Maybe I’m not as neurotic as I think I am. I like to think I exaggerate. That is what writers do, right?
Anyway, my bosses bought some of my art and put it up in the school. This semester I happen not to have any classes in that corner of the school, but it is near the vending machine and the back entrance.
I pretend it isn’t there.
Yes, I am flattered, flattered, flattered they bought the piece. (One of my favorite lines spoken by Judi Dench, “Perhaps we should retire to a home for the flattered.) But. People come up to me and say, “Hey! I saw your art!” or “Did you see they have your art on the wall?” And now the introduce me to people with, “This is one of our teachers. She’s also an artist.” And about here someone chimes in with, “And a writer!” And then, “We have her work right over there. We’ll show it to you.”
And I stand there trying not to look mortified, say “Thank you” or “Yes” or whatever is polite and I follow that with something like, “Um, I can’t get the printer to work.”
Sometimes getting what you want is just weird. One of these days I’m going to have the classroom with the window that will let me see it while I’m teaching.
Luckily, I’m good at pretending I don’t see things.
Why, for the love of the gods of common sense, would anyone work hard to put their work out into the world, go through a lot of trouble (you’ve no idea) to show that work and sell it, and then have to fight the impulse to hide?
I imagine that if I should ever manage to have a book with my name on the cover in a bookstore, I shall stand next to the shelf filled with great happiness and a desire to throw up.
Are you going to tell me I’m alone in this?
Are you ever contradictory?
Oh well. I’ve written my shortest short story ever. But at least story 26 is done! Hurray for Story-a-Day!