’s an event in a rural county in which I participated in another event. (Sometimes the names are shared, which is fine.) All of these events have some sort of credibility – long standing, well-visited Facebook page, a good reputation, whatever.
It is really rare that I get invited to do an event from out of the blue, and especially an event to which I have no connection whatsoever. On Friday, it happened. It appeared as a tri-folded piece of printer paper taped shut that showed up at my home. Usually, the only business-related stuff that comes to my home are shipments and bank statements (before I went paperless); correspondence goes to my PO box, as that’s the address on my business cards, checks, website and all social media avenues.
Wow. Can you believe that? No stamp, no envelope, not even a return address. If they can’t even take care to place the piece of paper in an envelope or slap a stamp on that bugger, then what kind of care do they give to vendors, advertising, and the plethora of other details in being a part of an event?
Out of curiosity, I open this letter up and find this. Crossed-out date, no names, no websites, no email addresses, not even a Facebook page. It’s colorful, but sorely lacking in helpful information I would want to have before even bothering with a phone call, let alone committing to participate (on one week’s notice, at that). There is a phone number way down at the bottom of the page which I dialed with the intention of explaining how unprofessional I found their missive. Three times – THREE!!! – the call was cancelled. Finally I gave up and tossed the letter. Later I did a Google search on the sender as it was disclosed on the flyer, and the closest I got was a company down in Georgia that does custom car decals. That’s a far cry from a vendor coordinator offering me space at a huge annual seafood event.
Coming up soon… Ways to entice me to spend my hard-earned money on booth fees at your event.
What’s the worst solicitation you’ve ever seen to participate in a selling event?
Hi!
I thought that I would change up my blog. I was thinking of one of my friends at the time I was writing this and decided that I would act as if I was talking to her and came up with questions she might ask. Hope this answers some of your questions!
Friend: What does the soap look like?
Me: The soap is pink with a fun amount of sparkles and a mango sorbet fragrance. With it being my first soap I would add a hint of blue to the pink color in the future. Mom says that I should start with one color, but I added sparkles to get close to the desired effect.
Friend: What good qualities does your soap have that will make people want it?
Me: It will be a small bar which will be easy for kids (and adults) to hold. Its fun fragrance will (ahem, should) make kids look forward to showering without bubblegum (take it from a young spurt, bubblegum can smell icky or get tiring). The soap has sparkles which gleam in the light some. It is very moisturizing, lather is a definite, and it is hard. I was rinsing off my cutting board after cutting it and I had a great lather. I love the soap (I kept a bar for myself).
Friend: If you were to sell it, what would you call it?
Me: Pink Paradise* or Pink Paradise Falls**. I’m leaning towards PPF, though if I do PP then I can do a series with Blue Paradise, Green, Orange, Purple, etc. I think that I’ll make another PP next year for sale, then every other month another color. I will be doing another soap (for sale) this year with the same recipe, and it will be Christmas-y. That will be sold online and at the Triangle area EPA show in November. I also do a show here called the Pender County Spring Fest.
Friend: How did you think the soap would turn out compared to how it turned out?
Me: I thought it would turn out sharper, more vivid, pinker. The top looks pretty and if the whole soap were that color, then the soap would look beautiful. The top is a powdery pink that, in my opinion, looks like pixie dust. The bottom is a sort of magenta, but not that dark, mixed with sparkles that add a welcoming touch. I really thought that the sparkles would come out more, that it would be darker or lighter.
Friend: What were some of your feelings as you made this soap?
Me: I was feeling exhilarated, happy, worried, slightly panicked, joyful, and free. I can make whatever I want (within reason) on any soap, swirl, etc. I was also very happy that Mom said I could. Truth be told, I don’t like Melt & Pour as much. They take up time freezing them and you have to monitor it. You can make a CP and leave it alone.
Friend: Give us some brief how-to’s.
Me: First, gather your supplies. Since I’m doing small batches then everything can be done in a 4 Cup measuring cup. Bigger batches are done in buckets.
4 cup measuring cup (4 cupper) Small container (yogurt container sort)
Spatula Wooden spoon
Big container (such as the containers you get when you order a quart of Chinese soup)
Oils, Lye, etc.
Stick blender
Goggles, Gloves, etc.
Soap rag (old baby diapers, washcloths)
Not all of your oils are going to be liquid. Put on your goggles, gloves, etc. and get the smaller container. Measure out your lye. In the big container, measure out your water (or ice). With the wooden spoon stir lye and water together but be sure to hold your breath; otherwise the fumes can hurt your throat. Once dissolved, set aside. You can take the protective gear off. Now measure out your solid oils. Mine were coconut, palm, and cocoa butter. Melt them in the microwave until liquid. Now you add your liquid oils. Mine were olive and avocado. Mix all your oils together and set them aside. Take another small container and scoop some of the oil mixture into it. Add your color to it and stir until smooth. Set your color aside. Measure out your fragrance and set aside.
Put your protective gear back on. Dump lye mixture into the oils. Take the stick blender and bring the mixture to a trace. It will be mixed together but thick. If you’re making tomato soup and it’s just out of the can, that’s about how thick it should be. Add the fragrance. Now you have one of two options. The soap will be a creamy white. You can add the color mixture now and stir the fragrance and color in, OR, you can stir in fragrance then add color. If you do option #2 then you have the option of not stirring the color in all the way and getting a swirl. Either way, when you get done, put it in a silicone mould, scrape it out (this is where the spatula comes in), and cover it with a box lined with cling wrap. Insulate your soap by covering it with towels and let rest for at least 24 hours before unmoulding. Take the soap rag and wipe your equipment before rinsing under warm water. “Make” it in a soap program and it should tell you how many days it has to cure (you can use it after it cures, usually about a month).
*PP
**PPF
Once upon a time, I was a suited-up professional working in a healthcare environment, punching a (mostly) 8-5 clock. Some days I worked until 7 or 8, and I was on call every single weekend. I was rocking the soap biz on the side, working markets one weekend a month. We lived in a townhouse in a nice urban area and could walk to the grocery store if we wanted. Unfortunately, it was uphill coming back. In fact, making soap was the closest I came to doing the neo-hippie-slash-homesteading thing.
A couple of years after leaving that position, it became very clear to us that we were going to be trading urban life for coastal rural life. I was pregnant at the time, so finding a new job wasn’t high on my list of priorities, but making a home was. I had visions of biking places, eating fresh-caught fish on a regular basis, and having our own little garden spot where we could grow our own fruits and vegetables, enough for our family. One out of three ain’t bad.
In the six years since we moved, my business has taken off in unexpected ways, and I have changed in unexpected ways. I never dreamed I’d be home educating my daughters. Our “little” garden spot has had really bad years and really great years, but those great years haven’t yielded just enough for us to enjoy, but enough to share. This year, it’s giving us some to can, too. That’s another thing I never expected to be doing – putting up my own canned goods. We tend to gravitate towards condiments (cranberry mustard, jellies, jams, and butters) and dessert stuff (pie fillings and chocolate sauce), although we have made and put up pickles, Brunswick stew, and chicken soup. These, too, we are able to share.
When we lived “in the city,” I didn’t own a working sewing machine; I’m on my second one since we moved, one that my fellow business owner said is “a good one for children” (thanks, Sarah), but which is most definitely a step up from my Singer. I used to sew; when I was a teenager, I made pillows for myself and for gifts, and I’ve done some of that since being married. My long-time customers have seen the bags I’ve made for gifts or to hold bars of soap, too. I’ve made a messenger bag and three purses. Most recently, I’ve sewn curtains, a rather large project, as they’re covering a sliding glass door.
Soapmaking. Canning. Sewing. Knitting. (My oldest daughter is over my shoulder, or I’d show you what I’m working on for her.) I look around at all these things my hands have made, at all the ways I’ve stretched myself to create a warm home and the ways we’ve worked together as a family to achieve it, and I am pleased.
(Next week, look for pictures of homemade pesto and more pickles. I wish I could share our bounty with you.)
It’s one thing to tell myself that I won’t do an event. I can list the reasons why it’s a good idea to skip it. I can identify all the affirmations of the decision. The real test comes, however, in the moment: How will I feel knowing the event is happening and I’m not doing it?
Friday, the feeling that I was doing the right thing in not vending Saturday’s event continued. I felt so relieved! I commented to Mom later that that must have been what she felt the first day after she retired. She commented, “It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of you.” Yes!!! That’s it exactly! Friday, the girls and I ran some errands around town, and I know I had the biggest, dopiest smile on my face. We went to the bank to withdraw some money. The teller took my check and started pulling out bills. Then she looked at the check again. She looked at me with some confusion. Then she looked at the check yet again. She said, “You usually get more money than this. Are you doing the festival?” I replied, “No, which is why I’ve got this huge smile on my face.” It was getting almost comical.
Friday night, I was sitting on the sofa knitting and watching TV with the Swirl God. I said, “You see this? You see what I’m doing? Or, more specifically, what I’m not doing?” He didn’t quite get it. I said, “I’m sitting. And knitting. And watching reruns of TV shows I missed the first time. I’m not sitting at the table labeling a bunch of stuff. And later I’ll be heading to bed at a decent time, and maybe I’ll even sleep in in the morning.” My best friend who usually waits up with me while I’m doing my last-minute show prep was also looped into the giddiness.
The day of the festival arrived, and I did, in fact, sleep in. I pretty much slept until the start of the festival. Then it was on! I made cinnamon roll waffles for breakfast, then I started potatoes for potato salad. Long story short, I made potato salad and a batch of oat bran zucchini chocolate chunk muffins before lunch, and made a batch of pickles afterwards. The girls and their dad went to the festival, but they were back in about an hour; it was just too hot. By all accounts, attendance was down and people weren’t parting with their money easily. It also seems like it was another one like last year when it died 4 hours before the end.
It felt a little bad not being at the festival, not seeing one of my private label customers (another vendor), and potentially not serving my repeat customers. But only a little. I got over it. It just felt so good all weekend! There was the happy, relieved feeling of all week. There was the family time before the girls scattered for the week. There was having the energy to hang in until late with my best friend after his mom got hurt. There was the simple sweetness of celebrating Father’s Day on Saturday with a movie and a special dinner. And then there was Father’s Day itself, the first in a few years where I actually got to see my dad on Father’s Day.
Telling myself no to this event was risky; I stood to lose a good deal of potential revenue. I gained so much more, though, far more than that money is worth.
When I was in divinity school, I studied how to place personal boundaries on my time, my commitments, and my space. I also learned how to set boundaries on the amount of crap I’d put up with. Manipulation? Nope, I’m choosing not to accept that. Heartfelt pleadings for me to do something for you when my schedule is already overloaded? Nuh uh. Not my problem. Sure, I pissed some people off, but they got used to my “no” and soon grew to recognize that I could still be in relationship with them without the psychological game playing. (I mean, seriously, who has time for that when you’re in graduate school, working, and raising a family?)
While it is no longer hard at all for me to tell people “no,” I have had a really hard time enforcing my boundaries when it comes to my business. I’ll work long hours on production or media, or I’ll burn the midnight oil to get a zero-hour order processed for a customer and out the next day. The transformation seemed to come all at once. A few days before Christmas, a private label customer sent an order to me. I informed her that I was closed for the holidays and gave her a specific date when I would begin to process her order. Ahhh… Telling myself that it was OK not to work proved to be incredibly liberating to me.
More recently, another private label customer and I were discussing her most recent order, which was all ready to go in the mail. My agenda for the following day included taking my car to be serviced before heading to the beach with my girls. As she asked for add-ons to her order – none of which I had expected or had ready – I said, “It’s almost 11:00. I’m not going to do that tonight.” She’d temporarily forgotten one part that would have had me up for a while later and agreed to add those into her next order. Really, truly, I have amazing, understanding customers!!!
In both of these cases, I’d had to say “no” in order to preserve my time, my body’s needs, and my sanity. No longer do I have to give up family time or sleep in order to meet my customers’ needs. This wisdom comes with experience and being in business for a long time. It is wisdom that has seen late nights, high stress, and printer malfunctions (which only happen in crunch times). It’s wisdom that has cried from being overwhelmed with trying to balance soapmaking and present wrapping. While it has been earned the hard way, the reward is giving myself permission to stop, rest, and relax.
If you are a business owner of any sort, to what have you had to say, “no”?
Click here for “The Joy of Saying No, part 2.”
The petition crossed my inbox more than a year ago. It was entitled, “Tradition, not Trademark,” (TnT) and they were moving to have the US Patent and Trademark Office remove the trademark for “Fire Cider” that Shire City Herbals had acquired. I signed the petition. At this point, a bunch of my friends had started talking on social media about their fire cider experiments. They posted pictures and recipes (and, frankly, I thought it looked and sounded disgusting, but that’s beside the point). Since “fire cider” seemed to be the latest trend in old-timey, all-natural cold remedies, it seemed that any attempts (let alone success) to trademark this tonic was, in fact, hording something that’s been around for ages.
I bought everything that TnT said. It seemed horridly unfair and unjust for Shire City Herbals (SCH) to take possession of an old folk remedy and prevent all others from making and selling it. TnT has recommended everyone boycott Shire City Herbals’ Fire Cider tonic, claiming that SCH is a huge mega-corporation out to bury smaller herbal companies. TnT has backpedaled a little on some of their claims, but they’ve offered no real apologies.
This week, I posted something to one of my social media feeds encouraging the boycotting of SCH Fire Cider. A certified aromatherapist friend of mine had posted it, so I thought she had the real scoop. Well, I was wrong, and so was my friend. I heard from someone from Shire City Herbals – one of the founders of that company. Apparently, they started making Fire Cider to sell in 2011; others started following suit. This is the way that usually works: A product hits the shelves that quickly gets a reputation for being from an old-fashioned, all natural recipe. All the folks who are interested in having some for themselves without having to buy it hit Google for recipes which they then post on their own social media pages, but maybe with their tweaks. It spreads from there. It seems that, in this case, someone (not one of my friends) started making Fire Cider in her own kitchen and claimed that SCH stole the recipe from her.
After perusing some information directly from Shire City Herbals, I’m left with a couple of impressions of this company. One, in light of everything with which they’ve had to deal, SCH has stayed focused on their own business, which led to their controlling their business growth. While I’m sure the antics of TnT were annoying at best, SCH seems to have worried more about what they were doing than what TnT was doing. Two, TnT’s call to boycott SCH’s Fire Cider backfired and proved that boycotts tend not to work. If anything, a call to boycott intrigues the non-customers (turning them into customers) and it makes the company’s loyal customers rally behind them.
TnT was using fear to promote their agenda, and I am ashamed to say that I bought into it. They created a fear that Shire City Herbals was going to monopolize the Fire Cider market, making it illegal for anyone else to make or sell it under that name. The thing is, I’m not even an herbalist in any commercial sense of the word, so no part of this ordeal was even going to impact my business. I guess the unspoken fear agenda could be, “If one company trademarks a generic folk medicine remedy, then what’s to stop other companies from trademarking other generic product names?”
It was, in fact, Shire City Herbals who first claimed the name fire cider, and the recipe they use is one they derived from one of the owners’ grandmother, as you can read about here. In light of a few years’ worth of trials, Shire City Herbals has not only managed to survive, but their business has nearly doubled.
Successful, outside-the-box thinkers and movers will draw their haters and critics, but they don’t stay successful by listening to the hatemongering of their critics, nor do they buy into the negative hype surrounding them. They create environments of positivity, focusing more on the good that’s going on than the bad.
As many of my customers know, I have two daughters, both of whom like helping me with my business. My older daughter, Mary, is COO of the Girly Arts line, and my younger daughter, Hannah, is learning the craft and beginning to help mix colorants and make soap. Hannah has one objective: Earn money for her pink fishing boat. Early versions of this boat look something like this:
Eventually she’ll earn enough money fishing both to finance her college education and to upgrade to a bigger boat, something along the size of the Disney Dream. No dreams are too big for her.
Hannah is determined to pay for her boat outright – all cash, no credit – and is already working hard to earn the money to buy her boat. Not too long ago, she told me she likes helping me make soap. I asked her what she likes about it, and she said, “I get to make money for my boat. I’m in it for the money.” Nevermind that she’s eleven years away from even being able to get her pilot’s license; she’s ready for it now.
As part of her endeavors to earn the money for her boat, Hannah has created and crafted these charming Steampunk butterflies. Silver, bronze, and pearlescent white come together in a gorgeous, funky-cool soap unlike anything we’ve offered before.
Lovely, isn’t it? Quantities are very limited on these beautiful special edition soaps, so get yours quickly. Just click the picture above to get your hands on one of these sweet little gems.
Everyone has a dream. What’s your dream? What are you doing to achieve it?
