We've all heard a lot about failure; now I am going to write about the consequences of success.
Ten years ago I entered a statewide writing contest without thinking about what would happen if I won. I knew up front that there would be no prize money involved, just publication in an anthology. That wasn't the problem. I figured that was paying my dues, getting my name out.
The problem was that the awards ceremony was to be held on Mackinac Island. Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with the Island, it is an extremely expensive place. If you are counting pennies, this is NOT the place for you. Well, I knew that I could not afford to stay on the Island but I had relatives nearby. So I figured I could stay with them and save some money that way. Was I ever wrong. I did not stop to think that I was putting myself in a position of dependence on people who had other agendas.
Perhaps if I had been more in touch with my relatives and my family, I would have been better able to handle what happened, but I'd been on my own for quite some time and had forgotten about the various family dysfunctions. My parents arrived not long after I did, and immediately my mother and aunt got into a nonstop discussion about all the evils that had befallen the Mackinac parish ever since Vatican II, the most recent being that a NUN (horrors!) was giving the sermon at Mass in flagrant violation of church law. (Never mind that the priest had asked her to do so since he had duties in other parishes as well). Then my brother and his family arrived and we all had to go down to the docks to watch them take the ferry to the Island (no bunking up for them!) where they would spend the week.
Now, in the theatrical world, there is something that is called "upstaging." It can take many forms but mainly consists of calling attention to oneself when it is not one's turn to be in the spotlight. An actor who consistently does this, especially after being warned, will soon find that no one wants to work with him or her. It is one of the biggest no-no's you can commit. This, in a nutshell, was what was happening to me, and I was powerless to stop it. It was worse than herding cats. At least my cats follow me when I say "come." I was at the mercy of 11 people who were the type to take two hours debating whether to cross a street and then another two hours to discuss the decision.
The first thing we all had to do was to go hear Sister Awful preach. And what did Sister Awful, dressed in a pastel pantsuit, have to preach on? Etiquette in church! The Mass, she said, is God's dinner party, and there are certain things that one doesn't do at a dinner party. One is to leave right after the meal, unless it is an emergency. Poor Sister Awful. If she had been a man my relatives would have hung on every word. But because she had "innies" instead of "outies", they felt free to dismiss her and mock her. They were among the first to leave, right after Communion.
As for me, I didn't fare much better than Sister Awful. When I finally had had enough of being shoved aside and said so, I was told that I was ungrateful, that I did not appreciate what others had done for me, that I expected too much of people, and finally, that just because I was interested in something did not mean that I could expect others to be. That was the most devastating of all, coming from the mouth of someone I had once looked up to. Never mind that I had put my heart and soul into my writing, that I had spent the better part of a decade working on my book, spent money I didn't have, thus going into debt which affects me still, no, it didn't matter. Just because you are interested in it, does not mean you can expect others to be.
And at that moment I understood what the Bible meant when it talks about throwing pearls before swine. My book effectively died that day, and so did a big part of me. Never again will I put my heart and soul into anything as much as I did then. I am not exaggerating when I say that I went into such a deep depression afterwards that even to think about writing made me want to cry uncontrollably, ant that it took several years for me to get to the point where I can look back at these events with some detachment.
My family and relatives are not evil people; I'm sure that they did not mean to cause harm or pain. But they were not sorry. They did not want to admit their part in the fiasco. No, it was my fault--as usual. We don't understand why you are so angry, so upset, they said, over and over. They honestly thought it would be business as usual. They hadn't counted on the fact that I had changed. I'd been away from them too long. And I am to blame, too, because I did not want to write the letter that I should have to the contest sponsors. The letter that said, I regret very much that I am unable to attend due to circumstances beyond my control.
I hope this sort of thing never happens to any of you, but if it does, I know exactly how it feels.
Ten years ago I entered a statewide writing contest without thinking about what would happen if I won. I knew up front that there would be no prize money involved, just publication in an anthology. That wasn't the problem. I figured that was paying my dues, getting my name out.
The problem was that the awards ceremony was to be held on Mackinac Island. Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with the Island, it is an extremely expensive place. If you are counting pennies, this is NOT the place for you. Well, I knew that I could not afford to stay on the Island but I had relatives nearby. So I figured I could stay with them and save some money that way. Was I ever wrong. I did not stop to think that I was putting myself in a position of dependence on people who had other agendas.
Perhaps if I had been more in touch with my relatives and my family, I would have been better able to handle what happened, but I'd been on my own for quite some time and had forgotten about the various family dysfunctions. My parents arrived not long after I did, and immediately my mother and aunt got into a nonstop discussion about all the evils that had befallen the Mackinac parish ever since Vatican II, the most recent being that a NUN (horrors!) was giving the sermon at Mass in flagrant violation of church law. (Never mind that the priest had asked her to do so since he had duties in other parishes as well). Then my brother and his family arrived and we all had to go down to the docks to watch them take the ferry to the Island (no bunking up for them!) where they would spend the week.
Now, in the theatrical world, there is something that is called "upstaging." It can take many forms but mainly consists of calling attention to oneself when it is not one's turn to be in the spotlight. An actor who consistently does this, especially after being warned, will soon find that no one wants to work with him or her. It is one of the biggest no-no's you can commit. This, in a nutshell, was what was happening to me, and I was powerless to stop it. It was worse than herding cats. At least my cats follow me when I say "come." I was at the mercy of 11 people who were the type to take two hours debating whether to cross a street and then another two hours to discuss the decision.
The first thing we all had to do was to go hear Sister Awful preach. And what did Sister Awful, dressed in a pastel pantsuit, have to preach on? Etiquette in church! The Mass, she said, is God's dinner party, and there are certain things that one doesn't do at a dinner party. One is to leave right after the meal, unless it is an emergency. Poor Sister Awful. If she had been a man my relatives would have hung on every word. But because she had "innies" instead of "outies", they felt free to dismiss her and mock her. They were among the first to leave, right after Communion.
As for me, I didn't fare much better than Sister Awful. When I finally had had enough of being shoved aside and said so, I was told that I was ungrateful, that I did not appreciate what others had done for me, that I expected too much of people, and finally, that just because I was interested in something did not mean that I could expect others to be. That was the most devastating of all, coming from the mouth of someone I had once looked up to. Never mind that I had put my heart and soul into my writing, that I had spent the better part of a decade working on my book, spent money I didn't have, thus going into debt which affects me still, no, it didn't matter. Just because you are interested in it, does not mean you can expect others to be.
And at that moment I understood what the Bible meant when it talks about throwing pearls before swine. My book effectively died that day, and so did a big part of me. Never again will I put my heart and soul into anything as much as I did then. I am not exaggerating when I say that I went into such a deep depression afterwards that even to think about writing made me want to cry uncontrollably, ant that it took several years for me to get to the point where I can look back at these events with some detachment.
My family and relatives are not evil people; I'm sure that they did not mean to cause harm or pain. But they were not sorry. They did not want to admit their part in the fiasco. No, it was my fault--as usual. We don't understand why you are so angry, so upset, they said, over and over. They honestly thought it would be business as usual. They hadn't counted on the fact that I had changed. I'd been away from them too long. And I am to blame, too, because I did not want to write the letter that I should have to the contest sponsors. The letter that said, I regret very much that I am unable to attend due to circumstances beyond my control.
I hope this sort of thing never happens to any of you, but if it does, I know exactly how it feels.
