Bless My Heart

“Would you like a cup of tea?” It’s a question that was asked, seemingly every few hours, while visiting my beau’s family in Ireland. During our travels through Europe, tea and pastry shops were everywhere. As he and I walked along busy streets in London, Dublin, or Edinburgh, a café that offered warm tea would greet us every few feet. And I understand it now, this devotion to warmth. It’s cold most of the time in many Western European countries, with overcast skies that drizzle rain and produce a wind seemingly forged to blow right through to the bone. There are many different types of teas: Chamomile, Earl Grey, jasmine, and so forth. But there are far more varieties of something else … People. People with different interests. A few weeks ago, I briefly spoke with a young woman (a fellow self-startup author), probably in her late teens or early twenties, about what printing physical editions of my novel might entail. This exchange happened at an anime convention, where the average patron seemed to be between twelve and twenty-five years old, female, and predominantly gay. I had stopped to browse through her display booth, which featured her own self-published anime inspired romance novels. I “briefly spoke” with her, because when she asked me what my book was about, by only the third or fourth word of my description, she had already visibly tuned out. All it took was the mention of a main character with a terminal illness and a gay male character. That’s it. Her face went slack and cold. As she stood there politely, I swiftly wrapped the conversation up with the understanding that A) The bit of information to take away from meeting her solely rested with Kindle Direct Publishing and B) there are different strokes for different folks. I was already aware of the second point, but the conversation, albeit short, reaffirmed the notion. Maybe it was a good thing to reach that conclusion on my own again. I don’t know. I’m not complaining (well, maybe I am). It was a spur-of-the-moment exchange. Simply put, our interests were completely different, and aside from being gay and somehow forging a path to self-publishing, we likely shared zero life experiences. I imagine that we would each rather opt for a root canal than sit through the drudgery of one another’s work. She didn’t know Emily Bronte from a ham sandwich. Conversely, at nearly forty years of age, I barely know Pikachu from Eevee. However, I can’t help but wish for more camaraderie amongst fellow artists. I noticed this disparity while attending art school as well. And I know … I know… I can hear the voice of my beau (or, as I call him, Babycakes), putting the polite-yet-sassy Southern charm on with an impromptu: “Oh, honey … bless your heart.” Yes, I know. It’s the way of the world and we each have our own self-interests. Some of us take our tea cold. Some prefer Earl Grey at breakfast. Others skip the tea altogether and have a nightcap of bourbon just before bedtime. As for myself, personally, I’m starting to skip straight to the bourbon nightcap and wish for a little something extra. A little more warmth, despite differences.