String Revolution

This week I’m summarising the heap of offers and announcements I’ve made in the last little while. Some of them, you might have noticed the first time around – in which case, please pass along with my gratitude for your patience. Others, you might have missed – in which case, I hope you see something you love.

Thing the Fifth: Colonial Eggacy!

You’ll remember this one, if you know me at all, because I’ve barely shut up about it since it went live.

Anyone just joining us, if you appreciate this execrable pun you can buy it on products at my Zazzle shop.

And if it’s not to your taste, well, what could be a more perfect gift for the pun-loving critic of colonialism in your life?

Incidentally, I’ve added a bag and a magnet to the product range since we last spoke.

Zazzle’s Christmas shipping deadlines are coming up pretty soon, by the way:

• For dark-coloured T-shirts: 4 December (that’s this Sunday)
• For light-coloured T-shirts, mugs, bags, and magnets: 8 December (that’s this Thursday)
• Or you can pay express rates up to 16 December and 19 December respectively

…so get your order in before it’s too late!

PS: Is it wrong that “perfidious albumen” still makes me giggle?

This week I’m summarising the heap of offers and announcements I’ve made in the last little while. Some of them, you might have noticed the first time around – in which case, please pass along with my gratitude for your patience. Others, you might have missed – in which case, I hope you see something you love.

Thing the Third: Stitch My Kid’s Art Commission Service!

You probably didn’t notice this one being launched. I didn’t do it very loudly.

But it might be the best thing in the world ever.

You send me an image of some child art that makes your heart leap. I turn it into a unique textile piece that will melt you into a big happy puddle every time you catch sight of it.

Yes, it’s the Stitch My Kid’s Art Commission Service. What could be simpler?

One client spot left in 2011, by the way…

What’s been going on at String Revolution these past few weeks?

What, indeed?

November is a month of hive-like activity in much of the (online, rich) world. There’s NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which you may have heard of, wherein writers attempt to produce 50,000 words in 30 breakneck, exhilarating, hilarious days.

Some bloggers, in response to this, have instituted NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), wherein they attempt to post every day for 30 days.

Visual artists, eschewing the restrictive confines of the “Na…Mo” label, undertake Art Every Day Month each November. And I’m sure there are more examples.

I’ve done none of these things. In fact, what I’ve done has lacked any kind of coherent planning. But nonetheless, there has been a shift in the wind around these parts, and I’ve caught the mood of the month. I’ve been announcing things. I’ve been making offers. I’ve been marketing. Best of all (if you’re me), I’ve been selling.

You could call it NaSelfProMo.

Ha. I like that.

NaSelfProMo.

As I say, I didn’t plan it this way. Most of the things I’ve posted about this month have been incubating for ages, but this is the first opportunity I’ve had to focus and get them out. So they’ve all come along in a big lump, instead of a carefully controlled trickle.

I feel like a bit of a late bloomer – like these valiant sweet peas, which just won’t stop flowering in my November garden.

Anyway, throughout this week I want to tell you again about the various offers and changes and so on, so you’ll be sure not to miss any of them. It’s a series, people!

Thing the First: The Revolutionary Horde!

I’ve been meaning to do this for ages, and now it’s finally here: String Revolution has a shiny new mailing list. Obviously, it’s called the Revolutionary Horde.

The Revolutionary Horde: Wait … that’s us!
Me: Yes! You’ve been reified, innit.

Horde members get special stuff:

1. Advance notice of all my new offers.
2. Discounts on selected products and services.
3. Invitations to Horde-only events online.
4. String-related writing that won’t appear on the blog.

Sound good to you? Join the Revolutionary Horde using this lovely fuchsia-red signup form up (or the one in the right-hand sidebar – it makes no difference).

And let me hear a Hooray!

Name:

Email:

Grand Experiment Running Totals NINE (9) items sold, FORTY-ONE (41) to go. Get yours here!

I sincerely believe that the English-speaking world is divided into two types of people.

If you are of the first type, you’ll find that you cannot look at the above image without dissolving in a puddle of helpless mirth (I include myself in this category – and I drew the damn thing, so that’s hardly even decent).

If you are of the second type, you’ll tend to hold us first-typers in a kind of detached, piteous disdain. Try as you might, you simply cannot understand what it is about this crudely drawn, childish piece of irrelevancy that we are finding so terribly amusing. You suspect we’re putting it on. Maybe even having a joke at your expense…

In short, you’re either going to GET my gloriously vicious pun (which I’ve incubated, by the way, for at least a year before deciding to inflict it on the world), or you are NOT.

If you’re of the second type, you might like to click away now, before I completely destroy my image in your eyes.

…

Have they gone? … Good.

So, fellow pun-connoisseurs, I’m proposing a Grand Experiment

As long-time readers know well by now, String Revolution is a business, and I am a rationally enthusiastic but emotionally reluctant business owner. I’ve come a long way in addressing my severe marketing phobia, but there’s more to be done.

And here’s the thing: I’m thinking that among the ranks of well-read, language-loving, pun-appreciating, politically literate speakers of English, there must be a sizable constituency of people who would absolutely love to have a physical copy of Colonial Eggacy of their very own – on a mug, say, or a T-shirt.

I mean, if you GET it, you GET it, right? What’s not to like about owning something that makes you grin like a loon every time it catches your eye?

TO THIS END, Colonial Eggacy mugs and T-shirts are available in my Zazzle shop as of today, Monday 21 November 2011.

And here’s the Grand Experiment part:

I want to sell 50 of these.

Now, my usual strategy for a product launch like this would be to talk about it a little bit, here and there, for a day or two, until the shame and despair catch up with me, whereupon I never speak of it again.

In fact, already, I have a fuzzy little monster sitting on my shoulder, muttering, “We told Twitter and Facebook about this hours ago and nobody’s bought any yet – they’re obviously not interested.”

So this time, I’d like to do something different.

The tack I’m going to take is that there are 50 people out there who will truly love and appreciate owning this image in concrete form, and it’s my job to make sure they don’t spend the rest of their lives that little bit less gleeful for never having seen it. Because that would be sad.

Will you help?

You will? Thank you, lovely person!

Here are a few ideas:

1. You could link on your chosen social media to my Zazzle shop, or to the two individual products.
2. You could link on your chosen social media to this post, so people can read the backstory about the Grand Experiment.
3. If you yourself adore Colonial Eggacy, or if you know someone who would adore it – and if you have the budget – you could even, you know, BUY ONE (or several).
4. You could tell me what other Zazzle products would be suitable candidates for Colonial Eggification.
5. You could post a comment here, or contact me some other way, conveying general support. (Yes, that totally counts – I’m kind of petrified!)
6. You could suggest ways of getting the word out that I might not have thought of.
7. In a little while, if you notice me falling silent about the Grand Experiment, you could give me a gentle nudge.

Meanwhile, here’s what I’ll be doing: Not shutting up about this until 50 items have been sold.

(Just to contextualise, that will represent a major increase in my Zazzle sales.)

I’m allowing myself three months. If it happens sooner than that, I reserve the right to set a new target. I’ll update you periodically (you might want to subscribe to the blog and/or join the Revolutionary Horde if you’re interested in following along with that – see the right-hand sidebar above).

Right! That’s it!

Oh, just one more thing: if you want this, please go ahead and buy it now – you would make a vicious (and, let’s face it, unrepentant) punster very, very happy.

I think it’s fair to say that we stringy types are somewhat prone to Languishing Project Syndrome. I certainly am (as a look at my recent on-the-needles post will attest – for a start).

You know how it is – you bounce into a new thing all fresh-faced enthusiasm – you’re bright-tailed, bushy-eyed, the works. You lope along, sun on your face, wind in your hair, and every seam or row or round or cut seems to proceed from its own little pocket of joy.

And then…

Something changes.

Perhaps it’s tangible: there’s a step coming up that you’re not quite sure about. You’ve never done a two-piece sleeve before, as it might be. Or fairisle. Or foundation piecing. Or simpler – you’ve made a mistake of some kind, and now you have to decide whether to undo your work or forge ahead.

Perhaps it’s internal: you fall out of love. Some other spark catches the dry kindling of your creative mind. You begin to suspect that this time, you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. You start mixing up your mountains with your molehills. You get bored.

Either way, the project … slows … slides … grows sluggish … stutters to a stop.

Often, of course, it doesn’t matter. The piece you’re working on is for yourself, or for someone who isn’t waiting for it. This year, next year, it’s all the same.

Other times, well, it’s different. There’s a special occasion in the offing. A deadline. (That one in late December springs to mind…)

In this situation, you generally have two choices

You can abandon all thought of finishing in time, and – gasp! – buy something in a shop instead. (And startlingly, the world doesn’t end. So far, at least.)

Or – and this has been my own traditional approach – you can pull out all the stops.

You’ll inevitably end up cramming most of the work into the final seventy-two hours. Hemming your ball dress with grim determination as the taxi idles outside. Furtively slipstitching the binding on a king-size quilt at the back of the church while its intended recipients utter their vows. Staying up frenetically stitching until 6:10 on the morning of the deadline (by which point you’re so high on lack of sleep that you’re pretty sure you can hear your project muttering about you), and being barely able to speak for two days afterwards.

But it’ll be worth it. Won’t it?

Let me come straight to the point: I think I can help.

Specifically, I think I can help you get that project finished, in time for that deadline.

And I don’t mean “in time” in the sense of “didn’t miss the event and am not actually dead”. I mean genuinely in time. In good time. With time to spare.

The fact is, I’ve learned a few things in the past three-plus decades of making stuff. I won’t say I’ve beaten the procrastination monster (we don’t beat our monsters around here – that would be cruel), but I have methods. Strategies. Bits and pieces, culled from all sorts of sources, and collated into a sort of mental library, flexible enough to adapt to circumstances, focused enough to produce results.

I’m ready to share that with you.

Here’s what we’ll do

1. We’ll talk – over phone, by video chat, or failing those, on plain old IM. We’ll have an initial half-hour session in which you’ll tell me about your project and we’ll discuss what’s been stopping you from getting it done.
2. We’ll identify the flavours of procrastination at play, and I’ll let you in on an outrageous truth about behavioural change that has made all the difference to me.
3. If your project is in one of my areas of stringy expertise, feel free to ask for practical – i.e. string-related – advice. I’ll help if I can (no guarantees).
4. We’ll make a concrete plan for your project during that initial conversation. I’ll e-mail you a summary so you’ll have it to hand.
5. You’ll implement the plan, and we’ll check in by e-mail twice or three times during the time period we’ve agreed.
6. At the end of that agreed time period, we’ll talk again. Maybe we’ll have nothing to do but swig champagne and squee about your marvellous finished piece. Or maybe it’ll be more of a progress report and an opportunity to map out next steps. Either way, it’ll mark the end of the process.

That’s it. With uncharacteristic directness, I’m calling this service Get It Done. And I am open for business, oh yeah.

Details, details

I’m in Dublin, same time-zone as London, and I can generally do calls in the late evening (9:30-11:30pm) any day except Wednesday, in the morning (say 10:00-12:00) on Monday or Tuesday, or during the day at weekends (depending on other commitments).

The whole Get It Done package – the initial call, the e-mail summary of your implementation plan, two or three further e-mail exchanges, and the concluding call – is priced at a highly introductory $63 (that’s sixty-three of the finest US dollars).

OK, you’re up for this. Hooray! Here’s what to do next

1. Click the Buy Now button below and pay me via PayPal.
2. In the comments section of the PayPal form, tell me what days and times suit you for our initial call.

Small print: If for any reason you have to cancel your Get It Done package at any time up to our first session together, I’ll refund your fee in full.

I’ll be in touch to arrange our first session. I can’t wait to hear about your project!

Here’s the button. Click it:

PS: I can’t work miracles, obviously. (Fifty hours of work in two days? Not going to happen.) But I bet I can help you get clear on where your project is at, where it’s headed, what’s been stopping you, and what to do about that. Give this a try – it can’t possibly hurt.