Organic Cotton New York

the shop has been open for 6 months.it caters for children from 0-6 yrs
it is located in a suburb of New York City (Long island/Queens border)
ads in local papers have had limited success
the shop is tastefully laid out and decorated(boutique style)
it is mostly aimed at the high end of the market but is by no means ridiculously exspensive.
most of the clothes we stock are from funky/independent US suppliers,not well known brands.they are very good quality.
alot of the clothes are from eco friendly sources (organic cotton,fairtrade etc)
the main competition is mainly from the large retailers in the local shopping mall. there is no other independent childrens clothes store in the area.
the reaction from those who do call in is very positive but at the moment,because we are new,we are just trying to get more people in the door,if only to have a look.
we don't have a big budget for marketing,so if any one has any ideas which have worked i would be very grateful

Have a fun day Free Ballons staff dress up magician in store
Make it quite loud so that you get noticed
Kid love this kind of thing
Get the kids in store parents will follow
Parents =Cash

2008-05-29 21:37:06 by cashelbay

Loomstate ... Loomstate ... Loomstate ...

I'm eighteen and have been working on this book for about a year. It is a novel involving political corruption ( both right and left). Mostly a character driven plot. If anyone has any thoughts on my writing style please share. Any chance of me ever getting it published?


Manhattan, New York

September 30, 2009

James Apartment





Where was Elliot? James glanced at his Cartier wristwatch as he paced though his apartment. It had been a practically hellish day at work and he needed Elliot. Initially, his proposal to a clothes retailer to invest in environmentally friendly organic cotton produced by CEC was rejected. Secondly, a scathing review of CEC was written in the New York Times. Thankfully, it only managed to score the back of the paper, but, it was still brutally ruthless. Entitled “Green-dy and Corrupt” was a bitter report of the salaries and the perks of being employed at CEC, which was suppose to be non-profit. Tailing the wage reports, was a detailed tracing of mainstream donations from nonexistent private individuals to factual CEOs and presidents of companies not known for being environmentally conscience. The writer, a right-wing extremist bitch known for her unyielding denial of global warming, hinted that these “eco-unfriendly” companies were paying off CEC to not blow the whistle on them. The most unfortunate piece of this merciless editorial was that it mentioned James by name at least three times.

To add to the stress of his day, James remembered that he would be traveling to Washington D.C that weekend. Hopefully, the nasty critique wouldn’t hinder any support of the bill he was lobbying for. Nicknamed Eco-fight, the bill was created to limit the emission of carbon by slightly increasing taxes in ratio to the carbon output of factories and large corporations. However, closer inspection revealed that the bill trickled down in smaller businesses and finally, at the last stage, households. The shrinking Party of Republicans in Congress, except for a few moderate ones, adamantly refused the bill. Most Democrats in Congress, though not all, eagerly supported it. James was determined to change the minds of those on the left who weren’t fully committed to the bill.

The caustic sting of the article left a burn on James. Immediately after reading the article, he contacted the legal department of CEC demanding that a lawsuit be issued against the writer and New York Times for libel. James, still pacing like a caged animal, realized that now, the lawsuit wouldn’t comfort him, only a tiny glass vial filled with white powder would console him. Impatiently, James tried to call Elliot. No answer. Where was he-? James heard a knock on the door and rushed to open it.

“Finally!” James moaned, hand outstretched.

“Whoa, settle down there.” Elliot laughed as he tried to walk through the door.

He handed James the bottle,

“That should last you a couple days, I’ll be back this weekend to give you more.”

“No, I’m going to Washington; I’ll be gone for a week.” James looked up from the bottle clutched in his hand with a distressed look.

Elliot hesitated, “Can you wait til-“

“No!” James cried desperately, He looked at Elliot. “I’ve had such a tough week, just look at this article.” He pleaded, handing Elliot a crumpled New York Times.

Elliot skimmed the article, the frown on his forehead deepening as he read further and further. He signed and offered James an apologetic look.

“Okay, I’ll have it to you by Thursday.” Elliot replied, trying to soothe James.

Elliot studied James, calculating how much James had changed over the years. A similar digression he had viewed in all his clients. His once tawny skin was now pale, his muscular frame gaunter, and his green eyes tired. He was still remotely young, early forties.

James watched Elliot leave his apartment, feeling slightly anxious that Elliot seemed tentative to deliver the drug on Thursday. James clenched the vial in his hand, clasping it hard-as if someone would snatch it from his hand. He moved to the kitchen, placing the bottle, a crisp dollar bill, and a credit card on the marble counter. James started using crack at the eve of his divorce to his first wife. It regularly continued through his second marriage and was eventually the reason for its demise. James was fascinated with cocaine, how is destroyed his marriage but helped to numb the pain from the separation. He creased the dollar bill, and filled it with the powder. Skillfully, he poured it on the counter into a shaky line. He carefully used the credit card to straighten the dust into a straight line. He took out his straw, and gently whiffed. His nostrils burned at first, but soon he was lulled into a gentle wave of serenity.

Without any mental effort of his own, James was able to be transported to the most halcyon period in his life. The infancy of his first marriage, back when he was nearing thirty. His wife was a ra

From my perspective, this would be very good. But I'm no agent or publisher--yet.

The thing about the writing industry is that they are very *finicky* about what they will take and what they will accept.

Your piece has very good depth as well as character prose, but you have to remember that I am just a fellow writer.

Not an agent. Agents and publishers are looking for *anything* to reject you on. It doesn't even have to be on what you're writing! lol

At 18, you *might* have a shot at getting published. But *only* a shot. Realistically, your chances of being taken and published are astronomical these days.

And that's not a lie. Nor is it to break down your level of confidence either. I'm just telling you what you're up against.

Like you, I've been dealing with the mainstream for the past decade or so. My books have been rejected more than 100 times by them.

But I keep writing because I enjoy doing what I do best. .

2010-04-17 18:47:25 by Sarah

Price: $19.99 $19.99