Today's blog is all about dealing with stuff, everything from your regular taunting flies to people that haven't paid you, to failing once more at your chosen path. So it's gonna be a regular cheer fest.
Come on, you know the type. They're the type that zoom in through your open window/balcony door, which you can finally open due to the soaring temperatures and thunder storm-type pressure, and then have a deep refusal to leave. They enjoy the repeated loop of bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen, and back again. And no amount of coaxing will lure them out. They are the type that actually fly towards you on purpose, buzzing nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, with their teeny tongues out. Massive disrespect! And they are the type that outrun every implement used in the attempt to flatten them. Even when shown the door or window, they resist the charms of the open air and continue to fly around your head.
Perhaps they just want to be a pet. Maybe they enjoy taunting humans. But one thing's for sure, they will come to a particularly squished end if they don't get the fook out. Yesterday, Mr Taunt himself eventually took the hint after A chased him with a few things and I coaxed him with my voice and persuasive movements of the curtains. But he'll be back, I have no doubt and maybe this time he'll bring his friends......
Now to a very different type of fly, the fly on my jeans which keeps unzipping itself. I did think at first that I had forgotten to fasten it, but I've realised that, no, it actually has a mind of its own and it is increasingly trying to embarrass me. Another taunting fly. Hmmmm. Every few hours or maybe less, it works its way free and I'm not sure how, but it's always roughly 20 minutes after I've checked it's closed and then the next time I check, it's open. But that's usually after I've been on a bus, or train, you know somewhere crowded with people.
Stop it fly! I live in a world of three pairs of jeans, I can't have one malfunctioning on me. Just stop it!
Keeping it F, let's move onto fees. If you don't know, I am a mobile music teacher for early years, so I travel around on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday to different schools and private homes to teach. I am also self employed and thus have to organise and chase up payments myself. Oh yeah, and one more thing, I am soft!
So, I was thinking about fees owed and I just started quickly cobbling together a figure, and at first I worked out almost £200 and I thought, bloody hell that's a lot. Then I realised I'd missed off some and then I realised I'd missed off some more and then the grand total was £348. That's what I'm owed in fees. Now to some people that's back pocket change, but to me that is my half of the rent/bills for the month; it's not much less than the flights we just bought to Chicago and back; and it's also a lot of food, presents, holiday spends and travel around London.
Needless to say, the emails have gone out and I am expecting at least some payments today and then others spread throughout the next week. But one thing I also forgot to mention was the fact that this is the 6th week of the term. The 6th week! Still, once the payments come in, it will be time for payments from my other school whose terms are all askew from the others and so for a few weeks at least, I'll feel like I'm loaded.
Go on, I'll slip the most depressive one in now, rather than finish on a low note, especially as my low range - vocally - is weak beyond a point. Anyhoo, I've made two submissions in the last week, which is something I've been building towards for the last year and a half really. I was glad to get it out there again and of course - the ultimate pessimist - I expected rejection.
When it came in the form of an email - somehow worse than the more traditional, and when I say traditional I mean old fashioned, letter of rejection. I don't know, there's something vaguely more comforting from paper in your hand, rather than an email that will linger in your inbox, grinning at you every time you log in - I actually thought it was a rejection from the agent I had sent it to 50 minutes ago. It wasn't in fact, it was from the agent I submitted to a week ago, which made it slightly better. But who am I kidding, nothing makes it better.
There is a way of dealing with rejection, or at least 5 stages of dealing. Mine go like this:
1. Initial reaction. Ah well, I knew it would be rejection. Laugh it off electronically with a few ha has. Get people to share in the pain, though of course I'm pretending there is no pain.
2. Think about it for the rest of the day, non stop, until eventually you're thinking you'll never be published because you can't even get an agent. Your writing is pants, you shouldn't even bother. (I think you can see where I'm going here.)
3. Then you have the hope of the other submission you sent, though of course in the back of your mind you know that will only end the same way this one did.
4. If you see friends or have a partner, you tend to go a bit pathetic and start asking if they still love you, due to being a failed author. (I never do this....honest.) Then you ask them if they'll still love you if you never get an agent. Don't worry, this bit is probably the shortest stage, or it is for me, I can't stand all that soppy stuff.
5. Then somewhere along the line - this could be hours, days, months, years - the fighter in you surfaces. And you think, well who the hell are they to make me feel this small? And the determination soars through you and you start to work on the book again, and you start working towards another submission and maybe even another book.
I think I'm already at 5, though of course still hovering back to 3 until I hear back. Another lovely email to sit in the box and taunt me. What is it with taunting in this blog? An unintentional theme. Now I know you think I could just delete said emails, but actually I prefer to keep them. Somehow seeing that repeatedly, beats number 5 into you even harder. I know, it's sort of sadistic isn't it. But it gives you somewhere to focus that anger and doubt, leaving you free to write, amend and happily plot the next submission.
The Cheek of 6 Years Old Boys
So I'm teaching my private music class yesterday, to a six year old boy who I've known 4 years already. We go way back. But he has the cheek to say to me that 'Voice is not an instrument.' Err, excuse me.
I hit back with a tasty: 'Well it better be because that's what my Masters is in, vocal performance.' Which of course confused him a little. 'What a Masters? Who is your Master?' I said, 'I'm my own master.' He he. I quite like that as a comeback.
But then of course we got into an argument over voice as an instrument. I mean, he can read my friggin' dissertations if he'd like. And I wouldn't mind, but he's been having music classes with me for about 2 and a half years and I've always taught the kids that voice is their most important instrument because they all have one and it's a part of them and completely unique and special.
Well, me thinks he's going to get a crash course in voice as an instrument, big time! And eventually he will come round, or there is going to be a severe falling out.
Voice not an instrument. Ha! Who does he think he is?
Well that's all for today - thank god, you sigh. I'll be back with more rants when they hit me. Cheers.