Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Friday, July 6, 2012

They're Just Not That Into Me and My Little Hobby

Yesterday, I shared my good news with you. My offer of publication in Unsent Letters, an anthology due for release sometime in 2013. Of course you're the last to know. I had to tell my loving family first.

The Pony was impressed. In fact, he knew before I did. That's because my bifocals were downstairs in my office, not in the kitchen where I was cooking, and sneaking a peek at my e-mail on my phone. At first I thought it must be an offer to buy something, because it was under Twin Trinity Media. The Pony got to reading out loud in front of the stove, and became quite dramatic. Like he almost couldn't believe it. Then he said, "That's really good, Mom!"

Genius was not quite so vocal. It could be because the news had to wait until the next morning, what with him dragging in at 1:00 a.m. after a 4th of July pool party and fireworks at his old girlfriend's house. I know. That's weird. The girl's dad hasn't really broken up with Genius yet, even though she's had a new boyfriend for a couple of years now. Genius was almost awake. And he agreed that this was a step in the right direction. Though I'm sure he still views me mainly as a sandwich-maker.

Hick gave me permission to accept the offer. Not that I asked. Anything I tell him, he has to announce that it's okay. Go ahead. If I told him I was going to involuntarily breathe in, breathe out, until the day I died, Hick would say, "That's okay. Go ahead." Putting his stamp of approval on it. He's the king of this castle, you know. So I told Hick the specifics. The money amounts. The offer of publication on both the blog and in the book. And Hick said, "Go ahead. Let 'em publicize it."

Apparently, somebody could use a refresher course on the difference between publish and publicize.

It kind of reminded me of the time I shared a contest win with my mom. How the person who ran the contest said that she and the other judges liked my voice above all the other entries. And Mom said, "Oh, you talked to her? And she liked your voice?"

See what I'm up against?

They mean well, my family. But they're just not that into this writing thing.


Sioux said...

Yes, just because you are scathingly brilliant does not necessarily mean you were drawn to a mate with similar skills, nor does it mean that your children inherited that same talent.

You just have to live with it. And when you get some scandalously huge book fee, just like that chicken that plowed the fields and planted the grain and watered the fields and harvested the grain and ground the grain and baked the bread--all on her own--when your three guys come out of the woodworks to help you spend the money, you can insist on doing it on your own.

Since they're not all that into your hobby...

Stephen Hayes said...

I think it's a remarkable achievement. I've never been paid a nickel for my writing. But a chatterbox can dream, can't he?

Leenie said...

Philistines and Neanderthals, bless their hearts.

Linda O'Connell said...

The only way I can get my family to listen to what I write is to use their names in a story. Once Bill woke me at midnight and said, "Hey they are publishing that story you wrote about ME, Goofy Willy."

I rubbed my eyes and broke it to him gently. "Willy was a dog I owned forty years ago."

My brother really doesn't get it. The pay scale that is. I'm all excited and he says, "You're giving your work away. I wouldn't take less than..." and the figure if ciurse is unrealisitic. No, they don't get it. Congrats again!

Tammy said...

That very topic has come up a few times in writing groups I've attended. Guess what? Our families are always our worst fans. They just want to know when the sandwich will be ready.

Val said...

First of all, thank you for recognizing my scathing brilliance. Hayley Mills as Mary Clancy as Kim Novak could not have put it better herself.

Is there a chicken fable that I'm missing? Or a kids' book? Or could this apply to my own personal fable here: http://unbaggingthecats.blogspot.com/2011/11/of-moos-and-yips-and-stealing-ratsa.html

Which was actually a roundabout tale about a colleague in my department getting major credit for the fantastic test scores of students who had been in Colleague's class a mere three weeks at the time of testing, whose knowledge had come from my curriculum the previous school year.

Genius has declared that I am not to use him as subject material, UNLESS he gets ten percent of the take. So I told him if I'm paid with a book, I'll rip out ten percent of the pages for him. But I'll keep the bookmark secret. A gal has to have something to call her own.

Well, that's a shame. I certainly enjoy reading it for free. And you have that other talent, that little picture-doodling thing, for which you have been paid.

I was going to say that I've never been paid for my art. But I HAVE! One time. A lady paid me for a scene of quails in the snow. There were some weeds, too. It was in pencil, the only medium in which I am comfortable.

I consider myself a crackerjack Pictionary player. My teammates sometimes disagree.

In their defense, I imagine it is painful to grip a book with knuckles raw from dragging the ground.

Hee hee! Goofy Willy! I'm glad you broke it to him gently. I would have told Hick, "Everything's not all about YOU, you know."

I think I tried to buy a car from your brother once. Or someone using his tactics.

Now you've given me an idea. See that light bulb over my anonymous head?

Well, let's hope that nobody left the sandwich meat in the trunk of the car over the weekend, in a hurry to churn out a story.