IdeaJones

Tag: IdeaJones

  • Peeing In Humanity’s Pool

    Peeing In Humanity’s Pool

    It’s not politics. It’s good manners (and being a good person).

    Etiquette has always interested me. I noticed as a little kid that there were different rules for different people and situations. Mom pointed out early on that we don’t speak the same way to the minister as we do to friends on the playground. Twirling so your dress flies up and your underwear shows is okay at a dance, but a bad idea at the office.

    The etiquette evolving for this time of pandemic interests me. On a purely emotional level, it’s an unpleasant surprise to see how many people think not wearing a mask or distancing is some sort of statement promoting some “cause,” as opposed to simply being a practical thing recommended by experts in medicine, science and public health to slow down the spread of a very contagious new disease.

    I suspect many of them are simply terrified. Human beings don’t make our best decisions when we’re scared. The brain stops accepting any new input that’s complicated and we don’t have processing power or time to untangle anything confusing. It’s easier for some people to respond to fear by refusing to believe anything is wrong, because admitting what’s going on means accepting a certain amount of powerlessness.

    Why not do the things we know help, like staying home as much as we can until a safe, effective vaccine is available? Why refuse to distance, or wear masks? Those give us what power we have in this situation, so why give them up?

    In part, because it’s quickly become part of a person’s identity. Meaning has been attached to taking those steps. They’ve gone from being sensible precautions to personal statements. But in that process, I think some people are mistaking the statements they’re making.

    Yes, liberty is important. Freedom is crucial. But they don’t come without cost. We live in a society with other people. The basic deal is that it’s understood we will cooperate for the good of us all. I’m free to drive a car, but not into your living room. I have to take a test, get a license, and obey traffic laws — and I have the right to expect that you will, too. My stopping at a red light protects other drivers (and me). Them stopping protects me (and them). We protect each other.

    It’s the liberty bargain. I’m free to exercise by throwing punches — but not at your face. Your face has the right to be unpunched by me. My rights aren’t the only ones that matter. Yours matter, too. You have a right for me not to casually risk exposing you to a potentially deadly disease.

    If the only thing masks and distancing accomplished was making some people feel safer during this chaotic time, they’d still be worth wearing. It’s good manners. It’s kind. It’s caring. And if people feel safe, if they see you doing your part to help, they’re more likely to feel safe enough to come out and spend money.

    When someone wears a mask or distances during a global pandemic, it’s not a political statement. The statement being made is that this person thinks other people matter enough to protect or comfort them — their own family, friends, neighbors and coworkers, that exhausted nurse or doctor who’s been tending coronavirus patients (and watching people die when they couldn’t be saved), that researcher getting close to finding a vaccine to protect people, that truck driver or grocery clerk risking health and life to keep the groceries coming.

    It’s not a flag. It’s not a magic amulet (you have to wear them correctly for them to work — just having one on your person doesn’t protect anyone).

    It’s your way of saying whether you’re mature enough to understand that freedom comes with responsibility, kind enough to help other people feel a bit safer in trying times, smart enough to understand that not doing it makes us lock down longer and likely will get us locked down again. You’re willing to do your own bit to help get your community, your country, and your world through the biggest challenge we’re all likely to face in our lifetimes.

    So make your statement — but make sure you know what statement you’re really making.

  • #QuarantineLife: Your Next Adventure

    A lesson (so to speak) in hope.

    A therapist told me once that one of the most important things in life was to have something, even a small thing, to look forward to. In times of crisis, when it seems all of life is about the now & the immediate future, it can seem endless unless you can find something to look forward to in the future.

    Right now, I can’t leave this room, and my husband can’t leave our house (except to pick up groceries through a contact-free option at our grocer’s). Every day we wonder “what next?,” with a feeling of dread. That’s no way to live.

    One day, this will be over and it will be okay to go places and see friends again. Why not look forward and think about where we’d like to go when we can? Even a short road trip will feel like an adventure. I’m looking around our state and identifying places I’d like to visit, things I’ve either always meant to do or that sound good.

    I’m not sure when we’ll be able to go, but even planning the trip makes me look forward in a way that says “There will be a future and we’ll be in it.” Planning is a hopeful exercise. This can also be a project for homeschooling — more on that on our #AskATutor page.

  • Isolation Update: Social Norms for Social Animals

    Hi, there (wherever “there” is). First off, update from isolation. Almost at the end of week 2 in this room. I’ve been asked how I’m doing after two weeks alone in a room I can’t leave, and I think I’m frabjous. Do you find crumpets in your hair? The unicorn says they’re nice. No, really, I’m okay. My symptoms are actually slightly better today, and I’m holding on.

    Perhaps a wee bit more cynical. Well, maybe not. My theory is to expect the best of humans individually and less as they gather in bigger groups. Mob mentality is a thing. Watching those yokels go on about how they’re out partying when they could be home saving lives was galling at first, then I remembered how self-reinforcing groups are.

    If you’re in a big group (and I shuddered as I typed those words), whatever the group is doing feels “right” if you do it, too. We’re social animals. We’re not the descendants of those who went exploring and broke social norms. We’re the offspring of generations of people who said, ” You’re going over there? I’ll come with you!” So it requires real, conscious thought to question.

    Those Spring Breakers are idiots. No doubt about it. But they’re also doing what sheep, cows and humans do. Following their herd. It helps that their herd is doing something that sounds like more fun than the alternative. Humping each other randomly while getting as shit-faced (side note: many idioms sound different now. I hear “shit-faced” and my mind goes to “do they have toilet paper?) probably sounds much better than sitting in their rooms bingeing shows. Not to me. I’m an introvert and random humping doesn’t sound good to someone who won’t share a hairbrush with anyone but her husband. But to them.

    So what do we do about it? Appeals to reason do not work against emotional decisions. People like to believe they are logical and rational, but what we actually are is rationalizing. We make emotional choices and seek support to convince us we’ve made the right choice. That’s how the brain works.

    That’s where “social norms” come in. See, if enough of us share memes, make jokes, and make it clear over and over that staying home is what the herd is doing and expects, then followers (like those idiots who aren’t social distancing) feel pressure to join in, and fit in. There’s a tipping point where you reach enough people so that most people feel invisible, but powerful, pressure to be with the herd.

    Even if being with the herd means being alone.

    Hang in there, happy campers!

  • (“Don’t) Hold My Hand

    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.

    Sing. Nasty

  • #QueryRoad: Rejections Come In Flavors

    #QueryRoad: Rejections Come In Flavors

    Rejection comes in flavors.

    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.

    Actually, no matter what, keep going.