Landmines

This post was originally shared on my Wordpress site in 2013. I now see many weaknesses in it, but the heart of it remains. My son is 16 now, and he's the one driving. But I'm still the one avoiding the landmines. 

February 28, 2013 · by phylcampbell · in Short Stories. ·

Landmines

A happy child enters my car and slams the door.

“So, how was school?” I ask. I am cautiously optimistic for a response.

“Fine.”

With one word, the battle begins. The mines are buried. I know I will trip every one.

“Just fine?  Can you tell me more?”  No pressure. Tread lightly here. “ I just want to know what you do for eight hours a day without me.”

Silence from the passenger seat.

“Did you learn anything?” I venture cautiously.

“Well, my friend likes this one girl, and last week he didn’t, but now he does.”

“That’s nice. Did you learn anything, say, academic?”

“I don’t remember.”

Defensive positions by the opposition. I am ready for this. I return to neutral territory.

“OK. How was lunch?” I ask. Lunch, packed by me, is usually safe. “Did you have a good lunch?”

“Yeah. I shared my ketchup but a little bit of milk got in it.”

I don’t even care where the milk came from, or if it was his. He is talking to me. I venture further, and step on a landmine. “Little like a few drops or little like the whole box?”

“I don’t knoooooooowwwwww.” The bottom lip starts to quiver.

Evasive maneuvers — change the subject. “OK. How was PE?” He likes PE.

“Fine.”

“What did you do?”

“You know, stuff.”

I take a deep breath and jump into the minefield. Mothers know, this really should not be attempted while driving.

“What about spelling?” I ask bravely.

“What?”  He would much rather ignore me, but my pursuit is dogged.

D

“Spelling? What did you learn about your spelling words today?” I persist.

“I don’t remember. Can we not talk about this?” He crosses his arms and turns away from me to stare out the window.

Seriously? You’re 9, not 19. What’s wrong with this? I don’t dare voice that thought out loud.

I don’t text while driving; I operate battle stations. My target is the back of my son’s head, which is all I can see when he’s turned away from me.

“Well, what about science? You love science.”

“We didn’t even DOOOOOOO science today!”

“I’m sorry. I know you like science. I’m sorry you had to miss it.”

“Yeah, we had to do [insert random unintelligible words] earthworm.”

“Earthworm?” Desperately latching onto something that sounds science-y. “You studied something about an earthworm?”

“We read a book.”

“You read a book about earthworms?”

“Yeah.” The ‘duh, you idiot,’ may not be spoken, but it is more than implied.

“Well, earthworms are living, and that’s science. That’s cool.”

“Mom, it was a book. Books aren’t science.”

It’s rather hard to refute this logic.

“Mom, where’s my snack?”

How could I forget the key ingredient in my arsenal? “I got you chocolate chip cookies.”

Mothers in the 60s could always get their kids to open up with a snack of cookies and milk. However, no one told my son about Leave it to Beaver. However, he is very polite about the cookies.

“Thanks, Mom. This is the best cookie I ever had!”

There has been no advance on the son who is not my enemy. And I won’t bother to point out to him that I still have no idea what he has been through during his eight hours at school. I feel like I have been dodging landmines set by friendlies, and I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. I hate this game. The problem is, my son loves this game.  If I’m going to win the war on parenting, this battle must be given over to him. So I’m sitting down, buckled up, and trying not to ask too many questions.  My white flag is in the air. And sometimes, I will learn something — if I listen between the crumbs.

Honesty Makes My Head Hurt

Wow. I am not a newbie, but this article kind of makes my head hurt. JA, its author, is not wrong. There are series I have stuck with because they started well or I was told just get through the first one or two and then it picks up. Of course, I pick up so many books secondhand because I contribute to the creation of so many books - my own and my authors'.

The thing is, a person still has to be discovered, talked about, and passed around the first time. The first book in the series. The first series in the repertoire. If you don't support your local author, they'll think they need to try something else to get your support, and won't write the next book in the series (they always have a sequel in their heads. They know what their characters are doing after THE END. Trust me.) because they think you're not interested. They want to please you. But when you give your support to authors who literally admit that they could turn out shit and outsell the great American novel these days, you're not helping. When you support your friend because they're your friend but you don't read what they write and you have NO IDEA how bad it is, you aren't helping. If you want better, then you need to help be part of that. It's possible, but it's hard work.




Phyl Campbell is Author, Mother, Dreamer, and Dr. Pepper Addict. And you can bet she's procrastinating on writing what she's actually supposed to be writing -- RIGHT NOW.

NANO is coming and go see my blog... WHAT?

I have been SO very busy living life.

I did not write about my eleven state book tour (only 3 states actually had launch parties, but STILL!  They weren't right all together).

Multiple new books have been published. I can't even keep up with all of them anymore.

And I've been updating. I have a Square store and a bunch of new stuff for book shows and expos. I have learned a lot.

I've also been crafting.

And I have been railing a lot against dumb decisions made by people I really can't control.

But I can vote. And I plan to on Tuesday.

I hope you vote, too!!

Website Overhaul

A loving person sat me down very carefully and told me my website was too busy. This was months ago.

And they were SO right! I just didn't know how to FIX it.

It took me a long time  to clear my brain-space to figure out how I wanted to capture the last decade of my writing life (and some things predate THAT!).

So what I have now is by no means PERFECT, but it is BETTER.

I've made better use of the menu levels and I've updated a lot of links that I should have realized (but didn't) were dead. (Yes, I saw dead links. And they didn't know they were dead. Take that, M. Night!)

This is a weird transition for me in figuring out what Phyl Campbell Press will look like in the coming months. Will it be absorbed into Creative York on terms acceptable to me, as I hope? Will I keep it separate, as may be better for me and the baby -- er, business -- I have built?

Speaking of Creative York, absolutely go check out my classes on their page(s).

Check out Rustic Cup, too!  The owner is a wonderful soul who is getting me to think even bigger and bolder. We haven't solved all the world's problems yet, but I think we're closing in!  ;)

Books on Parade!!

Wow!  Just wow!!

Five books published since May 2016.
Twenty-one titles published since August 2011
(One title is not pictured. My copy is in Ann's shop!  Sorry, Ari!! I've made it up to you below...)

SO A QUESTION FOR THE REST OF YOU:

Shouldn't your book be out of your filing cabinet and on my shelf? Are you going to wait forever?

DON'T.

Tomorrow is September 11. And we can (and will)  remember pain and death and sacrifice. Or we can (also) choose to remember that no one gets forever, so if something is on our "bucket list" (like getting that book written or published), we owe it to ourselves to do it.

September is also Suicide Prevention Month, so I am going to highlight Ari Ford's book, The Mystery of Death Bridge, about Ohana the therapy dog. Ohana and her brother Russ learn about the suicides that are taking place on the bridge, and they help their human friend Emily and their therapist owner Dr. Buga make the bridge safer and stop other people from hurting themselves or others.

Media Kits and Shoestring Budgets

When trying to prepare for a book launch tour on a shoestring budget, don't do what I did and do an internet search on marketing. Unless you enjoy feeling depressed.

So many people out there are willing to you how they made a million dollars selling their fiction. You just need to believe in your abilities and write them a check for hundreds of dollars. 

And what is sad is not only that so many chumps fall for the obvious scams, but that paying to get ahead is now the standard business model for marketing. We know it takes money to make money. We know that businesses have to have initial capital investments. And most of that money seems to go to advertising. Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

But when so many human beings and five percent of pets decide to earn money writing books, banks are unwilling to loan money to authors to start businesses. And most people that see themselves as authors/artists mentally put the word "starving" in front of that. They think they must starve for their art. Our society perpetuates the dual myths of overnight success and starving artistry.

But among all the pieces of advertising that yearn to be spam, I found a decent template for a media kit from Joan Stewart. (Ignore her media kit templates unless you are NOT operating on a shoestring. You will be sad.)

So I am working on my media kit now. Wish I hadn't written so many books -- because needing different length blurbs for each one and trying to stay OFF auto-pilot when I want them done years ago  -- but I digress. I'm proud of those books. And I will get through this. 

So that's my post for today. Back to work.

Phyl Campbell is Author, Mother, Dreamer. Sometimes the Mother and Dreamer get in the way of the Author, and the Author has to catch up. Check out her author page on Amazon. 

Other articles of interest:
Finding Pink Elephants
A Muse Meant
Quick and Dirty Publishing Guide

Even Nigerian Princes Need Grammar...

Help Wanted!

... and I am just the grammarian to help out.

I'm sending out applications to online education services --- trying to become an editor or at least get a few editing gigs under my belt to help me fill out weak areas in my resume. And it wouldn't hurt to make money, either. I have edited friend's papers -- and you know I'm secretly correcting the grammar on all Facebook memes, posts, and comments -- but I don't get paid enough* to declare myself a company and I didn't do the work for a specific company. I need to change one of those.



So here is the cover letter I sent to XXXXXXXX with my resume. I hope you find the humor in it.

Phyl Campbell
email
address
address

Editor
XXXXXXXX
address
address

Dear Beloved Friend,

I know this message will come to you as a surprise, but permit me to tell you of my desire to enter into a business relationship with you.

I am Mrs. Phyl Campbell, a daughter of a very poor but hardworking farmer and nurse. Unlike the parents of Nigerian princes, my parents have not been murdered, but in fact are very much alive and have no money with which to entice you into a poor business agreement. However, if I met a Nigerian prince, I would help him with his grammar. The emails I receive from these princes are quite painful to read.

I am here seeking an avenue to transfer my knowledge of grammar and editing into the accounts of your program. I wish to know that you are a reliable and trustworthy person with whom to entrust the richness of my knowledge.

Please, I will offer you one hundred percent of my diligence and commitment to grammar. I wish to urgently transfer my skills without delay and also wish to not relocate, but to work remotely as life in my city is peaceful and I know you have these opportunities available.

Working for XXXXXXXX would allow me to continue my education in the giant lesson of life. Your immediate canned response of application receipt would be appreciated, followed by contact in a week or two because I really want us to have a business relationship, working together toward XXXXXXXX’s commitment to benign world domination.

Cordially yours,

Phyl Campbell

Phone
email
address
address

What's the oddest cover letter you've ever sent?

I'm also looking to teach more publishing classes in town and online. If you want to join in, be sure to connect with me!

* I have been paid in tamales once, and food often. Though I am the LAST person to make critique about food, others in my house drooled over my payment plan. Mmm! Tamales!