Demons, Come Out!

dawgs

Sometimes it's necessary to confront the demons, to bare your teeth and horns and claws. But before you can do that, you must be able to recognize them. The devil takes many shapes, to be sure. But he doesn't, at least not in this case, take the shape of an English tutor. Likewise, he isn't the author looking for an agent, or the duped poet who's tired of spending her money on rigged contests.

I recently sent an e-mail to my neighborhood. The subject was "English Tutoring"; the message, "My place or yours, $50/hour, any age (kid through college). (Yes, that's a sentence fragment.)" A few days later, a neighborhood resident replied: "Your's."

You may laugh; I probably should have, but I didn't. This was a confrontation, her way of saying: Ha! I got you! The question is why she wanted to get me. Was I being confrontational by offering my tutoring services?

If someone had sent a similar message, and I believed she had made a mistake, I probably would have asked, rather than accused; I'd have said, "Please correct me if I am wrong—and kindly wave the $50!"

So what does one do with a "Your's"? Well, first I responded that possessive pronouns are already possessive without an apostrophe. Then I offered her a valuable apostrophe lesson for $50.

Yesterday, I saw an ad on Craigslist for a literary agent. It said he paid $5,000 plus royalties and wanted ideas for certain kinds of books. I asked my mentor about it, thinking I could get someone to look at my manuscript idea right away. But my mentor was skeptical and wanted to know what other authors the agent represented and why he didn't simply take a flat 15%, like other agents. So I checked out the guy's web site, and then I asked.

I got a reply stating that the information is clear enough and that if I was uncomfortable with that environment, I should look elsewhere! I told the guy that I would, but not because I was uncomfortable with any environment. What a way to win talent!

The other day, I posted about Foetry.com; I wanted to know what people thought of their assertion that contests were being rigged. One person said he thought they should quit their whining and write better poetry.

Really? Do we know what kind of poetry they write? And will their better poetry—or even their fucking brilliant poetry—have a better shot at winning a contest that is won, from the start, by the judge's lover?

What has happened to the courteous benefit of the doubt? The purity of wonder? An offer of services is not a statement of superiority that needs to be challenged. A question is not an accusation that needs to be quashed. A discussion point is not an invitation for ad hominem attacks.

I admit that I love debate. I enjoy challenging opinions, contesting facts, sometimes even sparring with honed and pointed words. But the announcement of tutoring services is not a hat thrown into the ring. Even if it were, it wouldn't be an invitation for rudeness.

The more insular we become—closed in our cubicles, confined in our cars, cooped up in our cozy home offices—the less we know how to interact with others. We assume the worst in others, yet we can't hold even ourselves to the the high standards of civility we expect from them: I responded to all three of these people when I should have walked away.