Crickets, Jeeps, & Four-Year-Olds
A four-year-old just moved in next door. Literally.
For the past 40-plus years, my townhouse strata complex has mostly been a place for middle-aged people. What a culture shock! For us, that is, not so much for her (and the sometimes frazzled-looking parents she's hauled along with her).
At school, as a teacher I'm used to senior high school kids.
Little kids know a surprising amount. (You teens do, too, don't get me wrong.)
I'm a firm believer that no matter our age - kindergarten, teenage, or senior - we can learn - say, for example, when it comes to getting better at working with others.
For some, that idea feels like a VERY big jump.
Writing my first book has felt like a big jump, even for a former reporter like me. The scariest part is afterwards, the "crickets", the silence, when you're the only one to market and promote your "baby" in a world of millions of books - a million each year.
You see its value. But do other people?
It's like the story (anonymous online) of a father leaving his beloved classic Jeep to his daughter. He tells her to go out in the world and find the people who will value what, to some, looks only like an old rusty vehicle.
She first tries a pawn shop: they offer her less than $100. Then an online marketplace: maybe $2,000. Finally, her father steers her to a classic Jeep car club: $20,000. (The numbers are just for example.)
The daughter is amazed at the difference. Her father isn't surprised. He assures her that life is all about finding the right fit.
It's the same for an author like me with a debut book. It's bright-shiny new. The author thinks it has something valuable to say. How to get that across? Where? When? To whom? It's a learning curve.
Just like for the four-year-old "new kid on the block" with a bright face and a handful of stickers.
