Continuing Education

      There are days when the rejection notices pile up faster than the written pages...today was one of those days. When I first started my so-called second career as a writer, I instituted a complex filing system that consisted of a folder for acknowledgements of submitted work, another for acceptance letters, and another for rejections (not to mention I created lists and pertinent information in digital form). Guess which folder is overflowing?
     As a result, last week, I had a temper tantrum and viciously deleted the digital file in which I had stored the pertinent information for competitions I had entered (and been rejected from) in case I wanted to enter again...right, like I'd do that, I thought furiously. Has hell frozen over? I asked myself. Of course, I also have to admit that less than a minute and a half later, I "recovered" the file from the "Trash" and put it back on my desktop. You never know, right? I might just write something so incredible that no contest judge or editor could ever resist publishing it. It's that half full glass again.
      So today I decided it might be time to do something a little more productive about the situation, other than just assume I'm simply not that good a writer...because I am...I think. For Christmas one year, right after I first plunged into this whole authorship thing, my thoughtful daughter-in-law gave me a subscription to The Writer magazine, a publication that offers many informative (and thankfully, encouraging) articles on writing skills, publication, and marketing, among other helpful topics. Every month, the magazine also highlights a conference one can attend to improve one's skills.
     However, the conferences cost money; i.e., there's no such thing as a free lunch. Added to the basic registration cost, there are also travel expenses, meals, accommodations, and "extras," such as a 15 minute conference with a "professional editor or literary agent" who will happily "critique" your work, for a "small additional fee." Like this is something I need...I can just call some of my friends (or read through my bulging rejection file). There are "scholarships" available, of course...like if you work at a nail salon and speak fluent Norwegian, or if you are the CEO of a plastics manufacturing firm looking to improve your environmentally conscious image...but nothing I really qualify for.
      And here's the Catch-22: where does one get the money to attend a conference where one can improve one's writing skills? From the income one has received as a successful writer, of course. But if one had received such payments, then why, one asks, would one need to attend a conference to improve one's skills?
    Sadly, I'd still like to go to a writing conference. In the first place, it's hard to come up with a viable excuse for not going (other than the lack of cash), when as a teacher, I spent years telling my students that "learning is a life-long process." And secondly, in my past careers as innkeeper and teacher, I have to confess that I did actually learn something during such events.
     At the innkeeping conferences my husband and I attended, for example, I learned that literally anything can be monogrammed (even toilet paper), you need at least six rooms to make a profit (we had four), you can buy a mix for making "homemade" muffins, and that economy rental cars cannot successfully negotiate the hills in San Francisco (at least the one leading to the Fairmont Hotel where that particular conference was held). The Saturday night parties are also fun, as long as no one makes me wear a Hawaiian shirt.
      I have to admit that the teaching conferences I attended were a bit more productive. At the first one I went to, I was scheduled for the workshops my school signed me up for (after all, they were footing the bill, so who was I to complain?). With my trusty notebook and pen in hand, I entered the first such session and sat down expectantly in the first row. In the front of the room sat the panel of experts, one of whom turned out to be my brother, a piece of information that had somehow passed me by during the registration process. "We could have just talked on the phone," he told me afterwards. This was at the pub down the street where we had lunch together, instead of eating the "complimentary conference buffet," which my brother, a veteran presenter at such events, wisely advised against.
      Overall, though I did acquire a number of new teaching skills at the assorted conferences and "in-service" days I attended during my teaching career. The latter type of events are the ones that take place at one's own school. This gives the kids a day off, and thus successfully stresses out all the mothers in their pink sweats, who have happily dropped their children into your care each morning, and gone off to exercise class...because they now have to find childcare. Somehow this made me feel vindicated, so these days always started out well, even though after a day off the kids were always more hyper and had never done their homework.
     I do have to give the in-service planners at my most recent school credit, being that it was a K-12 school and coming up with an inspirational, educational, day-long program that would apply to the teachers of this vast age span was probably more impossible than squeezing toothpaste back into the tube. Nonetheless, one of the earlier workshops on "bullying" was not exactly what I'd call a rousing success.
     While the leader of the session, a very talented first grade teacher, was patiently explaining the various "models" used to teach the "bully" empathy for the child he was tormenting, all I could think of were the names my high school students called each other on a daily basis. One time I had to look up one such name and by the time I had become truly horrified by the definition, and come up with a way to negotiate the situation, the two kids were already laughing and happily throwing ice cubes from their Dunkin' Donuts drinks at each other across the room.
     What I used to dislike the most about any of these educational opportunities was ending up in a workshop where they expected you to participate...you know, role playing and whatnot. Or the ones where you had to break into small groups and make lists on gigantic drawing pads with partially dried up markers. I just wanted to sit there and listen, or pretend I was taking notes that quite possibly I would never refer to again, and you know, just be inspired, without making any real commitment. Kind of like the way I approach life in general.
      I learned this approach to educational situations from my students, in fact. One time, I actually confronted one of them, who, despite the fact that I was delivering what I thought to be a detailed, fact-filled, and intellectual lecture on the Lost Generation in Paris, simply sat there staring at me. "Don't you want to take some notes?" I asked him at last. "This will be on the test, you know." He simply smiled at me and tapping the side of his head said, "I'm absorbing. It's all up here."
     Then there was the kid who appeared to be seriously concentrating while taking voluminous notes on his laptop. Suddenly, about halfway through my lecture, he threw his hands up the air and shouted "all right!" The kid next to him leaned over and peered at his screen. "Hit a new level?" he asked. I'd like to say both kids failed the test, but sadly, not. At least there aren't any tests at conferences.
     So, bottom line, I may just go to a writing conference sometime soon...what can it hurt? I might actually learn something that would make me a better writer. So I'm going to sign up...right after I make enough money as a writer to cover the registration fee.

How Much Is Really In That Glass?

      The first time I actually heard that explained, the difference between the glass being half full and half empty, that is, was in the Tick Tock bar in Canton, New York when I was attending St. Lawrence University. It was in the beginning of my sophomore year and I had just discovered that I was intellectually helpless when it came to the Philosophy course I had so eagerly signed up for a few weeks prior to this occasion; a fact now evidenced by the large red "D" scrawled across the top of my first assigned essay.
    "The whole course content is just too vague," I complained to my friend, Bob, as we sat at the bar drinking some low grade, albeit cheap, draft beer, an activity which, I should point out, was pretty much our solution to every academic or personal disappointment in those days.
     Bob simply shrugged and took another gulp of his beer.
     "This, too, will pass," he said, which, I should also point out, was also pretty much his response to all above mentioned disappointments in my life.
     "Okay for you to say," I replied, in a somewhat snarky tone, I must admit. "You have the same last name as the campus administration building, whereas I...I must actually pass all my courses to graduate."
     Bob just sighed and reaching across the bar, he pulled my glass toward his and lined the two of them up, side by side. Then he proceeded to drink half of his beer, after which he leaned over the edge of the bar and poured half of mine in the sink on the other side. Then he placed the two glasses next to each other again.
     "What do you see?" he asked, turning his bar stool to face me.
    "I see two half empty glasses of beer, " I grumbled, "one of which used to be mine, and both of which I paid for. What's your point?"
     "Ah," he replied, "that's where you're wrong. Yours is half empty because I poured half of it in the sink, but mine is half full because I drank the first half and completely enjoyed doing so, and now I have the same amount to drink again."
    At this point, I did the only logical thing: I chugged the rest of the beer in both glasses (after which, as I recall, I felt infinitely better about everything, even my essay grade).
    But despite my intellectual limitations when it came to studying Philosophy (I dropped the course, by the way, and signed up for a British Literature class instead), I did understand what Bob was trying to tell me; that no matter what the situation, one's response all depends on how one looks at it. Whereas I was seeing my college career as half empty at that point, ultimately my realization that I should take classes I was really interested in (instead of the ones everyone else said were so cool), was a realization, in fact, that led to many happy years as a high school English teacher. In other words, the half full glass filled all the way up all because of my changed perspective.
     As an aspiring author, I subscribe to several "trade" publications as a way to discover new ideas and gather advice on how to effectively approach this pursuit.  One of these is a newsletter written by a talented, and apparently quite successful mystery writer. I have to admit I mostly read this publication because she researches writing competitions and publication opportunities, and lists them at the end of each newsletter. But Hope Clark also writes a column every week or so, offering sound advice and practical thoughts, so sound and logical, in fact, that they even make me miss my grandmother a little less than usual.
      A recent column was all about the exact subject I mentioned above: the whole half full/half empty syndrome, specifically when it comes to writing. Although I have communicated with this author several times, complimenting not only her novels (which I have read several of and enjoyed, even though I'm not much into mysteries), but also her words of wisdom, I am hoping I am not one of her readers who, as she points out often happens, complain about my lack of success as being someone else's fault.
     The truth of the matter is, it's not only that I am a terrible marketer, as well as entirely too sensitive when it comes to criticism from (or worse yet when I feel completely ignored by) friends or family members, but quite honestly, I'm just not that good. I'm not saying this because of the pile of rejection letters I've accumulated, or the lack of sales/glowing reviews/ best-selling status of my novels, but also because as a writer, I do what all writers should do: I read voraciously. And let me just say this: there are some incredibly well-written, well-crafted, and compelling works of literature out there, books that are also significantly humbling to those of us attempting to produce the same.
     But here is the half full part: I don't seem willing or able to give it up, my writing that is. There is something in me that says I can do it, and when I go back and read what I have written in the past, it seems like the glass is filling rather than emptying out, and that quite possibly this means that the fuller the glass gets, the more likely someone else might notice it. We'll see.
    I haven't seen or heard from my friend Bob in many years...like many of the important people in my life, I carelessly lost track of him. But one thing I know for sure is that if I ever run into him again, I think I'll buy him a beer, filled to the very top of the glass.