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I was at home the other day, just sitting down to have lunch, when the telephone rang.I picked it up and the male caller immediately launched into his obviously well-rehearsed spiel, informing me that he was from blah blah research company who are conducting a survey about blah blah and would I mind answering a few questions about blah blah?

Now normally I would make an excuse to get out of this chore, especially as he offered me no incentive such as a free cinema ticket or something else of interest.Perhaps I was just in a good mood, because  I heard myself say:  “O.K.”

He then casually asked me my age and I answered honestly that I am 52.Well my 53rd birthday isn`t till august 29th (yes I share the same  birthday with the late great Michael Jackson, although he was two years younger).

That`s when the bombshell hit! There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line, a muttered reply of “never mind” and then a click as HE HUNG UP ON ME!

There I was left with the receiver to my ear and my good mood shattered!Suddenly I lost my appetite for lunch, my bones seemed to start creaking and I felt depressed.Am I that old? Does my opinion really have no value anymore?

The only other time I felt so deflated was when I once jokingly said to a teenager who was playing a game of pool: “You`re dropping dandruff on the table” as I pointed to the sprinkling of white chalk dust on the green baize.He immediately retorted:”Well at least I have enough hair to have dandruff!”

Touche! or should that be Toupee!?

Image via Wikipedia

I was at home the other day, just sitting down to have lunch, when the telephone rang.I picked it up and the male caller immediately launched into his obviously well-rehearsed spiel, informing me that he was from blah blah research company who are conducting a survey about blah blah and would I mind answering a few questions about blah blah?

Now normally I would make an excuse to get out of this chore, especially as he offered me no incentive such as a free cinema ticket or something else of interest.Perhaps I was just in a good mood, because  I heard myself say:  “O.K.”

He then casually asked me my age and I answered honestly that I am 52.Well my 53rd birthday isn`t till august 29th (yes I share the same  birthday with the late great Michael Jackson, although he was two years younger).

That`s when the bombshell hit! There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line, a muttered reply of “never mind” and then a click as HE HUNG UP ON ME!

There I was left with the receiver to my ear and my good mood shattered!Suddenly I lost my appetite for lunch, my bones seemed to start creaking and I felt depressed.Am I that old? Does my opinion really have no value anymore?

The only other time I felt so deflated was when I once jokingly said to a teenager who was playing a game of pool: “You`re dropping dandruff on the table” as I pointed to the sprinkling of white chalk dust on the green baize.He immediately retorted:”Well at least I have enough hair to have dandruff!”

Touche! or should that be Toupee!?

Image via Wikipedia

Wow. I was all prepared to to write a post on the love/hate relationship of trying to get your book published, but Judy Dunn of Cats Eye Marketing tweeted this post by Harry Baum and it pretty much sums up everything I’ve been thinking about lately.

A Publishing Person Self-Publishes

I mean seriously, wow. If you’re like me and you wonder about the question of self-publishing or struggle over whether or not to submit your work to publishers, you need to read this article.

I’m going to get all woo-woo on you and say that another article opened my mind and allowed me to focus my energy on more positive, profitable pursuits than traditional publishing. It’s by my friend Mark Silver of Heart of Business:

What you need to do before you publish a book

If that weren’t enough, Jon of CBI Clubhouse pointed out a in a comment here that the first step is perfecting your craft. Worry about publishing later (paraphrased). He’s absolutely right and there’s tons of similar advice and information on his web site.

I’m surrounded by so much excellent information. If you ever wonder how I came to know a thing or two about anything, it’s because I’ve had help.

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I’d like to let you into my brain for a few moments, so you can see how I thinkified the idea for “Be Your Own Bot.” Watch your step around that sinus cavity, it’s a little slippery.

Be Your Own ‘Bot

Be your own ‘bot. Robot, that is. Or human, dog, monkey, sasquatch. Whatever.

Whatever you happen to be, be it. Be it 1,000 times. Be bookish if you like books. Be a girl who likes building mechanical things. Be a giant sandwich dancing on the corner if you like lettuce and traffic (or you happen to work for a guy who makes you dance on the corner selling them).

It’s funny. We start out in life weird little creatures who put crackers on our heads and yell, “Ga-ZOO ZOO!” just because it strikes us as something we should probably do. We fall down and stay there. Just felt like it. We wear socks on our hands.

As we grow up, other people start defining for us what’s weird and what shouldn’t be done anymore in social situations. It’s not a Shakespearean tragedy. It’s part of life and it’s learning how to function in a world full of people who hesitate to give us money or jobs if we break crackers on our heads. Still, it’s sad to put our crackers away.

Some people manage to find ways to break the crackers, yell “ga- ZOO ZOO” and bring in large sums of money on a regular basis.

Many people secretly want to do that. Not many know how. Not everyone needs to. Do you get that?

Thing is, if you enjoy being in an office and crunching numbers all day, that’s cool. Someone obviously needs you to do that because there you are. If you enjoy wearing button-down oxfords and khakis, get yourself a closetful. Crunch, numbers, crunch!

Who’s to say that because you like doing data entry and dressing Office Casual that you’re not living up to your potential? Only one person and that’s you, Dude. Or Lady. Maybe you crunch numbers all day and break crackers on your head at night. Salut!

The world currently uses outward appearance to make first judgments about potential pals. I do it all the time. Can’t help it, even if I wanted to pretend otherwise. You would think that the fact that I’m frequently wrong would change my thought process. It does to a certain extent, but there’s always a tiny nugget of judgment in the lower regions of my cerebral cortex.

I’m writing this at a large convention of AFOLs, or Adult Fans of LEGO. Yep. LEGO Geeks. Total geeks, 1,000 times geeks. Geeks in the sense that they know every single thing there is to know about LEGO.

Cool part is, these people have an amazing passion for this little plastic building brick toy from Denmark. That downward-cast quiet dude who looks like he couldn’t string two sentences together suddenly leaps from his seat and starts animatedly discussing the awesome potential of something called “Power Functions.” Woa.

Now who’s the wallflower? Yours truly. I’m an idiot here. I am officially uncool. I don’t know my Technic from my Bionicle. I do not fit in. I suddenly I wish I did.

I admire the people who are so into whatever it is they’re into that it actually becomes part of their outward appearance. They fit in to a group, somewhere. They can’t help it. The group forms.

I think one of the worst conditions in which an individual can be is the state of “blended in.”

Of course we’ve all got our own groups we fit into, which is different from blending. For example, I have my children’s book group (which makes other dudes I know utter huge catlike yawns). We love our groups because they make us feel safe in what we love. Groups are awesome. Yay groups.

Within every group, you’ve got unique individuals. In this LEGO group, there’s something distinctive about every person here, outside of their LEGO love. Sometimes it’s obvious and sometimes you have to get to know a person before you even get a hint of what it might be.

It’s hard for an adult to recapture the cracker-on-the-head thing. It’s a little fear and a little conditioning (don’t fit in and you might not get the job/house/car/loan). When you’re in your group, it’s a little easier because you already share a commonality.

It’s funny but I struggle with this all the time. I got very good at blending. I’m an expert at nodding my head and remarking in tiny bits to establish my status of belonging, even in groups I’ve never visited. Turns out that’s not a blessing, its a curse. I’ve missed out on a lot by doing that.

This weekend I practiced very hard to let go of that curse. I was… stupid about LEGO. I asked dumb questions (apparently there are still a few of those left). I made an effort to open my face up and talk to people I wouldn’t normally rub elbows with at the local brew pub. I learned. I experienced. I remained myself even when that meant that I stuck out like a Galidor arm on a Toa.

I enjoyed, more than usual.

In this world, this weekend, I am decidedly… different.

It’s awesome. I even have some new pals. The ones that decided I could actually be taught.

One of the most important skills I want to pass on to my kids isn’t how to blend, it’s how to feel comfortable being different. Not in-your-face-anarchy-in-the-UK different or don’t-look-at-me different, but rather teach-me-something-about-your-world different.

It’s about how to be your own ‘bot.

Laura, the one child who isn't reciting anything in the speech arts part of the arts festival next week (because she's up to her eyeballs in 4H public speaking), selected this because "it makes me think of Spring": Unicorn by Anne Corkett Unicorn, Unicorn, where have you gone? I've brought you some silver dew out of the dawn. I've put it in buttercups for you to drink and brought you some