A Fish Tale

Around these parts, once all of the plastic eggs have been hunted and collected, it's time to mark our calendars for the next annual event: the Trout Rodeo.  Now, for those of you unfamiliar with such a thing, allow me to interrupt your visions of studly cowboys saddled onto leaping fish.  No, you won't find any tight blue jeans at this rodeo ... more like baggy attire on middle-aged fathers.  Before I loose you, I'll set the scene:  Picture a small tranquil pond set on the side of a misty hill surrounded by verdant foliage.  Families with children large and small draped in rain gear encircle the pond where, as advertised, trout abound.  These speckled fish have been purchased and placed here after living the good life on a farm.  (I have been told that the trout were not grown in rows nor raised in an underwater pasture.)  On this day, only the youngest of anglers will try their hand at catching them.  The adults, supposedly, are to assist the children.

We have been lured here, like all the other rodeo participants, by a flyer stating one magical word, "prizes".  At precisely 8 a.m. a horn sounds and the fishing begins!  We excitedly watch our bobbers, one in the likeness of Snoopy, floating a mere ten to fifteen feet from the shore.  Our Barbie and Spiderman rods ready to burst into action.

A bite!  Oh, the fish got off.  Another bobber dips below the surface! Oh, missed again.  The pond ripples with activity.  Prizes begin to be given away as the first three fish have been caught.  We still have a chance for the largest fish prize.  An hour passses with big fish being caught left and right ... just not by us.  A small girl in long pigtails amples by us to the judges table, her arms weighed down by an astounding five trout!

What are we doing wrong?  What do these people know that we don't?  Quick, change the hook, switch the bait, cast in a different direction!  (I must say that these ploys ring familiar to my own trials in the rodeo of publishing.) 

We have become as miserable as the damp, dreary weather.  My oldest son maons, "Boring."  My twin son suggests by his actions that we should take to netting the fish instead.  My daughter has the bright idea of singing to the fish.  One hour and forty minutes have passed.  "This was supposed to be fun," I declare.   Why am I always saying this phrase lately?

Lost in thought and moaning and netting and singing, no one notices that the Snoopy bobber has gone missing beaneath the water.  The Spiderman rod jerks off its stick propped in the mud where we had abandoned it. 

"Fish!"
"Really?"
"YES!"

My oldest son grabs the rod.  We hold our collective breath as he reels.  A fight of epic proportions ensues (or something like that).  Finally, the trout makes contact with dry land.  Score one for us!  Ha little girl in pigtails with her five puny fish.  With our luck now changed, a second bobber ducks under the water and a second trout is caught by my twin son.  And, get this, our winning streak continues as immediately following, my twin son's name is announced as the raffle winner!

Shocked and amazed, I think there must be some kind of lesson here.  Some wise declaration that I could pronounce here on this post.  Is it patience? Or possibly perserverance? Hmm.  On the way home I ask my favorite question, "Did you guys have fun?"  Three yes's make the soggy morning of lows and highs all worth while. 

And the raffle prize, you might wonder, is a battery operated fishing game.  Here's the best part:  It doesn't take an hour and forty minutes to catch these plastic fellows!

A Time to Fail

It's that time of year again, baseball season.  My oldest son has graduated from batting off a "T" to hitting a pitched ball.  Taking this next step forward raises the stakes tremendously.  No longer is he very nearly guaranteed a hit each time he steps up to the plate.  This year, strike outs abound for my son and his teammates.  Now, I'm not saying that his team lacks talent.  My son and the rest of the players on his team show as much potential in varying degrees as any other team in this age group.  And yet, the fact remains that striking out has taken some of the fun out of the game. 

"You haven't struck out everytime," I told him on the way to a game when he wasn't feeling up to the challenge.  "You got a hit in last week's game.  You're still learning.  It takes time and practice to improve.  Each time you get up to the plate is a fresh new chance.  Forget about the last at bat.  In fact, if you swing and miss once, you still have two more tries.  The more times you try, the more you learn what works and doesn't work, the better you'll get.  And, at the end of the season, I'm just proud you got out there and tried you're best each time."    His response:  "Can I get candy from the snack stand?"

Oh, how I seemed to know it all, so wise, so positive from the driver's seat of my mini van.  Where was all that wisdom and positive thinking the next day when I checked my less than stellar sales report on the Kindle Direct Publishing site?  "I feel defeated.  What's the use?  I don't have the time to promote my work properly. I'm just wasting my time trying to be an author.  What was I thinking?  Blah, blah, blah."  I shut down my computer and left to go fold laundry (something I do with great success several times a week).  In the jumble of clothes, I came across my son's uniform and remembered my inspired little pep talk.

I subscribe to regular e-newletters from Writer's Digest.  One of their featured bloggers is Jane Friedman.  Her posts are always very informative and thought provoking about the world of publishing.  In a recent post, she spoke of success.  In her opinion, success depends less on talent and more on determination.  Ms. Friedman explained how she allows for a "time to fail".  In essence, failure is inevitable when trying anything new.  Failure leads to learning.  Conversely, learning from failure and being determined to try again in the face of multiple failures leads to success. http://janefriedman.com/2011/02/15/boring-elements-of-success/

If that's not inspiring enough, check out this list I found of 50 Famously Successful People who Falied at First.  Here's the link:    http://www.onlinecollege.org/2010/02/16/50-famously-successful-people-who-failed-at-first/

 

The Mother of all Posts

As this Sunday marks Mother's Day on the calendar, I am dedicating this post to mothers everywhere.

If there's one thing that applies to all mothers in general, it's the dreaded "Mom Guilt".  If you work, you feel guilty about not spending enough time with your children.  If you stay at home, you feel guilty about not contributing financially. Plus, forget about doing something just for yourself.  That's a one way ticket on a guilt trip. In fact, I'd venture that the mother robin that flies away from her nest (above) every time I open my front door feels guilty. 

And, it doesn't stop there.  As I mom, I try to do what I think is best for my children.  I have a background in education.  I have achieved the impossible task of having twenty children at a time listen and learn from me.  But, those twenty children weren't related to me.  Inevitably, my own children know exactly how to undermine all of those best of intentions.  Oh, the mom guilt!

Well, this Mother's Day, may all you moms out there have a guilt-free day.  From my quick Google search, I learned what I already knew but it bears repeating: "Happy moms make happy kids".  Sure they're hanging on your leg as you dash out for a little "me-time", but do it anyway.  Yes, they're crying at the door as you pull away, but they'll be so happy to make you feel guilty when you come back home!

Whether you're a mother or a daughter/son, be sure to leave a "guilty" comment ... because admitting your guilt is the first step to recovery ;)

Here's mine:  (from a daughter's perspective)  In my haste to self-publish on Kindle, I forgot one very important page.  I omitted this page because of my hang-ups that an e-book isn't a real book, but that's a whole different post.  Anyway, the page missing is the dedication page and here's what it should say:

For my mother, Thanks Ma!