Why Bother? The "Is Anyone Listening" Edition

In November 2019, I went to a veterinary conference at the Javits Center in Manhattan. If you’ve never been to a medical conference, there is typically a large open section called the Exhibit Hall which is the temporary home of sometimes hundreds of vendors, all trying to lure you into their clutches with the wicked temptation of free pens, tote bags, and branded stress balls. (I hear the human medicine ones have nicer swag. Veterinary pharmaceuticals are much smaller potatoes in the profit department, so we don’t get anything super fancy. Sometimes there is a raffle for AirPods or similar if we are lucky.)

On the last day of the conference, while waiting for some friends to get out of their respective lectures, I wandered around the hall aimlessly. Nineteen years out of vet school, I was no longer a slut for free crap and had already collected more than my fair share of pens. I happened upon a small booth for something purporting to be a “dating app for rescue pets” and, curious, asked a few questions. Occasionally I like to pretend I’m an extrovert, so after chatting about their app with the sales guy, it somehow came up that he went to grad school at the same university where I did my undergrad. We’d only overlapped by a year, so we didn’t know anyone in common, but he mentioned that he’d been active in the theater program and once even got to direct a production in the campus’s nondenominational chapel.

“Wait,” I said. “Was it Godspell? Did you direct Godspell in the chapel?” His whole face lit up. “Yes! That was me!”

Reader, have you ever attended a live performance that, for a few hours, reminded you in a visceral way what it means to be human? That production of Godspell, in such a perfect, intimate setting, was that kind of performance. Ironically, despite 12 years of Catholic school and forced Sunday mass attendance, live theater is often the closest thing I’ve ever had to a truly spiritual experience, and this was the first such production.

There wasn’t much to say after that. I told him how much his production had moved me; he thanked me for telling him. We both paused quietly before we parted, to delay the end of this lovely moment of serendipity. I don’t remember his name and only vaguely recall what he looked like, but for those few minutes, we were in perfect communion (lol) – artist and audience, creator and witness. It meant something to me, to tell him how much I admired his work. If I can read people at all, it meant something to him to hear it.

At the time of writing, I have published a handful of short stories and a poem. I have a few other pieces that have been accepted but have yet to come out. Beyond my critique partners and a few friends and family, I have no idea how many people have read any of them, or what effect they might have had. As a writer, it can feel like a letdown when a published piece comes out, especially when it’s your first one. That first acceptance email feels like such a high! You’ve made it! You can call yourself a published author! Then it comes out, you post about it a few times on socials and, more often than not, that’s it. This isn’t the theater; you don’t even get the equivalent of polite clapping. Maybe a person or few comments on your post or story, some may get a review, or maybe even some nominations next awards season.

Or, you may get none of that. You may never hear a word, and then find 3 more rejections waiting for you in your inbox next time you check.

Does that mean it wasn’t worth it?

Listen, I hope not. I hope you find satisfaction in the work. You won’t always, because no one does, but I hope the times you do bolster you through the low moments.

I hope you remember that there might be someone out there, watching from the balcony, bathing in your art. Finding joy or validation or solace in what you’ve chosen to share. Just because they may never tell you doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

(PS if you need a prompt to send your fave author a message about what their work means to you, then consider this to be it.)

My work in the wild

This time I was one of the lucky ones! My story in Issue 63 of Luna Station Quarterly got a lovely review that you can read it here.

Something I’m reading/watching/listening to:

I am one of those very annoying people who often reads the first book of a series and stops after that. Oops. Sorry, my tbr is long and my attention is short. However! I am currently reading The Sovereign, the final book in the Magic of the Lost trilogy by CL Clark. I had the distinct pleasure of doing a writing workshop with Cherae, who is a super smart writer and a kickass and compassionate writing instructor. If you don’t want to commit to a three book epic fantasy series with a complex take on colonialism, and also sword lesbians, try their short fiction! This is a fave of mine.

What I’m working on:

Wow my novel revision didn’t go as fast I would have liked, but I’m in the homestretch. I need to rewrite the final chapter, then do what I call a “clean-up” round, in which I discover that I can write some real clunky prose when I’m revising plot and characterization. Then, damnit, I’m taking a break. Maybe writing a short story.

Newsletter exclusive!

Today’s installment is the weirdest question anyone asked me as a veterinarian. Whoever said there are no stupid questions, I get what you were trying to do, and I support it, but I’m sorry — I’ve had some real doozies. (Example: “Sometimes my cat sleeps, and other times she wants to play. Is that normal?” I am not exaggerating at all. That is an actual question someone asked me.) Anyway, this one didn’t happen in the course of my workday, but instead during a party. A Person I Know (PIK) opened with: Hey, Katie, I need to ask you a vet question.

This is most often followed by an inquiry into a complex medical or behavioral issue I couldn’t possibly solve in 15 minutes next to the cheese plate with the pet in question not even in the room, so I braced myself. (Spoiler: It was not that.)

PIK: So, I got chickens.

Me: Oh, I don’t know much about poultry medicine.

PIK: Nah, this is basic. We just have hens right now, but I want chicks, not just eggs.

Me: You’re right. I do know this one. You need a rooster.

PIK (rolling his eyes): Duh. That’s not my question.

Me: patiently waits for PIK to ask how to stop the theoretical rooster from crowing because everyone always wants to stop their roosters from crowing even though that’s like their whole schtick. 

PIK: What I want to know is this. Does he do it to the chicken? Or does he do it to the egg?

To this day, I do not know what PIK thought a rooster might “do” to an egg. Had they not seen eggs before? Eggs are quite hard!

I have blanked out how I responded, so astounded was I by this question and the vast chasm people in modern society have between themselves and their food. I probably just muttered “the chicken” and ran away.

Thank you for reading! You can always find links to my work here on my website. If you have any questions/thoughts on what I’m writing/reading/watching or there are topics you’d like to see me cover, leave a comment or drop me a line here!

💕 Katie