Tell them how long it takes

A woman messaged me on a Thursday asking if a pair of earrings could be in San Diego by Saturday morning. They could not. The silver still had to be finished, and I do not work overnight for a gift I have not agreed to rush. I wrote back with the real date. She ordered them anyway, for the week after.

The ones that go badly are the ones where the date lives in my head and not in the listing. Someone pays, then reads “made to order” as “I will start tonight.” I meant ten days. They meant the weekend. Both of us are reasonable. Only one of us wrote it down.

Clay needs to dry. Soap needs to cure. A quilt is not a print-on-demand file. If your work has a waiting period, that waiting period is part of what they are buying, the same as the material. Put the number where they can see it before they pay. “Ships in 10–14 days” is a kinder sentence than a tracking number that does not exist yet.

Holiday weeks make this louder. Pick a last day you will accept an order and mean it. Update the shop when you are at a market or the studio is dark. Silence, to a person waiting on a package, sounds like a lost box.

I keep a line at the top of the shop now, plain as a sign on a door. It changes when the queue changes. Buyers who needed it tomorrow go elsewhere. The ones who stay have already agreed to the pace of the work, which is the only pace I can keep without lying.