Professional Redemption

Two things.  First, I received an e-mail from PMA this morning congratulating me on having Lessons In Stalking ACCEPTED for trade distribution to national book stores through their program.  Of course! I thought.  The rejection had been a misunderstanding.  A silly mistake I'll laugh about with the hosts of Good Morning America as my book picks up speed and I go on my national tour. What good PR this will bring!

Then two e-mails down was another e-mail from PMA, apologizing for the "incorrect e-mail regarding your acceptance status" in the trade distribution program.  They "apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused" me.  Hmmm.  The next time those of you reading this blog see me, could you do me a favor?  Would you mind checking my back to see if someone has taped a "KICK ME" sign there while I wasn't looking?

I do have good news, however.  I was accepted by the American Society of Journalists and Authors (ASJA) which does hold a small amount of prestige.  So "nyeh, nyeh, nyeh" to PMA.

I've been rather gloomy for some time now over my work.  Nothing in particular, just a "not satisfied" feeling in general with life.  I try my hardest to ignore this feeling because history reveals that following this feeling almost always leads to a drastic cut in monetary benefit to our household. 

My first "not satisfied" feeling led me to quitting my full-time job in 1998 and earning my Masters in Library Science.  I worked for a year as a database librarian and loved my job and co-workers but the "not satisfied" feeling crept back in and circumstances allowed me to quit so I travelled and goofed off for 6 months.  You would think that would be every person's dream, but  "Not satisfied" knocked again  so I went to work part-time at the Women's Resource Center and started writing part-time.  Then, (guess who!) "Not satisfied" came a calling and I quit my job to write full-time.  Now that I'm actually earning money with writing...take a guess.  Wow, you're good.  Yes, "Not satisfied" has decided to visit again.

Here is what I think.  I don't think "Not satisfied" really has much to do with the actual work I'm involved in.  I think I'm lacking a deeper foundation, a spiritual base, which is harboring this "not satisfied" feeling.  Work and recognition and all that is a fine thing, but I know there's a deeper purpose for being on this planet.  I used to belong to a spiritual group I enjoyed very much because it gave perspective to life.  These day-to-day "Oh I got accepted/rejected by PMA" are the side shows, not the main event.  But the group I belonged to was moving in a direction I didn't care for, so I dropped it.  That's been over 5 years ago and I haven't yet found anything to replace it. 

I'm not a church person.  And I think churches are very good things for many people.  But for me, spirituality is an exploration, and I prefer discussion, questioning, raising doubts and finding your own answers--something I haven't seen as being popular in most churches.  

Some of it is just laziness.  I've been saying I'm going to attend a meeting at a Quaker church in GSO for some time because I've heard wonderful things about this particular church.  But it's a 45-minute drive there and back which eats up my Sunday and blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse.   I'm holding to that "when the student is ready, the teacher will appear" philosophy, as that's pretty much how I found my first group which brought so much to my life.  But I also think "God helps those who help themselves," so I need to be proactive in seeking things out.

But I do think the reason for my discontent isn't that I'm unhappy with work.  I love what I do.  I think it's just feeling off-balance in life. 

Headline: Friends Chase Self-Doubt Away

I'm in a far better mood.  Here's why:

1. I'm stuffed full of Chinese food.  Chinese food makes everything better.
2. My bathroom floor is smokin' hot, baby.  We're at a toasty 70 degrees.  The room is still full of dust but I walk in just to feel the heat.
3. My friends are awesome.  Bernie and Stevii posted on my site, Melody went so  far as to call and check in on me and several others sent e-mails. My favorite was from Michael, who came up with lewd and derogatory names for the PMA acronym  that I won't list here in case small children are reading.  But cheered me immensely to read them.
4. Blair is feeling better (he's had bronchitis this week) and we actually spent some time together tonight.  I've missed my sweetie.

Chinese food, heat, sarcastic humor and hugs.  When you put it all together, I'm just a simple woman with simple needs.

Wrestling With Self-Doubt

I'm having a crappy day.  The gloomy grey "I may rain on your ass any minute now" sky isn't helping, nor is the fact that I have contractors yelling and stomping up and down the stairs.  The yelling really isn't their fault.  They're trying to thread wires through the ceiling so one guy is in the attic and one is in the bathroom and yelling is the only way to communicate.  And I'm sure given the choice, they'd rather not have me sitting here, in the middle of their work either.

But the real reason for my "down-on-life" attitude is I received an e-mail from PMA (Publishers Marketing Association) informing me that after thorough review,  Lessons In Stalking was not selected for distribution with the major distributors to book stores. The consensus was the book wasn't strong enough to compete with what's already on the market. 

I'm not even depressed so much as I've moved into a "whatever" mood.  That's much more dangerous.  Depression  can be shaken off.  The lethargic "whatever" tends to linger longer.  And frankly, I don't entirely disagree with the assessment.  While I stand by my book's content, I wish I had chosen a different cover, title, and interior font.  I don't think what I selected is doing me any favors in the marketplace. 

I'm supposed to be coming up with a marketing plan, speaking plan, outreach plan, blah blah blah for the book and myself and I am just so not in the mood.  One part of me is  excited by the idea of more of a speaking career and really jumping in and making things happen.  The other part of me is saying, "Are you an idiot?  Why introduce all that stress into your life? Go watch Survivor with the rest of America and get over yourself."

I'm inches away from launching into a "Why am I here and what is life all about and why do I try?" soliloquy so I think it's time to stop.  Bad poetry can only follow, and no one wants to see that happen. 

Decorating Diaries: Eat My Contractor Dust

Gasp!  Choke!  The contractors are here--the contractors are here!  And I have the contractor dust settling around my home to prove it. The electricians were here today, installing the canned lighting in the ceiling.  But there was something like an extra ceiling for them to go through, so there was massive amounts of drilling and crawling around the attic and insulation sticking to workboots as they walked around the house.

I wasn't home for most of this.  I showed up at 3:30 as they were cleaning up.  God love them, they'd found our tiny little dustbuster (our vacuum is in our upstairs guestroom closet--not a natural place to look).  So this young guy is walking around our floors, doubled over, trying to catch all the stray dirt and grime with this dustbuster.  So sweet, but not very effective.  I went behind him with a broom and dustpan and swipe with the Swiffer, but it didn't make much difference.  This is the kind of dust that settles in the cracks and only a good mopping will get rid of it.

I'm not so upset.  Dust means work.  And right now we have a tile floor, counters installed, 90% of the lighting done, and they're coming tomorrow to measure for the granite countertop.  I may actually have a bathroom by the end of the month.

Our bedroom may not survive though. That's where the worst of the dust and grime is being tracked in.  I think it's time to move our nighttime abode to the upstairs guest bedroom.  Less chance of a choking hazard, that way.

But some cleaning will get done this weekend.  I'm having my children writers critique group (Ladies, we must think of a name for ourselves) over Wednesday night.  I don't care if they drill to China in my bathroom that day, the house will be clean that night. Time to bond with the mop.