The Four Freedoms

Proverbial Fly on the Roof

When I am silent for a time, whether in voice or print, it usually means I’m going through some turmoil which I choose to sort out alone.   Of late it has been determining which direction I should head, both on the road and with my business.

Woofers and Tweeters.  It’s a great idea, I’m told over and over.  There’s no need to convince me; it’s the public I’m turning hoarse and grey trying to persuade, one reason I’m on the road.

By finally ‘listening to my own drummer,’ as Mom would say, I’m finding answers to as-yet unasked questions.  This will not be a black-and-white Boring-fomercial, but let me offer yesterday’s trek as an example.

The Four Freedoms murals
Robert McDonald, Silverton, OR

I’ve been advised by mentors and fellow small-scale producers alike that while I seem  to have made the right decisions in development and initial promotions, they poo-poo my idea of marketing by approaching prospective clients as I travel; off-the-cuff, so to speak.

“You can’t do that; it’s not cost-effective.  You need to do this, that or some other proven method.”

Wasn’t there a ‘First’ for those same methods, or am I just being argumentative?  What would Miss Marion have done without the Music Man?

Four Freedoms Commission

Unhappy with previous advice I’ve followed, I’d decided to take a semi-sabbatical to avoid throwing in the towel completely.  These past quiet days, unable to connect to the Internet by some cosmic force, no doubt, I’ve contemplated said advice and decided to throw those negatives on the same advice pile with some of the other ideas I’ve ignored.  What’s good for one isn’t necessarily right for another, and I’m not selling just another chocolate chip cookie or bar of designer soap.

Freedom of Speech

No guts, no glory, is my lifelong mantra.  So I headed (sans turtle shell) for two obscure towns nearby Salem, my current locale, to sightsee and maybe do some marketing along the way.

But first I had to get past an encounter with another human.  I’d made a driving error, startling a pedestrian.  Come on now, we’ve all been there.  He wasn’t a kid; he was in his 60’s or 70’s, but as I apologized, profusely, he never again glanced at me.  I couldn’t help saying, politely yet strongly,

“At least you can acknowledge my apology.”

Freedom from Want

But that’s me.  On the way home, I saw someone else make a similar mistake; his apology elicited raised fingers from the two kids on bikes. 

I readily admit to drowning my own at birth so I can’t properly represent a Matriarch, but don’t these kids have parents, or grandparents, who'd smack them in the mouth if they witnessed that?  Mine would have, or something close.  Pre-child abuse days, my second grade teacher in NYC literally washed out mouths with soap; the Dark Ages of the early 60’s.  No wonder it was a time of cultural revolution; I joined just to avoid the Dove bar, and not the frozen kind.

Freedom from Fear

My mood was temporarily somber, then I shook it off and, with BC comfy in her co-pilot position (decked out with foam bumpers, water station, 12-volt fan and a child’s seat from Goodwill), I  was determined to have a nice day.  We did.

Following instinct, I turned down here and circled the block there for something interesting which caught my eye, like these Norman Rockwell murals by Silverton artist David McDonald.  I found unlikely markets for my treat mixes, and my idea of showing up in person paid off.  Sales aside, I met nice people wherever I stopped, was given suggestions for other local venues, and learned of a distributor which could be of assistance.  I couldn't pay someone to take that kind of time.

Just like people enjoyed the story of Ruff Life, people like my current tale of a down-and-out-artist turned entrepreneur.  Holding up my (own design) gourd Doggy Bag and shaking my painted Oregon college-themed Duck and Beaver earrings, complete with feathers, I launch into my story of less earnings than the lemonade gal at my local Saturday Market, etcetera, etcetera.  They’re hooked enough to keep listening.

Freedom of Worship

I’m the modern-day version of the pots and pans salesman, samples hanging from their clothing.  People don’t know what to make of me, and luckily everyone has been nice and understanding while I trip over my words; just while promoting, not story-telling.  Their smiles encourage me, and I get the frustrated stand-up-comic-wannabe out of my system for awhile.

Ready to walk off-stage because I’m not great at closing deals, I can’t help acting surprised while they convince me they want to order right then and there.  Who knew?  I hate the marketing, I tell myself, but then look what happens?  In addition to finding gentle folk (who also dislike many post-Internet changes), I hear great stories, like the one about the huge fly squished on the highway, now stuffed ‘cause no one would believe it.

Tall tales

“Don’t outline,” again, my wise Mother.   I used to think I was so clever by trying to anticipate every possibly outcome; anything which could go wrong, so as to have an appropriate course of action.

Bah, humbug.  That never worked out the way I figured, and now it works out better.  BC even got a decent Frisbee toss in a newly opened Dog Park.  Woof!