Give Me Cake Or Give Me Death

When I started The Cakery, I knew my friends would support me.  I knew I would be doing at least 8 birthday cakes a year in various themes ranging from Thomas the Tank Engine to Tinkerbell to Barbie.  I also knew that maybe a few of my coworkers would ask me to make a cake for them on at least one occasion.  I knew this.  But still.  I had no idea it would turn into what it has.  And so quickly, at that.

I’ve been making custom cakes for the public now for 14 months.  Fourteen wonderful months of baking and carving and fondant and gumpaste and buttercream.  I’ve made some awesome cakes.  I’m critically acclaimed.  I’m, dare I say, successful.  It’s just still sort of surreal.  And it’s dawned on me over the last several weeks that I really could actually and truly make a living doing this.  A good living.

But, alas, I am a ball of anxiety and nerves when it comes to anything of great change that is also anything of great importance.  And this, like purchasing a car or financing my first home or birthing a child, is very important to me.  It’s feasible.  It’s practical.  It’s rewarding.  But best of all?  It’s fun.  So fun that it seems too good to be true.  Insert nerves here.

I’m about to make my portfolio.  The one that I’ve been putting off with excuses like, “I don’t have enough pictures to make an impressive portfolio.”  I have pictures now.  Lots.  Or, “I’m still learning.  I don’t think I’m ready to go ‘pro’ yet.”  I will always be learning.  And improving.  If not now, then when?


I’ve entered a cake in a contest.  A contest that many other wonderful and talented cakers have entered.  This is not to say that I did it because I finally think I could win, but because I finally think I’m worthy of winning.  I’ve also printed out and completed the entry form to compete in the North Carolina State Fair.  And, uh, in case you’re unfamiliar – that’s a big effing fair.  And I’m psyched.

So now I’m looking into small business grants and storefronts and laws and regulations on employing people.  As in I’m the boss.  As in this is my business.  As in I own it.  As in I answer to no one except Uncle Sam.  And, ok, my Mawm cuz I’d still do what I was told if it came right down to it.

This is all so very exciting.  And nerveracking.  And cool.

And terrifyingly important.


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