Last Friday, Mary and I attended a party at a local Café that we patronise every Wednesday between Bible study and Writers’ Group. We go there for lunch and have started to get to know some of the regulars there as well as the manageress. She makes a delicious Black Forest Cake.

Anyway, on the way, I remarked, ‘Wow, it’s been a week already since the market.’

So, how did we go? You ask.

What you must understand is that the main stream media did its best to deter people from doing anything—apart from activating their fire-safety plan. Or second to that, heading to the nearest bunker and hunkering down waiting for the apocalyptic storm to pass.

As it turned out, the doom and gloom weather forecasters were out by a couple of days. Clouds shrouded Adelaide by mid-afternoon, even a few spots of rain. The fires never happened. The evening of the market turned into a balmy twenty-something degree Celsius, perfect for strolling in the market or enjoying Christmas festivities.

However, the damage by media had already been done and no one but a hardy few, ventured outside their homes to attend. In the end, traders traded amongst themselves. I bought a native orchid and a couple of Christmas cakes. Elsie bought my significant-zero-number birthday present, a handy art pouch that I can use when painting en plein air.

And finally, after no financial transaction action all evening on our stall, a neighbouring vendor bought one of my books, and Elsie’s great nephew one of my miniature paintings. Minutes before, we had sold one of Elsie’s cards while she was away from the table having a break.

Disappointing? No, I don’t think so. I have come to believe that the market experience is more than just buying and selling goods. It’s about community. Building relationships. Being a regular reassuring presence. Being there to listen to people, to connect with people.

Now at times, during the evening, this connecting was difficult to do. We were situated right under the main entertainment; a couple of merry “Elves” singing Christmas songs. They were doing a jolly good job of it, drumming up that seasonal spirit—except that they sang to no one but the vendors most of the time. Where we were the music blared at top volume. When some hapless soul did enter the market and pass our stall, they sped around the tables, glancing only briefly at our books and artwork. Communication, even amongst us concluded in sign language and I resorted to sharing writing in my notebook; a kind of note-passing between friends.

When the music-makers took a break, we had opportunity to connect with potential buyers or people who just wanted someone to listen to what was going on in their world.

While packing up, one of the neighbouring vendors gave some advice; cards don’t sell, they said, and every time is different, so don’t give up. From the brief debrief we had, we decided that in the future, we’ll look at selling smaller paintings and trying to get a stall far, far away from the entertainment.

As for connection, the market is just one way for advertising Indie Scriptorium and our indie-published books. After years of going to this local café I mentioned Mary and I go to every Wednesday, I finally gave one of my books, The T-Team with Mr. B to the manageress to read as a Christmas present. The Lost World of the Wends was given to a young writer who also comes to this café, and also I gave away a bookmark advertising Indie Scriptorium.

Building the “brand”, the business by networking takes time, especially with the strident voice of professional media, but slowly but surely I feel, people are catching on and it’s happening for Indie Scriptorium.

A heart-felt thank you to all you faithful followers and newcomers to our Indie Scriptorium blog. Merry Christmas and we wish you a successful New Year in your endeavours.

Cheers, Lee-Anne Marie.

© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2023

Feature Photo: Indie Scriptorium Team at the market © L.M. Kling 2023