The other day I went out to water my plants on the front porch, and unknowingly walked too close to a wasp’s nest. I didn’t touch it, bump it or even see it, but thirty seconds later I was covered in a dozen wasps, four of which stung me before I could retreat.
After the usual shrieking, swearing, and doing the dance of pain all around the front yard, I calmed down, made sure all the wasps were off me and went inside. First I dealt with the stings by applying peroxide and then a paste of water and baking soda (this works as well as the often-recommended meat tenderizer treatment.) I waited a few minutes to see if I was going to have a reaction – I’m sensitive to many kinds of insect venom – and then when it looked as if I was going to be okay, I grabbed the wasp spray, went out and got some well-deserved revenge. I admit, after I sprayed, I stomped on some of them for good measure.
Sting me on my own front porch when I never even breathed on your damn nest, I swear . . . .
My reaction was pretty typical, I think. No one enjoys being stung. I was minding my own business, doing my work and nothing else. I didn’t do anything to deliberately piss off those wasps, and I don’t think I deserved to get stung. They chose to come after me without provocation. Maybe my size or proximity scared them, but that’s no excuse. The world is filled with large, fearful things, and you have to learn to co-exist with them – otherwise, you’re going to get stomped.
In Publishing there are all manner of hidden wasp nests. If you plan to make writing a career you’re probably going to run into one along the way. Very often this happens for no good reason other than the fact that you’re just there. You got published when someone else didn’t. You’ve published more books and enjoyed more success than a colleague who believes they deserve it more. You write or say something that offends someone who is convinced that everyone should adhere to their belief system, and if they don’t, they must be punished. Even admirers can turn on you if you don’t respond to them as they think you should (and in the case of certain types of industry stalkers, they set themselves up for rejection, so it’s virtually impossible to avoid an attack.) Whatever triggers it, you rarely if ever see the Publishing wasps coming for you.
So what does a writer do after getting stung for no good reason?
Before you or I try to answer that question, consider this about my front porch experience: I know this is the season for wasp-nest building, and I know wasps are particularly pissy when in their building phase. I also know that every time I go outside I run the risk of being stung by something. I could have paid more attention to my surroundings and seen them coming before they got on me. And while it’s true that I wasn’t prepared to be attacked or stung, I knew how to treat the injuries and relieve the pain.
I also know that no matter how many wasps or wasps nests I destroy, there will always be wasps in the world – I can never get rid of all of them. Nor can I reasonably expect to go through life without ever getting stung.
I wish I could say I am such a forgiving person that I let the wasps live after I was stung, but I’m just not that noble. I had two purposes when I went out to eliminate the wasps and their nest on the front porch. The primary reason was definitely revenge: I was hurt and I wanted to hurt back. But the more important reason I got rid of the wasps is because they were on my property. My guy, my children and my pets walk through the front porch every day, and so does the UPS guy, the postal lady, and anyone who comes to knock on my front door. I didn’t want them getting stung, too.
Does this experience entitle me to go out into the world and become the Great Wasp Slayer of all time? Some people might think so, but I’m interested only in protecting me and my family. So all the wasps in all the world are safe from me – as long as they don’t try to set up house on my turf. Because this house is my little corner of the world, the place I love best, that I’ve worked very hard to build. The wasps just showed up; this isn’t their place, they didn’t build it and they’ve done nothing to earn it. And no wasp is going to take it away from me without a fight.
All things considered, do I have to like wasps? Nope. They serve no purpose in my life. They’re small, ugly, and they inflict a lot of pain. To my thinking, the only good wasp is a deceased one. At the same time, I accept that there are millions of wasps in the world, and that I have to live with them. I don’t go looking for them, and I don’t provoke them. I don’t ask to be stung. I’m willing to live and let live, as long as my boundaries are respected – and from my point of view, that’s as reasonable as it gets.
Co-existence, it’s a beautiful thing.
This is a poem I put on my author blog a few years ago. It comes from a sign on the wall of Shisu Bhavan, a Calcutta children’s home supported by the efforts of Mother Teresa. While it’s hard to accept, it’s something to strive for, especially after you’ve been stung:
People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.
If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.
Love them anyway.
The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.
People really need help but may attack you if you help them.
Help people anyway.
Give the world the best you have and you’ll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.
