Talk Time
The unmistakable buzz of bumble bees --running and flying half across the world to do their jobs only to day a few days after --can't stop coming out of my ass. With my latest fashion statement --bright yellow pants --and my black bra on underneath, I am a human bumble bee. Running, always running, from appointment to work to new jobs to homes.
Every day I have to go to the right house, find a car or way to tutor. then back home, then to clean, then to write. Buzz Buzz Buzz zipping from place to hoping to make it on time. But the one thing we forget, no matter the country, is talk time. The time it takes to get out of the house to a car --that is talk time. When the owner of the house spends an extra few minutes or so chatting about their weekends plans and you have to reply. Or when you run into a friend and you have to inquire how their life is going since seeing them maybe a month ago.
"I'll be there is half an hour," really should be "I'll get there within an hour." Making a simple sale requires the act of talking. Selling your name, your dream, hooking the buyer on something unique to them, and then only then making the deal and shaking hands. The time it takes for the light to change and the text message sent in between. Talk time.
Yesterday I attended my first Flash Fiction reading at the Mercury Cafe. My workshop leader, Nancy Stolman, was there and we finally met after a month of communication over a verity of devices. I went alone for the first time as well. Shortly after ordering a cup of coffee and barging in on a conversation to make sure I was in the right place, I was greeted by a woman who stole the spot next to me. We talked about our novels to which another gentleman joined to talk about his wife's book.
I told the man about my writing process --my first interview I could say --as he flipped through the pages. Then I was invited to join a table filled with Lighthouse members. I met the woman to whose blog I submitted to --she was shocked by my age. I also met a few more writers and told them about my journey to Lighthouse. They promised me I would get a reply from the head hancho soon.
Intermission swung around right after my reading. I promoted myself and the Makery Productions. During intermission, I finally talked to Nancy and then a man who was with her. I told him my story from start to finish --next post I promise. I handed out a few cards and a few emails were promised. Talk time.
Writers like ideas as Talk Time increases.
Every day I have to go to the right house, find a car or way to tutor. then back home, then to clean, then to write. Buzz Buzz Buzz zipping from place to hoping to make it on time. But the one thing we forget, no matter the country, is talk time. The time it takes to get out of the house to a car --that is talk time. When the owner of the house spends an extra few minutes or so chatting about their weekends plans and you have to reply. Or when you run into a friend and you have to inquire how their life is going since seeing them maybe a month ago.
"I'll be there is half an hour," really should be "I'll get there within an hour." Making a simple sale requires the act of talking. Selling your name, your dream, hooking the buyer on something unique to them, and then only then making the deal and shaking hands. The time it takes for the light to change and the text message sent in between. Talk time.
Yesterday I attended my first Flash Fiction reading at the Mercury Cafe. My workshop leader, Nancy Stolman, was there and we finally met after a month of communication over a verity of devices. I went alone for the first time as well. Shortly after ordering a cup of coffee and barging in on a conversation to make sure I was in the right place, I was greeted by a woman who stole the spot next to me. We talked about our novels to which another gentleman joined to talk about his wife's book.
I told the man about my writing process --my first interview I could say --as he flipped through the pages. Then I was invited to join a table filled with Lighthouse members. I met the woman to whose blog I submitted to --she was shocked by my age. I also met a few more writers and told them about my journey to Lighthouse. They promised me I would get a reply from the head hancho soon.
Intermission swung around right after my reading. I promoted myself and the Makery Productions. During intermission, I finally talked to Nancy and then a man who was with her. I told him my story from start to finish --next post I promise. I handed out a few cards and a few emails were promised. Talk time.
Writers like ideas as Talk Time increases.
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