Crafts for the Depraved
Like 86.4% of all suburban moms, I have a craft area complete with a sewing machine I never use, approximately 23 different gluing implements, and enough overpriced acid-free, lignin-free paper to create 500 archivally sound scrapbooks. And like most hoarders of supplies, this stuff exists in my house not so much for me to use, but to fuel my fantasies of a life in which I might actually have enough leisure time to do crafty things.
I'm not even a crafty sort of girl. But I am an almost-art-major (English won out because the classes were shorter), and I have all sorts of artistic visions of the mixed media works of art I'm someday going to create. I call this area full of unused arts and crafts supplies my "art studio," a name that would be far more appropriate if it didn't apply to a space that also included the washer and dryer and all my husband's old basketball and disco competition trophies.
But if my writing career ever takes a nose dive, I plan to hole up in my art studio/laundry room and start producing voodoo dolls for writers. These will be works of art with a practical purpose--to send out bad mojo to the brutal reviewers, indifferent publishing industry professionals, and unsupportive friends and family members that can make the writing life such a rollercoaster ride.
I'm not saying I have any of these negative people in my life. I've been blessed with a fabulous editor and agent, and my family is way supportive. But being a writer means always feeling like external factors control our careers.
I think every writer needs a voodoo doll for those days when you just want to jab a pin in someone's ass. Armed with my dusty sewing machine, I could start my next business and travel the writers' conference circuit, hawking my evil dolls.
Or maybe I should get back to work on my proposal.