Growing, Growing, Grown

Ryan McGuire via Pixabay

I've noticed that there are seasons on Facebook. Homecoming. Holidays. Prom. Graduation. Summer vacation. Each brings photos -- high school kids looking glamorous, smiling families, beautiful beaches, mountain views, diploma-wielding young adults -- and each can be a little bittersweet. Behind the smiles and the scenery are myriad emotions -- the escort that got away, the family member no longer at the table, the exhaustion that accompanies that triumphant hike to the top of the mountain.

Currently, back-to-school season and its companion, the college drop-off, are dominating Facebook. Excitement and anticipation mingle with a reluctance to let go of summer and an apprehension about what lies ahead.

I'm currently in my third college drop-off season with my first and only child. Freshman year was tough; we went from parents to empty-nesters in the space of one twenty-four hour period. We counted the days (literally) until Parents' Weekend, caring nothing about the activities the college had so meticulously planned and everything about wrapping our daughter in a hug and spending as much time with her as possible.

Last year was a little bit easier. She was ready to go back, excited to see her friends and less apprehensive because she had a good idea of what lay ahead. We had a wedding to attend in October, and so she was coming home for a weekend after a little more than a month away. We could do this. We had experience with the empty nest and it wasn't all bad.

This year, she was home for three weeks in May and two weeks in August. The summer was busy, which made it go by quickly.

And I'm not ready.

Isn't this supposed to be a progression? Freshman year is tough -- we expect that. Sophomore year, a little less tough than freshman year and so on.

So why do I feel as though I'm going backward?

If being busy is the antidote to missing my daughter, then I believe I've found a cure. The trouble is that overdosing on the antidote isn't good either. Before I knew it, all that busyness spilled over into summer, cutting short my already limited time with my daughter, leaving me unprepared for the end-of-summer goodbye that comes all too soon.

She leaves Sunday and, today, I find myself wondering whether it's the busyness of summer or the dawning of a reality I've dodged for two years catching up to me. When she left for college, a part of me knew she'd never come back home in the same way again, but I chose to put that information in a little box on the shelf until I could deal with it. Although I'm not sure I'm ready to acknowledge the contents of that box, her summer away from home has nudged the lid off, sending the essence of the adult life that stretches out before my daughter floating in my direction.

All of their lives, we talk about our children growing up. It's tough to see them go from infants to toddlers to preschoolers and beyond, but these are stages we expect. I even teach this stuff but, somehow, I never thought about the cusp between growing and grown. There's no developmental norms sheet from the pediatrician for that gray area, no textbook to discuss the attributes, no Facebook photos documenting that wisp of time.

But ready or not, here we are.

Alexas_Fotos via Pixabay

Of Memes, Facebook Groups and Friendship

Humor Shots

Every once in a while, amid the political posturing and questionable grammar that characterize Facebook memes, a post comes along that makes me nod and smile almost as much as cute baby pictures.

The meme at left is one of them.

Or, in Facebook parlance: Yes. This.

I typically meet these people-- the ones I want to hang out with offline -- in one of the arenas that brought me to Facebook in the first place: via my Thirty One business, via my writing and via my role as a parent.

The first two are business connections -- networking for the twenty-first century -- that have become personal connections. But, this summer, as I prepare to send my only child out into the real world holding zone that is college, the third one has taken on particular significance.

As our kids were growing up, those of us who were real-world friends first and Facebook friends second posted the milestone pictures -- first days of school, proms, graduations. Digital photo albums that gave us windows into the lives of our friends and their families, regardless of physical distance, these postings allowed us to "ooh" and "ahh" over each other's kids, marveling at how fast they were growing, how beautiful/handsome they'd become and how amazing their accomplishments were. This was one of the reasons we all joined Facebook in the first place -- so we could stay connected, even if only peripherally, regardless of how busy life got. Facebook helped us to keep up with significant events in the lives of those who mattered to us, even if many years had passed since we'd seen one another. And, when those real world meetings came about, our shared Facebook experience helped us to start face-to-face conversations with relevant current events instead of the generic, "So, what's new with you?"

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But meeting people online first is different. And becoming part of a group comprised of strangers whose families are in the same place experientially is a whole new journey. One of my favorite Facebook groups is Grown and Flown. Made up of parents whose kids are in the process of moving from our nest to one of their own, it's a place where parents who are navigating a new stage of family life can benefit from one another's experience.

We're branching out, just as our kids are. And, what's both strange and interesting is that, instead of our children's lives following our trajectory, ours are following theirs. As my daughter prepares to meet peers from all over the world who just happened to end up at the same university, I'm meeting parents from all over the world whose kids are doing the same thing.

Social media can unite and it can divide. It can keep us in touch with friends we haven't seen in ages, and make us question why we became friends with other people in the first place. Like a cocktail party you can attend in your pjs while sipping your beverage of choice, Facebook, in particular, introduces us to friends of friends who become our friends.

Don't get me wrong -- I have no desire to replace my real world friends with the online variety.  Instead, I'm celebrating the fun that comes with meeting new friends in old places.

Virtually Satisfying and then Some

Photo credit: Gwen Moran

Last evening, I went to a party. It was a beautiful night to celebrate a beautiful victory, and to top it all off, I met one of my Facebook friends.

Sounds silly, I know, but we writers have plenty of colleagues we've met only online. In my case, there was a real-world connection (mutual real-world friends), but in many cases, there isn't. Virtual colleagues meet online and cultivate relationships there as well.

Writing is a great gig, and for many writers, it's not only all we want to do, it's all we've ever wanted to do. But it's a solo gig, and one that non-writers don't fully understand. Conferences offer opportunities for face-to-face meetings with kindred spirits, but these come all too infrequently. As imperfect a medium as it may be, Facebook helps close that gap.

Don't get me wrong. My real-world friends are great supporters of my writing, and I appreciate them tremendously. But those colleagues that people engaged in other professions meet at the office? Writers don't have them. We're the only ones in our offices. Mostly, it's better that way, because it's the only way things get done.

But sometimes, we need to bounce an idea off someone who understands the industry. Or ask a question. Or commiserate over the unfairness of celebrity authors who can't actually write or the insurmountability of blank pages and rough drafts. Maybe even get out of our own little worlds and see what life's like.

That's where our virtual colleagues come in.

And it's pretty cool when Facebook friends turn out to be even better in the real world than in the virtual world. Last night, my virtual-turned-real-world colleague and I got to talk about writing in real time in the real world. Our daughters teamed up to play a mean game of ladder ball and together, we all celebrated a young lady's triumph over cancer. All in all, a great night.

Score one for the real world.

Friday Feature: Smart Phones and Dumb Interactions

The other day, my husband accused me of being on Facebook all the time. While that's not exactly accurate, he does have a valid point. In the evening hours and in the car when he's driving, I'm on Facebook a lot. Way too much, some might say. In fact, a lot of our conversations in the car begin with "Listen to this...." followed by something I've read on social media.

I don't have any trouble putting my phone away when I make up my mind to do so, but it does have a way of creeping out of my purse and into my hand when I'm between tasks. Honestly, if I were childless, it would be out a lot less often, but still, I can't completely blame my daughter for my bad habits. Back when I had a flip phone, I used it only for phone calls.

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And therein lies the problem. Back in the days of flip phones, I might have left my phone on the table during a meal with a friend if I wanted to make sure not to miss a call. And, since a call would have been the only thing to interrupt us, I wouldn't have been terribly distracted by the mere presence of the device. Now that I might miss a text, an email or the latest "news" on Facebook or Twitter, I'm quick to fill "down time" with a quick glance at my phone. Sadly, "down time" can consist of less than a minute between tasks.

But is leaving the phone (silenced) on the table such a bad thing? According to an article in Scientific American, "the mere presence of a phone affects how you relate to others." Yikes. I'm good at silencing my phone, and I rarely use notifications (definitely not for Facebook), but I must admit, I've grown increasingly careless about putting my phone away entirely.

Even if it is a cool trend, I certainly don't want to go back to using a one-purpose flip phone -- especially as a parent of a teenager whose first choice of communication is texting. I do, however, want to preserve manners and respect, so perhaps it's time to live by another old saw: out of sight, out of mind.

Challenging indeed.

In Defense of Amazon

I love Facebook. I really do. I spent much too much time on it this morning because I became captivated by the kids and teachers in their back-to-school finery. I was also delighted to find news of the publication of a friend’s book and “news” that a quiz revealed that another of my friends would be played by Meryl Streep if ever her life story became a movie. Lucky girl.

Notice a theme? These are all good things. Fun things. Amusing, if not entirely true, things. 

But I must say that I’m growing weary of all the bashing. Much as I hate to see sad news on my news feed, life and death and all that happens in between are largely unavoidable. But when did Facebook become the place to bash good intentions and offer one size fits all advice that really doesn’t fit everyone well or equally?

Examples? You know I’ve got ‘em. There were two that hit me this morning but I’m going to stick to just one for the purposes of this post which promises to be a long one: Amazon is the root of all evil.

Do I agree with all of Amazon’s business practices? I do not. But when authors tell readers not to buy books from Amazon, they aren’t hurting Amazon. They’re hurting other authors.

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Let me tell you a story. Picture it: Pennsylvania, 2013. A newly retired educator signs a contract with a small publisher that will bring her manuscript out of the slush pile and into the hands of readers. Is the contract perfect? No. Are there bumps along the way? Absolutely. In fact, the book almost didn’t happen.

But it did, and so “almost” is water under the bridge. In January 2014, my first novel was published. And thus began my education in book sales.

I’d had two books published before, but they were in a niche market, and truly, the only place they were readily available was through the publisher. Though I eventually got copies into the local author section of a small indie bookstore and a chain store (Borders -- so you know how that ends), most copies were sold through my publisher. That worked for these titles, though, as most of the purchasers were buying them through school districts that issued purchase orders to the publishers.

But fiction is an entirely new story (no pun intended). My book is not self-published. It is available through a distributor, with discounts and return guarantees. That means a bookseller can order my book at less than the cover price and they can return it if it doesn’t sell.

And I still can’t get it into bookstores unless I’m willing to put it there on consignment. 

There have been a few exceptions. Thankfully, Barnes and Noble was one of them. But before my nearby B & N could stock my novel, the book had to pass muster at the corporate level. A stranger in an office somewhere who makes these decisions got to decide whether or not my book made it “into the system” and until it was there, no copies could be ordered for any Barnes and Noble store. In addition, during this time (when I was launching my book), I was ineligible to participate in Barnes and Noble’s author events. (I don’t get paid for author events at bookstores, by the way. I do them because they’re a necessary part of book promotion, and because when they’re done right, they’re a lot of fun).

Browseabout Books in Rehoboth Beach, DE (close to where we vacation) was another notable exception. When I arrived for the book signing they so graciously  made possible for an unknown author, they had a whole stack of my books. They gave me a free beverage, placed me in a prime location and I had a wonderful time talking to everyone who came through the door. And I sold a lot of books. Not a lot by John Grisham or J. K. Rowling standards, but enough to make me very happy.

Not all indie bookstores operate like that, though. Others will gladly carry my book, provided I consign it. I do this on a limited basis for several reasons. I believe in my book, and I think people need to actually get it into their hands or, failing that, read a sample before they know whether or not they want to read it. I also understand that indie bookstores often operate on a shoestring budget and with limited space and that they simply don’t have the room to stock a lot of books by first-time authors who aren’t famous or connected to the store in some way. Finally, I like indie bookstores. I think they’re important and I want them to stick around.

But do you know how much money I make on a consigned book? Depending on the terms, it’s sometimes not enough to cover the cost of a chai at Starbucks. Or Sheetz. Or what it costs me in gas to  deliver the book to the store and drive home again.

My biggest disappointment in this game, however, was the Christian retailers -- the big guys, not my local indie store -- and since “retailers” truly is plural, they shall remain nameless. In order for them to consider my book at all (if I even get that far -- some don’t return e-mails), I must follow the process I described for Barnes and Noble above, but I must provide them with a copy of my book and, contrary to popular belief, author copies are not free. The store’s management can then accept or reject my book for their stores, but either way, they will not return my copy to me. They can acquire my book for their stores through a distributor at a discount. They can return it if it doesn’t sell. And yet they are unwilling to go through this process. Instead, they want a free copy of my book, which they are free to accept or reject, then discard.

Is it unwieldy for them to comb through the news of new releases for every new book by every unknown author to see which books would be a good addition to their inventory? Of course it is (though that’s pretty much what indie booksellers do on a typical day). 

But is it too much to expect that if I go to the local branch of a nationwide retailer, introduce myself and ask them to take a look at my book, that they consider it for the store located in my town where the people I know shop? I don’t believe that it is. 

Have I stopped doing business with that retailer? I have. Will I ask others to do so as well? 

I will not. Because when I do, I hurt every author whose work is sold in that store. And I have no right to do that.

When an author writes a book and gets it published, she wants people to read it. Amazon has made that possibility a reality for me more than almost anywhere else. They carry my book in e-book and softcover. They can deliver it to anyone anywhere. People can “look inside this book” to see if they like my characters and storyline enough to read more -- enough to decide in favor of a purchase or against it. Kindle purchases, like consignment purchases, don’t earn me enough for a Starbucks. But, like consignment purchases, they put the book into readers’ hands. Amazon has carried my book from the first day it was available.

Is Amazon making life miserable for other authors? Yes, it is. Should these other authors tell their readers where they can find their books? Absolutely. Does Amazon have a right not to carry books whose authors and publishers don’t follow their rules and jump through their hoops?

If you think that’s not the case, and if you think Amazon is alone in this practice, please re-read this column. But please, if you’re a reader or a writer, don’t toss out the baby with the bathwater.

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