Photo: filadendron

NEVER KNOWING WHY 

I get bummed out when I don't have the answer as to why something went wrong.  Not knowing eats at me.  I need an explanation.  

For instance:  Last year I submitted a story to a writing contest that I'd been entering for over fifteen years.  My work had always won an award.  This time my entry didn't even garner an honorable mention.  I had submitted (IMO) a prize-worthy piece.  The hardest thing for me was not knowing why my story didn't resonate with the judge.   

In contrast, I knew exactly what went wrong with the 2023 PB Party contest.  Shortly after I submitted my manuscript, I realized the plot was weak and the writing was subpar.  But it was too late to do anything about it.  Somehow, I had been blind to its faults.  The entry wasn't good and a golden opportunity had been lost.  

But later in the year, another opportunity cropped up.  

Literary agent Stephan Fraser offered a competition called the Encouragement Fund in which three children's writers would be awarded a cash gift to be used towards their writing careers.  To enter you needed to:  have had a children's book traditionally published, submit a cover page, and write an essay to explain why you're entering the contest and what you'd use the prize money for.

Though my book was published by a small press, the contest sponsor verified that it met the qualifications.  Then, I wrote an essay to show why I needed encouragement and what the funding would be used for.  I read the piece to my husband, who always points out problems and offers helpful suggestions.  This time, when I finished reading the piece to him, he was silent.  In a good way.  He said, "It was perfect.  I wouldn't change a thing."  Coming from him, this news was assuring and gave me the confidence to enter the contest.  I HAD written a damn good essay.

I assumed the judges would check Amazon author pages to be sure the applicants' books were traditionally published.  After seeing my book information was accurate, I sent in the cover page along with my essay.  According to the rules, the judging would take place mid-January.  

But by then, I hadn't heard a word.  That's when I got this strange feeling to check Amazon.  I found my book title was now misspelled.  So weird.  It looked fine before the contest deadline.  

Something was fishy.  There could have been a computer glitch with Amazon, but I wondered if my publisher had been involved (we have a strained relationship). She has control over the book details on Amazon and has made my book unavailable for purchase.  She may have been contacted by the contest chair to verify the information about my book.  I don't have proof and it's not nice to accuse, but my book had been online since 2017.  How can it be that the title had been correct for six years and then get messed up during the judging period?  I will never know how this happened.  But when I contacted my agent about the misspelling, she got in touch with my publisher, and then the title was miraculously corrected.  

The first of February rolled around, and there was still no word about the winners.  Then mid-February I checked the agent's Twitter messages.  The decision had been made.  The agent chose three woman to receive the prize.  I tried to figure out why my entry was not selected.  Were the other essays more compelling?  Were the writers' needs greater than mine?  Was my book disqualified because its title was misspelled and that it could no longer be purchased online?  

My essay was written with deep sincerity.  It was evocative.  It had the power to transport and anchor the reader to a place where hope and desire stirred the heart of a writer.  If I lean on my intuition, I feel that the judging was tough.  It may have been a close call.  I take heart in feeling this vibe.  But for now, I have no choice other than to accept the loss without knowing the reason why. 

  

À la prochaine!  

                                                                                                                                                                                                             Photo: Krakenimages.com 

         
THE PRICE OF BEING HONEST

I am brutally honest.  And with that comes a price.

Some people are offended when I speak my mind and stand up for what I believe.   

Last year, a relative didn't like my honest remarks.  They may have come across as harsh, but I was pointing out the facts.  So, like the famous line in A Few Good Men, she couldn't handle the truth.  In turn, I was not included in the annual family gathering that I had started more than twenty years ago. 

Likewise, my publisher was revengeful because we had a disagreement about the terms in my contract.  Long story short, she told me I was responsible for book returns.  After perusing my contract, I found there wasn't a single clause that said I had to pay for returns.  When I stood up to her false claims:  

My book was removed from the publishing company's library. 

My book is no longer in print on Amazon.

My book can't be found on WorldCat or by a google search using its ISBN number because the publisher doesn't own a copy. 

It stings to be snubbed by family and punished by a publisher.  However, there are ways to deal with these situations.   

In the case of being snubbed, I've found it's best not to persist in trying to reveal my true self to someone who has a negative impression of me.  I can't change the behavior of others.  I can only change my mindset and my reaction.  It's best to stay close to the people who perceive me to be a good person.  They are my kind of people.

As with somebody who seeks revenge, my approach is to avoid confrontation and limit communication.  People who seek revenge want to hurt others, make them fail, and make them feel miserable.  I hold my head high, have faith in myself, and move on.   

I could have given plenty more examples of people in my life who had not treated me well due to my honesty, but these two good examples serve to make the point.  In both instances, the best thing for me is to control the things in my life I can control whether it involves family or publishing.  I can shield myself from the negative behavior by focusing on the good things in my life:  my family, friends, pets, writing, classes, and travels.  

There will likely be more situations where I won't see eye to eye with people.  Confrontations and disagreements will crop up.  It's a given.  However, I will not tolerate ignorant people and I will not bow down to bullies.  Hurt, disrespect, and unkindness may follow.  But it's a price I am willing to pay.    

https://www.refinedprose.com/how-to-deal-with-being-snubbed-positively/ 

https://nathaliemartinekphd.substack.com/p/revenge

À la prochaine!  

                                                                                                                                                   Photo by Benzoix

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, STOP THE BITCHING   

I have about zero tolerance for complainers. 

Though I care about my friends and want to be there for them when they need to vent, I need to protect myself from the negativity they project.  Their complaining wears me down.    

Many years ago, I worked in a clinical laboratory with a gal who complained every day.  I kid you not.  Every day!  About anything.  I listened to her to be supportive, never realizing how I was absorbing the negative energy.   

Even these days, some of my friends have a habit of complaining.  Recently, a friend talked non-stop during a lunch date about family problems.  Similarly, another friend went on and on about work-related issues as we hiked through a park.  In both cases, I didn't have a chance to speak up and offer advice.  My gal pals just wanted to gab about the things that upset them.  It was as if they were talking to a wall, because it didn't matter if I was there or not.  Which was a bummer.  I could have spent my time doing something productive.  I certainly didn't feel being present made any difference. 

Trevor Blake, a serial entrepreneur and author of Three Simple Steps: A Map to Success in Business and Life says, "Typically, people who are complaining don't want a solution; they just want you to join in the indignity of the whole thing." 

Blake describes how neuroscientists have learned to measure brain activity when faced with various stimuli, including a long gripe session. He says, "The brain works more like a muscle than we thought. So, if you're pinned in a corner for too long listening to someone being negative, you're more likely to behave that way as well."  

This is so true!  Especially when I think back to the lab co-worker from years gone by.  She got me so riled up that I began acting negatively and found fault with everything and everybody.  

I have listened to complainers for many years, but it wasn't until the lunch date and park hike that I finally realized something has to be done.      

 Blake recommends the following: 

• Find a way to create some distance from the complainer.  Limit the exposure to this kind of behavior if you can.  If you're in a social setting or even a classroom, if you can excuse yourself to take a bathroom break or to get a drink.

• Ask the complainer to fix the problem. Sometimes, you can't easily walk away, so try to get the person who's complaining to take responsibility for a solution.  Ask they what are you going to do about it.  Some may get huffy, but others may try to solve their problem.

• If you're trapped listening to a complainer, block out the griping.  Imagine you're protected by a shield. Or, imagine you're in a calm, happy environment (your favorite getaway or vacation destination)

Blake's recommendations could be applied in some cases, but I can't create distance if my friends and I have agreed to meet.  I wouldn't ask them to fix the problem nor would I want to block out their gripping.  They need a friend who will be there for them and listen.  

I'm trying to figure out how to best handle my grumbling girlfriends should they call or want to get together.  Our last conversations drained me, pulled me down and made me feel icky.  The bitching just gets old and creates a lop-sided friendship.  It's always about them, and nothing about me.

So, after a lot of thought I made a decision. While it's important to support my friends, I've chosen to put a brief hold on these relationships. Faire une petite pause.*  Then in the future when we get together, I'll work on rebalancing the friendships.  I will strive for reciprocity.  I will redirect the conversations to more cheerful optimistic topics.  

Easier said than done.  

My timidity may get in the way and this strategy will require finesse so I don't hurt anyone's feelings.  Regardless, I need to work on improving my relationships.  I love my friends but I don't love the negativity.  This plan may be a small step in the right direction.  And when it's put into action, I am hopeful there will be much, much less complaining.   

  À la prochaine!  

*to take a little break

HOW DO YOU SPELL TROUBLE? 

L-I-Z-Z-I-E  

I never intended to adopt a cat.  

I thought our daughter Abby would be happy with Splash the Beta fish. But as she grew older,  Abby said she needed a pet she could hug.  So, when she was ten, she and I visited the Humane Society.  We fell in love with a tabby called Ollie.  

As time flew by, Abby went off to college and the house grew quiet.  Being that my husband Jim worked, it was nice having a furry companion around.  Ollie and I grew close, so you can imagine how heartbroken I felt when he was diagnosed with kidney disease.  Within three months, I had to make the difficult decision to put him down.  Ollie only lived to be eight.  

After months of mourning his loss, I felt ready to have another cat.  At the Humane Society, I found Ozzie, a beautiful tabby with one green eye and one amber eye.  Ozzie was well-behaved and gentle, but way too curious and one Thanksgiving, he snuck out.  When we discovered he was missing, I totally freaked out.  Ozzie was an indoor cat.  He didn't know how to hunt for food, how to find shelter, or how to defend himself against predators.  He would never survive outside.

Jim and I posted his picture on Face Book and on Next Door and taped flyers to lamp posts.  We walked the neighborhood every day calling for him.  Jim searched the woods behind our house.  After 19 days I was beginning to lose hope.  By now it was December and the temperatures were below freezing.

Can you believe this cutie causes so much trouble?

Still, we hoped someone had found Ozzie and had dropped him off at the Humane Society, but when we visited, he wasn't in the room of lost pets.  While we were at the adoption center, I decided to hold some kittens, thinking a new cat would cheer me up.  But they were sickly and sad-looking and none could replace Ozzie.  Then on the way back home, we drove past Pet Smart and decided to step in to look at the kittens.  I had no intention of adopting that day, but one of them was named Abby—an obvious sign this was meant to be.  And just like that, we had ourselves a new cat and I decided to call her Lizzie.     

So, here we had a kitten and my husband and I knew nothing about caring for a young cat.  We had adopted Ozzie as an adolescent.  In no time, we learned that this kitten was a handful.  She'd sneak into closets or the pantry and get accidently trapped inside, scratch furniture and audio speakers, bite our toes, leap three feet up to the top of the refrigerator door to swat my hand, and the list goes on. 

The worst thing was, Lizzie didn't know anything about litter boxes (which surprised me because I though all cats no matter how young knew where to potty).  She did her business wherever she wanted.  A gal at Pet Smart advised me to place three litter boxes by Lizzie's favorite bathroom spots, and every few days gradually move them closer to the designated litter box area and then leave just one.  (This worked:)

Now look at her face.  Who can believe something so cute can be such a rascal?  We call her Little Bit, You With The Face, and A-lizzabet.  Sometimes, Sweetheart.  The most-fitting name is Trouble.  A year later she nibbles floral arrangements (silk and real flowers), tries to catch paper coming out of the printer, shreds window sheers, steals guitar picks, and uses my husband's favorite chair as a scratching post.  

Lizzie's latest habits include banging on the bedroom door during the middle of the night or walking on my back as I sleep.  The famous cat whisperer, Jackson Galaxy would say, distract her to stop bad behavior.  Yeh, right.  I'm going to get out of bed at 4 a.m. and distract her. 

Despite her mischievous behavior, Lizzie slowly helped me get over the loss of Ozzie.  But I wondered, what if Ozzie wasn't lost?  What if he found his way back home?  Would Lizzie and Ozzie get along? We were about to find out.  

Six weeks after adopting Lizzie, a neighbor who lived about one and a half miles away posted a picture on Facebook of a cat he had found.  The photo was fuzzy, but the cat resembled Ozzie.  Jim and I jumped into the car and raced to his house.  The neighbor led us to the basement where he kept the foundling, and lo and behold, there was Ozzie, minus his collar, fur matted, so skinny you could see his back bones.  He was literally starving and could barely hold his head up.  I cradled my sweet boy.  How had he survived?  And equally amazing, how could it be that we were reunited? 

The following day after meeting with veterinarian Dr. Vice, I found out Ozzie had no broken bones or cuts.  As Dr. V. put it, Ozzie just went on a walkabout.  Knowing Oz was unharmed was a relief.  But in order for him to rest and gain weight, we kept him separated from Lizzie.  Two weeks later he had regained his strength and we allowed the two of them to meet.   

At first, I wasn't sure if they'd get along.  They seemed suspicious of one another.  Ozzie and Lizzie tested each another and chased through the house.  But their interactions were harmless—no crying or fur flying.  Just pure joyous cat play.  

As I watch the two wrestle, I can't believe we have two cats. TWO!  And they are as different as night and day.  One is calm (and happy to be home) and one is well, not calm.  By now, you know which is which.  Which makes it fun and interesting.  We love 'em both.  Even if one caused us worry and heartache.  Even if one can be nothing but trouble.   

Bonne année! 

 

                                                                                                                                  Photo courtesy: Paula Engebretson

SHOW SOME RESPECT  

It bugs me when people don't reply, can't say no, can't admit they're not interested.

This happens quite a bit when I query agents.  I may not hear back after following the agent's guidelines, filling out a Query Manager form, and sending a professional query letter.  No word = no thank you.  In the past this wasn't the case.  Agents actually got back in touch through snail-mail.  But these days, agents claim they're overwhelmed with submissions and don't have the time to respond.   

What surprised me was other professionals have adopted this behavior, too.  Six years ago, when I tried to promote my book, I found that newspaper journalists, librarians, and teachers didn't have the courtesy to get back in touch with me.  None of them returned my phone calls, texted me or emailed me.  I was left hanging with the hope they'd be interested in writing a newspaper review, or having me lead a storytime, or inviting me to school to meet young readers.  Though my book was traditionally published, it didn't warrant their attention.  This was eye-opening, sad, and disappointing. 

Unfortunately, this attitude is prevalent beyond the book world and into our daily lives.  Last month, I contacted a handyman who was recommended on Next Door .  He stopped by our house to look at the projects and told me he'd send a quote.  After waiting two weeks, I sent an email to remind him.  He never responded.  Okay, I get it.  He really wasn't interested, but couldn't he have responded to my email?  

Now here's the thing.  I'd like to warn other people about this fellow.  This guy is not reliable and may not follow up.  But I won't.  He has my email and my cell phone number.  And he knows where I live.  I'm not careless or stupid.  It takes very little to set someone off.  So, I'll do nothing.  Stew, yes.  But quietly.

It's a shame some people feel that they don't need to respond, that no response speaks for itself.  But come on man, that's so rude.  And it boils down having no respect for others.  People have gotten self-centered.  They don't think about (or care about) another person's feelings.  It doesn't occur to them to be nice, to get back in touch, to send a reply.   

   

While writing this post, I found an article that was helpful in dealing with people who don't have the courtesy to say no thanks.  In "No Thanks, 3 Things You Can Do When People Don't Respond to Your EMail," I learned not to take it personally and to move on.   

This article made me feel I'm not alone.  It gave me the go ahead to reach out to other people.  People I can count on.  In the future, I will reach out to my publisher to help me contact journalists, teachers, and librarians.  And outside the writing world, I will reach out to more conscientious handymen.    

Sometimes it's hard to avoid people who choose not to reply.  The thing is, I don't have to let them get me down.  True, their rudeness gets under my skin, but the power is in my hands.  I don't have to deal with these kind of people.  When someone shows me their true colors, I can move on.  I have the choice to work with people who will treat me with the decency I deserve.   

À la prochaine!  

                                                                                                                                        Photo by Anastasia Vityukova

SEEK TO UNDERSTAND

Before I judge or make a comment, I try to walk a mile in someone else's shoes.  

This is something I learned many years ago after reading Dr. Stephen R. Covey's book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.  Stephen Covey encourages us to seek first to understand, then to be understood.  In other words, listen to people's ideas and feelings. 

But many folks are not good at this.  They make rash decisions without looking at a situation from a different point of view.  They may never consider what a person might be going through or why they act a certain way.  There are reasons why people behave the way they do. 

Here's a good example.  

I was present at a neighborhood board association meeting where a neighbor asked if he could replace dead plants at one of the island entrances and be paid for the work.  The president thought it was a good idea, but he had forgotten that the board of directors had a contract in place with a landscaping company that oversaw caring for the islands.  Somehow, that had slipped his mind.  

When I read a copy of the minutes a couple days later and I noticed the neighbor had been given the green light to start working on the island, I phoned the president to remind him of the landscaping contract.  At that point, he realized he had made a mistake by offering the neighbor the job.  He quickly sent an email to the board and neighbors to set the record straight and apologized for the misunderstanding.  The neighbor would need to send a quote so his services could be considered for next year.   

I am hoping the neighbor had no hard feelings.  But our secretary had a fit and quit.  The way I understand it was, she thought the president had gone back on his word.  

I will not judge her for quitting.  One of her relatives was facing a health issue.  Being secretary may have been too stressful for her now.  But it seemed to me that she never tried to understand why someone would say something and then take it back.  

She may have thought the president was being disrespectful when in fact, he is one of the most warm-hearted people in our neighborhood.  What she never considered was walking a mile in his shoes.  It has become apparent to me and some neighbors that our president has trouble remembering things and keeping things straight.  Because he hides it well (or perhaps he doesn't even know himself) she never assumed he had any problems.  

In this world where the majority is focused on themselves, it's time to be more giving.  To be more forgiving.  People may be feeling physically bad at the moment or struggling with underlying health issues.  They may be facing difficult times.  So, think before speaking.  Think before acting.  Seek to understand.  There are reasons why people behave the way they do.  

À la prochaine!  

This is what I imagine brunch must have looked like at the chateau

RUDE

I try everything in my power to avoid inconsiderate people. 

But when inconsiderate people are family members, avoidance can be nearly impossible.

The word inconsiderate is defined as not caring about other people or their feelings and/or being selfish, disrespectful, and rude. Unfortunately and frankly, the word applied to a close relative and I heard it repeated often when our family attended a destination wedding in France.  

Let me elaborate.  My husband and I flew to southern France last month to attend a relative's wedding.  Like the other wedding guests, we stayed at a hotel in Avignon.  The groom and bride thoughtfully arranged for a bus to take guests from the hotel to the chateau out the country.  However, no transportation had been provided for those wanting to come to the brunch, which was to be hosted by a sibling the day after the wedding.  We were told "you are on your own."  

Now I ask you, think about our costs: airplane tickets, a hotel room for three nights, meals, and clothes to attend the affair.  The relative had a car, but she suggested that we make other arrangements:  rent a car or shell out money for a taxi or an Uber to take us to the brunch—which we found out was impossible.  Our hotel was so far from the chateau that a taxi wouldn't have had a return fare and we could not find an Uber driver who would take us. 

My husband and I made the tough decision not to attend the brunch.  We didn't complain about missing out.  We would do more sight-seeing.  But sadly, we felt like our presence didn't matter.  Even my brother decided to forego the brunch because getting there was too difficult. 

So, you might ask, now what?  How do I move forward?  This incident (and there have been so many other incidents even before this one) finally tipped the scale.  I have reached a breaking point.  I had wished that getting to the brunch could have been handled with more compassion and helpfulness.  But given the outcome, a family relationship is now strained.  

You might be wondering why I didn't have an honest conversation about my feelings, but frankly, I'd only get an argument.    

Everybody makes mistakes and deserves to be forgiven.  That may come with time.  But for now, I will have to limit contact.  Actions spoke louder than words.  Bien sûr—for sure, the actions in France spoke volumes.  

À la prochaine!