March Madness
I usually don't write long entries, but I am sounding off here, so this entry is longer than any other I have ever written. I understand if you can't sit through it and appreciate it if you do.
Whew! I barely survived March. Not sure what the planets were up to but they were certainly not in conjunction with my own natal chart. The month started out well enough with the expectation of blooming friendships and my manuscript being read by two separate agents in New York.
Before the second week was over, however, both friendships screeched to a halt as I realized neither was for me, despite how much I wanted them to be. Around the same time, one agent notified me she was passing on the opportunity to represent my book. Less than a week later, as my personal life began its terrific implosion, the other sent an email stating the manuscript's (ms) strong points—there were many—but admitted, she just didn't love the writing. Ugh. That's bad and earned my deepest concern.
I consulted an actual friend, a published author, who comforted me by telling me her opinion was totally subjective and I shouldn't change my story based on passing agents because there will be many who pass compared to the one who eventually signs me. I returned from the ledge to query some more. The ms submission process is frustrating, isolating and disappointing, at best. Then the Ides of March arrived, and Leah, my former roommate, packed her bags and left Prague for some little spot called Sophia. Reportedly, this place is the pinnacle of European violent crime but her time was up and she needed to get out of the Schengen, so to my chagrin, we bid each other farewell.
Immediately after she left, I arranged to go to Slovakia. Now, this isn't the grand trip it may sound like. I needed to do a turnaround just to file my paperwork for my Visa, so I can start pulling down some dollars and cease living like a pauper. I checked the Web for directions to the Czech Embassy with no luck but, at least, I confirmed their weird hours and was lucky that they were open all day. I bought my ticket, the price of which increased exponentially due to the spike in gas, so before I left I was over budget.
After the five-hour trip, I arrived in Bratislava and found there were no tourist maps or an information booth to get directions to the embassy. There wasn't even a bus map. The English-speaking woman at the ticket counter pretended she didn't know what an embassy was, or what/who/where Czech was either. This is obviously crap as the two countries were one until the early 90s. She directed me to the taxi stand. Being a hard-boiled New Yorker, I know better than to trust a friggin' cab driver. However, I was in a pinch, and obviously a foreigner, so I couldn't expect real help. I won't even tell you how much this bitch—yes, bitch—charged me. I tried my best to follow my big-city rules. I told her where I was going and asked how long it would take to drive there. Her answer: five minutes. Right. I know she got me.
The worst part of the entire episode is, less than five minutes later, AFTER I paid her, got out of the cab and tried the door to the embassy, it was locked. Locked! I checked the address then carefully studied the red, white and blue flag hanging outside of the building. Yep, I was in the right place. Then I heard this bitch behind me:
"Oh, you know, today is holiday in Slovakia. The embassy is closed."
WTF! She knew this BEFORE I got in the cab. As I sat behind her on the way back, I thought seriously about choking the life out of this woman. It was the first time I considered unleashing my frustration out on a person to the point of murder, and as a former Gannett employee, I promise, the situation presented itself more than once. Rage aside, I was dumbfounded on how people really abuse foreigners just to get their money. Forget the fact, I spent my grocery money to travel there without getting anything accomplished.
Like I said, March was a hell of a month.
So imagine my delight when I was invited to a party thrown by the Czech magazine I write for. *CLAPS* I was all too thrilled to get my mind off my life and immerse myself in food (YAY!), drink and...models? Oh-effing-pooh. I didn't think about WHO would be at this thing until I committed to going. I pulled some sad outfit out of my wardrobe, which looked the least of what I owned like a road map. As you may suspect, Prague is an up-and-coming fashion mecca. In my opinion, it's no longer coming but is one. The young women, opening the door at the swank venue were impeccable and there I was in my thrift-shop coat and wrinkled trousers. gee-SUS! Um, before you question, I don't own an iron and nobody in Czech owns a dryer.
I mustered up the courage to make it inside and ran for the coat check, which of course, was nowhere near the front door but through the main room and downstairs. Helpfully, the coat check was free as was the drink, of which I helped myself to plenty, and food. Not knowing anyone, I looked for the two who invited me.
My assigning editor wasn't there but the guy who brought me on board was. Embarrassingly, he was busy with the models and told me so right before turning his back to my face. Great. Now, I was to go out and be social with a bunch of people who didn't speak English. As I walked into the main room, I forced myself to dwell on the positives. I was in this great place, among the beautiful people even if I wasn't one of them. While gulping my red wine thingy (I don't know exactly what it was because it had bubbles in it and no one could tell me), I kept getting several STARES. This is not unusual, as it is perfectly OK in Czech culture to stare at one another. Being that I was the only black person (no Africans, Indians, Arabs AT ALL), I felt even more under study. Then this lovely man started talking to me in Czech.
"Anglasky? I asked pathetically.
"Oh, you speak English?"
YAY! There is almost nothing better than a person who speaks another language and finds someone they can practice their English with. As it turns out, Ales Lang, is some sort of semi-famous Czech photographer, who loved my look. Baaah! He is scheduled for an exhibition in May and started commenting on how exotic/beautiful I am and wants to shoot me. Um, ok? Doesn't matter if it's true, he made me feel like I belonged. After his test shots in the middle of the great room with plenty of onlookers, another man asked me:
"Escuse me but who are you?"
I cringed inside at my answer but said it because it seemed easier:
"Oh, I'm nobody. I'm not a model or anything."
"I don't care if you are not a model but who are you? You are simply breathtaking."
Bless you, Adriano. Bless Italian men, everywhere. You know what, Sumari? That alone is enough for me to give Roma another go. Adriano co-owns the swanky venue and made the rest of my night a dream. Glasses of red wine, special salmon (omw, protein?) from the kitchen and, most importantly, English introductions.
I have rambled on but I will finish my little story without the hope or expectation you will finish reading it.
As if Adriano wasn't enough, another highlight of the evening—month—was when I met Nick the Brit. (The aforementioned guy who was busy, later told me to find him because he spoke English. Thanks.) Nick has lived in Prague for 16 years and has a Czech girlfriend, who was just as friendly. He also plays chess every Tuesday and I am keen to go. My own little, Tuesdays with, well, Nick. At the end of my night, I ran for the last train like some absurd version of Cinderella. Brandy and Whitney were nowhere in sight. That was Thursday.
On Saturday, I received a request from another agent interested in my book. Feeling on the upswing, I decided to get a critique of my mss first five pages. Why I did this on the last day of a horrific month, I cannot say. Although, both critiques were bad, one of the two is the stuff suicides are based. No, I'm not back on that ledge. Truthfully, I rather get a bad critique now than after publication. I further realized if a few readers had problems maybe, just maybe, more might. I'm revising the beginning with the hopes of making it shine by April 10th, which is a feat now that I know I can barely string a sentence together. *SMH* After that, I will revise the rest of the ms.
As for March, it was the worst month I experienced since 2006, which was a historically bad year. I'll end with what I'm taking away from this madness: You can't be published if you don't write OR submit—to editors, agents or critters (slang for writing critics and quite fitting, I might add). You will never meet the Langs, Adrianos or the Nicks, if you never go to the party. You will never appreciate your real friends, if you don't ferret out the bad ones. And, you most definitely, won't recognize love when it shows up, if you never get your heartbroken.
I own March 2008 because it taught me valuable lessons and will make me a better writer and a braver person. I guess, I'd rather be an April Fool than a year round jackass.
Whew! I barely survived March. Not sure what the planets were up to but they were certainly not in conjunction with my own natal chart. The month started out well enough with the expectation of blooming friendships and my manuscript being read by two separate agents in New York.
Before the second week was over, however, both friendships screeched to a halt as I realized neither was for me, despite how much I wanted them to be. Around the same time, one agent notified me she was passing on the opportunity to represent my book. Less than a week later, as my personal life began its terrific implosion, the other sent an email stating the manuscript's (ms) strong points—there were many—but admitted, she just didn't love the writing. Ugh. That's bad and earned my deepest concern.
I consulted an actual friend, a published author, who comforted me by telling me her opinion was totally subjective and I shouldn't change my story based on passing agents because there will be many who pass compared to the one who eventually signs me. I returned from the ledge to query some more. The ms submission process is frustrating, isolating and disappointing, at best. Then the Ides of March arrived, and Leah, my former roommate, packed her bags and left Prague for some little spot called Sophia. Reportedly, this place is the pinnacle of European violent crime but her time was up and she needed to get out of the Schengen, so to my chagrin, we bid each other farewell.
Immediately after she left, I arranged to go to Slovakia. Now, this isn't the grand trip it may sound like. I needed to do a turnaround just to file my paperwork for my Visa, so I can start pulling down some dollars and cease living like a pauper. I checked the Web for directions to the Czech Embassy with no luck but, at least, I confirmed their weird hours and was lucky that they were open all day. I bought my ticket, the price of which increased exponentially due to the spike in gas, so before I left I was over budget.
After the five-hour trip, I arrived in Bratislava and found there were no tourist maps or an information booth to get directions to the embassy. There wasn't even a bus map. The English-speaking woman at the ticket counter pretended she didn't know what an embassy was, or what/who/where Czech was either. This is obviously crap as the two countries were one until the early 90s. She directed me to the taxi stand. Being a hard-boiled New Yorker, I know better than to trust a friggin' cab driver. However, I was in a pinch, and obviously a foreigner, so I couldn't expect real help. I won't even tell you how much this bitch—yes, bitch—charged me. I tried my best to follow my big-city rules. I told her where I was going and asked how long it would take to drive there. Her answer: five minutes. Right. I know she got me.
The worst part of the entire episode is, less than five minutes later, AFTER I paid her, got out of the cab and tried the door to the embassy, it was locked. Locked! I checked the address then carefully studied the red, white and blue flag hanging outside of the building. Yep, I was in the right place. Then I heard this bitch behind me:
"Oh, you know, today is holiday in Slovakia. The embassy is closed."
WTF! She knew this BEFORE I got in the cab. As I sat behind her on the way back, I thought seriously about choking the life out of this woman. It was the first time I considered unleashing my frustration out on a person to the point of murder, and as a former Gannett employee, I promise, the situation presented itself more than once. Rage aside, I was dumbfounded on how people really abuse foreigners just to get their money. Forget the fact, I spent my grocery money to travel there without getting anything accomplished.
Like I said, March was a hell of a month.
So imagine my delight when I was invited to a party thrown by the Czech magazine I write for. *CLAPS* I was all too thrilled to get my mind off my life and immerse myself in food (YAY!), drink and...models? Oh-effing-pooh. I didn't think about WHO would be at this thing until I committed to going. I pulled some sad outfit out of my wardrobe, which looked the least of what I owned like a road map. As you may suspect, Prague is an up-and-coming fashion mecca. In my opinion, it's no longer coming but is one. The young women, opening the door at the swank venue were impeccable and there I was in my thrift-shop coat and wrinkled trousers. gee-SUS! Um, before you question, I don't own an iron and nobody in Czech owns a dryer.
I mustered up the courage to make it inside and ran for the coat check, which of course, was nowhere near the front door but through the main room and downstairs. Helpfully, the coat check was free as was the drink, of which I helped myself to plenty, and food. Not knowing anyone, I looked for the two who invited me.
My assigning editor wasn't there but the guy who brought me on board was. Embarrassingly, he was busy with the models and told me so right before turning his back to my face. Great. Now, I was to go out and be social with a bunch of people who didn't speak English. As I walked into the main room, I forced myself to dwell on the positives. I was in this great place, among the beautiful people even if I wasn't one of them. While gulping my red wine thingy (I don't know exactly what it was because it had bubbles in it and no one could tell me), I kept getting several STARES. This is not unusual, as it is perfectly OK in Czech culture to stare at one another. Being that I was the only black person (no Africans, Indians, Arabs AT ALL), I felt even more under study. Then this lovely man started talking to me in Czech.
"Anglasky? I asked pathetically.
"Oh, you speak English?"
YAY! There is almost nothing better than a person who speaks another language and finds someone they can practice their English with. As it turns out, Ales Lang, is some sort of semi-famous Czech photographer, who loved my look. Baaah! He is scheduled for an exhibition in May and started commenting on how exotic/beautiful I am and wants to shoot me. Um, ok? Doesn't matter if it's true, he made me feel like I belonged. After his test shots in the middle of the great room with plenty of onlookers, another man asked me:
"Escuse me but who are you?"
I cringed inside at my answer but said it because it seemed easier:
"Oh, I'm nobody. I'm not a model or anything."
"I don't care if you are not a model but who are you? You are simply breathtaking."
Bless you, Adriano. Bless Italian men, everywhere. You know what, Sumari? That alone is enough for me to give Roma another go. Adriano co-owns the swanky venue and made the rest of my night a dream. Glasses of red wine, special salmon (omw, protein?) from the kitchen and, most importantly, English introductions.
I have rambled on but I will finish my little story without the hope or expectation you will finish reading it.
As if Adriano wasn't enough, another highlight of the evening—month—was when I met Nick the Brit. (The aforementioned guy who was busy, later told me to find him because he spoke English. Thanks.) Nick has lived in Prague for 16 years and has a Czech girlfriend, who was just as friendly. He also plays chess every Tuesday and I am keen to go. My own little, Tuesdays with, well, Nick. At the end of my night, I ran for the last train like some absurd version of Cinderella. Brandy and Whitney were nowhere in sight. That was Thursday.
On Saturday, I received a request from another agent interested in my book. Feeling on the upswing, I decided to get a critique of my mss first five pages. Why I did this on the last day of a horrific month, I cannot say. Although, both critiques were bad, one of the two is the stuff suicides are based. No, I'm not back on that ledge. Truthfully, I rather get a bad critique now than after publication. I further realized if a few readers had problems maybe, just maybe, more might. I'm revising the beginning with the hopes of making it shine by April 10th, which is a feat now that I know I can barely string a sentence together. *SMH* After that, I will revise the rest of the ms.
As for March, it was the worst month I experienced since 2006, which was a historically bad year. I'll end with what I'm taking away from this madness: You can't be published if you don't write OR submit—to editors, agents or critters (slang for writing critics and quite fitting, I might add). You will never meet the Langs, Adrianos or the Nicks, if you never go to the party. You will never appreciate your real friends, if you don't ferret out the bad ones. And, you most definitely, won't recognize love when it shows up, if you never get your heartbroken.
I own March 2008 because it taught me valuable lessons and will make me a better writer and a braver person. I guess, I'd rather be an April Fool than a year round jackass.
Posted by LoisLane at Tuesday, April 01, 2008 5:18 AM 
Categories: Times in Life,Potted Luck,La Escribadora,The Road Less Traveled
Categories: Times in Life,Potted Luck,La Escribadora,The Road Less Traveled
That sounded like fun,lol. I love when everything seems like a cluster fudge and everything you do is on a cosmic gag reel. But like you said if you don't put yourself out there you'll never the possibilities right?
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Exactly. How else am I to know I am really alive? *points finger-gun to temple and fires* These days, I only allow myself a same-day pity party. That means, when I get hit with bad news, I allow myself to sulk and by dawn the next morning, I get back up on the horse. March made that rule difficult and in some cases, it took a little longer but, at least eventually, I got back up. And just because I throw my own PPs, doesn't mean I want anyone else to throw me one. *smile*
Thanks for reading, Muj. I just got finished with a very interesting blog on relationSHITs. Such a clever beast--it and you.
LL
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Ola Ms Lady..
Well to be honest although it wasnt a good month it turned out ok at the end. Listen everything is about destiny and there was a reason those 2 editors turned down the MS - and there was a reason why you were invited to this event where you knew pratically no one. Its funny as I am reading your story and come to the end you pretty much answered all your own questions and thoughts about how bad the month WAS .... its all about DESTINY..you have a persona about you and carry yourself well, people notice that and believe me everything works itself out...Love the ending of your story as each word holds so true....keep your head up chica....
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Awww, thank you Mannie!
In the midst of a hurricane, it's quite hard to keep it up, ya know? Like you pointed out, it is all about perspective and I would be the April (and rest of the year) Fool, if I didn't learn from everything I just went through. I will revise the ms, yet again, but this time with a clear understanding of what needs fixing. I am going to the Czech Embassy in Dresden where they file paperwork by appointment only. Gotta love those Germans! *smiles at you* Finally, I made new friends to replace the old ones who needed replacing. I have a date with Nick the Brit to check out this gallery exhibition I'm writing about. So yes, everything happens for a reason and I would be good to remember that during the next storm.
It's good to know I have people like you in my corner, who I can call on when needed. I would be good to remember that too. Oh yeah, thanks to you--and all--for reading to the end.
I didn't really advertise this blog (outside of MySpace) because I do try to be sensitive to everyone's time and not write uber-long pieces. However, I did leave some things out. Imagine that! *smh*
Welcome back to the Met. You were sorely missed. =)
LL
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great blog hun (as usual)! especially close of this ur article is so true!
u said that all by really beautiful way!
I gotta agree! March was b**ch a$$ month! this March got me outta my system as well bt Im still alive, still breathe plus spring is comin 2 town! OWEEE! just like U said, every bad experience make U stronger n stronger!
ooh I cant believe U didnt tell me abt that party?? we def need 2 get 2gether soon!
btw Adriano was RIGHT! U r simply breathtakin lady!
luv, luv!
k*
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Hey Ms. kitty KaT!
I didn't mention the party because I didn't get a whole lot of notice AND it was during the week...on a Thursday. So, I didn't think you'd be able to make it. Of course, I would have loved it if you would have gone with me. We could have hit up Radost afterwards!!
Anyhoo, if you want to see what you missed, check out the April 7 issue of faiyo and click on the "Code Party." There are video clips of the fashion show and the party itself! Oh yeah, if you look closely you'll see Adriano toasting the partay!
luvs and huggies...*winks*
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