Isolation, week 2 underway. This isn’t “social isolation,” where you don’t go to movies or restaurants. I’m in isolation as in, “you live in this one room and don’t go out for any reason.” I can hear my husband making popcorn in the kitchen, on the other side of a wall, but other than video chats, we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.
This is the disaster designed for introverts to shine, but nobody craves this much solitude. Still, I’m better off than an extrovert would be. And can you imagine going through this in the pre-internet age?
This is Mother Nature’s big IQ test, and you really don’t want to be the person who flunks. So now we find out who’s really stupid and who isn’t. I’m not talking about people who are doing necessary things like keeping the supply chain of food and essentials going, or medical people. God bless you all.
I’m talking about those nincompoops (oops — shouldn’t say “poop” during TP-pocalypse) who could stay home and help us all flatten the curve, but won’t. Every time I hear one say “I have to live my life!,” I think, “For a few weeks, dummy.” Why would you want to help Frankenvirus grow? You’re on the wrong side of history, sweetie, bless your little heart.
The rest of us are busy being superheroes. The easiest superhero gig EVER. No costume to don, no cape to get in your way, just sit on the sofa and watch movies, or do calisthenics alone in your apartment. Wait for the Marvel movie starring Social Distance Defenders! Okay, it’s a boring-ass movie. Which is the point. We’re working towards the day when nothing much is going on. We’re all joining hands to save humanity by NOT joining hands. From at least six feet apart, and preferably more, we’re protecting ourselves, our loved ones, and our world.
During the coronavirus emergency, we’ve started a new page on our website, #AskATutor. You can find it at https://ideajones.com/?page_id=1161.
Mark and I were tutors helping students K-8 and older ESL learners, and over that time, developed a lot of material to help our students. Lots of people are suddenly homeschooling, so we’re offering tips and materials for parents and other homeschoolers to use at home. Also, you can reach out by commenting on our Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/Ideajones/ and using the hashtag #AskATutor, and we’ll answer if we can.
In the interim, we’ll have to band together (separately — social distance!) to #ProtectOurHerd and to raise our littles. Hang in there — we’ll get through this.
We should have been doing this all along. Stuff comes through all the time, flu, stomach collywobblers, root rot. Wash your hands for at least 20 seconds. Two times through “Happy Birthday To You” will do it, but I feel silly wishing myself a happy birthday many times a day, every day, all year ’round. So here are some alternatives you can sing (even just to yourself) that seem on-theme:
“Hold My Hand” by Hootie & The Blowfish
‘Cause I got a hand for you. (I got a hand for you).
‘Cause I wanna run with you. (Won’t you let me run with you)?
Hold my hand. (Want you to hold my hand).
Hold my hand. (I’ll take you to a place where you can be)
Hold my hand (Anything you wanna be because)
I wanna love you the best that, the best that I can
“ I Want To Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles
Oh yeah, I tell you somethin’ I think you’ll understand.
When I say that somethin’ – I wanna hold your hand!
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.
Oh please, say to me, you’ll let me be your man.
And please say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand!
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.
“U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer
My, my, my, my music hits me so hard, Makes me say, “Oh my Lord, Thank you for blessing me With a mind to rhyme and two hype feet.”
It feels good, when you know you’re down A super dope homeboy from the Oaktown And I’m known as such And this is a beat, uh, you can’t touch.
(Feel free to add “U can’t touch
this!” a couple of times).
“Get Back” by The Beatles
Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner, But he knew it couldn’t last. Jojo left his home in Tuscon, Arizona, Bought some California grass.
Get back, get back, Get back to where you once belonged. Get back, get back, Get back to where you once belonged.
Get back, Jojo!
“I Touch Myself” by Divinyls
I love myself, I want you to love me When I feel down, I want you above me I search myself, I want you to find me I forget myself, I want you to remind me
I don’t want anybody else When I think about you, I touch myself Ooh, I don’t want anybody else Oh no, oh no, oh no.
“Nasty” by Janet Jackson
I don’t like no nasty car, I don’t like a nasty food, huh. Ooh ooh yeah. The only nasty thing I like is a nasty groove, huh. Will this one do? Uh huh, I know.
My mom used to say, “We’re on each other’s minds a lot less often than we think we are. While you’re worried about what people think of you, they’re worried about what other people think of THEM.”
Mom was so right. Especially in this social media, selfie-driven age. Where you used to go through the world trying to figure out what the people in your immediate vicinity thought of you, now we wake up and check our phones for thumbs up or thumbs down from an entire world.
Think about that symbolism for a moment. We’re taught that the thumbs up or down was used by Roman emperors to declare whether someone lived or died (not sure if it’s accurate, but for sure it’s what I was taught). Having incorporated those symbols into social media means that we’re not just saying, “I like this,” or, “I don’t like this.” We’re passing judgement on each other. Letting other people declare whether or not we are worthy. Which is why involvement with social media isn’t a good predictor of happiness.
Increasingly, we’re not even bothering to hit “like.” It takes less than a second to do, but now even that often seems like too much trouble. I can’t tell you how many times someone has told me in person they really like what I do — and yet they don’t bother to literally “like” it online, or share it. Which can make creating feel like yelling into the abyss — you’re shocked when you hear a response. And yet, there is good news in this, for creators.
Take Twitter. Writers are constantly told we must “build platforms” and increase our “social media presence.” Which can lead to having 2,000 followers, most of whom don’t actually follow what you do, in the sense of paying attention to it. They’re other writers or artists following you so you’ll follow them so it’ll look like you have a lot of followers, yet how many of those followers are truly engaged? One really engaged follower beats 100 (or more) courtesy followers.
Where’s the good news? In creative freedom. You can stop reading tea leaves, casting chicken bones, and otherwise trying to figure out what other people think of you, or what you do. The idea that you actually know, based on numbers of followers, etc., is an illusion.
Do what you do. Create the best version of what you do that you can. Experiment. Learn your craft. Try things, get some wrong, learn from the process. Edit, refine, examine and re-examine. Show the world as much or as little of all that as you choose. Be brave. Wallow, flail, find and develop your stroke, and learn to swim.
In time, you may find your tribe, the people who get what you’re doing and enjoy it. Meantime, at least you’ll be enjoying it.
And if you really want to be a Patron of the Arts, bother to hit “like” occasionally. Comment now and then. Share the stuff you like. Don’t just flood feeds with automatic retweets… make your opinion count by sharing what speaks to you and saying that it does (and even why). Be engaged.
That, by the way, really is a good predictor of happiness — how engaged you are with people and the world around you.
As we learn the fine art of querying a novel to agents, there are a few things that are becoming clear. One is that rejection comes in flavors, like ice cream (I know, you probably think getting a rejection is more like eating cat litter and the “flavors” are just “used and unused,” but…
Rejection isn’t just a one-size-doesn’t-fit-any, unredeemable experience. It’s not poking your head into a dumpster, where everything stinks and the only detail is “stinks of what, exactly?” Some rejections are actually useful, and others are, if not exactly enjoyable, more than merely nutritious.
First, the “no flavor” rejections. A lot of agents and agencies specify that you will only hear from them if they’re interested. Which leaves you wondering if anyone even saw your query letter. Saying “no” is not fun (unless you’re an unpleasant person, more about that in a moment). So, like the first date who ghosts you, it’s understandable if sad that so many don’t even bother to acknowledge your submission. This isn’t ice cream. It’s a glass of air.
Next comes the form letter. These come from really formulaic letters that you can tell nobody spent time on (“Thank you for your submission which doesn’t fit our needs goodbye”) to ones where they’re at least trying (“Thank you for your submission and while we are unable to represent it, we realize it’s not easy to go through this process and you have to understand, it’s all very subjective, so don’t give up and good luck”).
The former is “school ice cream” that comes in a paper cup and tastes like cold milk someone packed while looking at a bottle of vanilla they never thought to pour into the ice cream. The latter is the least expensive store brand vanilla, that might not be memorable, but at least has some flavor.
Kudos to the people who at least send the form letter, who stand high above the ones who don’t even bother to do that. At least you know they saw your submission.
After that comes the personal note. We’ve gotten a number of those, and they range from one who said “I really wish I could identify what isn’t quite working for me here,” which, while not especially helpful, at least is a personal response from a human being, to “this strong writing and funny, it just isn’t quite right for my list. I really want to see the next book you write, if you don’t have an agent already, but you will.”
The writer of that last one will live in my heart with gratitude. And will definitely see the next book I’m working on, if I don’t have an agent by the time it’s done.
But I’m grateful to anyone who takes time to write even a brief personal note. I’ve gotten a few, some very encouraging. Agents, especially good ones, get a ton of submissions. So to give you a personal response, that person has to take time out of her (or his) day, think about you for a bit, write a note and send it, knowing that you, a stranger, may simply be hurt by the “no” and not appreciate the time and effort it took to write to you. It’s been explained to me that once you’re getting personal notes, it’s another step toward achieving your goal, because agents don’t take time to write those unless they see something they want to encourage.
These rejections are, as rejections go, the good stuff, ranging from “better than the cheap stuff, with some flavor” to “this is the luxury ice cream you serve to company or buy to spoil yourself, or to eat after a really bad breakup, because it’s good enough to remind you life is still worth living.”
Finally, and I’ve only gotten one of these, the really awful rejection, where you get a personal note, and it’s useless, uninformative, and just plain mean. I found out later the same agent had sent variations of that letter to multiple people. We’re back to cat litter here. You may well get at least one pint of used cat litter ice cream. Just know that it isn’t you. Nobody worth bothering about sends anyone used cat litter ice cream.
I don’t know the average, but looking into it, I found that those “I showed my first book to one agent, who signed me and sold it for many dollars” story is so rare as to be almost (not quite) an urban myth. The usual story is “I wrote a book and queried 50-200 agents before one took a chance on me, and wrote the next book in the year+ it took her to sell the first one.”
Rejection is baked into the professional writing experience. I’ve been an editor, and can tell you I hated saying “no.” Hated. It. You’d much rather say “yes,” but you can’t say yes as often as you would like to. There is nothing, with the possible exception of oxygen, that is for everyone. Once you get published, not everyone will like what you write. It’s just that way.
If you get a “school ice cream day” vanilla form letter, or an “I sent this and never heard back” glass of room-temperature air, well, that’s one closer to finding your agent, the one who gets what you’re doing. If you get a “store brand vanilla,” be grateful that someone at least took time to let you know. If a “luxury brand” rejection comes your way, mine it for anything useful, be grateful for the time that person took to encourage you, and keep going.
