It’s I 8 Wednesday. Today I’m unraveling 8 reasons why being the youngest prepared me for publication. Birth order central served up with a platter of eight nuggets for you this fine Wednesday. I’m channeling Kevin Leman by digging into my cornucopia knowledge of birth order to detail how being the baby set me up for industry ingenuity.Yoo Hoo
I’m the youngest of four girls. Feelin’ for my dad now, aren’t you? (Sounding a little Irish now, aren’t I?) As the youngest, I had to brainstorm creative strategies in order to garner attention. I won’t even mention the time my older sister shined as one of three golden angels in the Christmas pageant while I dimly stood as one of twenty silver angels. I won’t even mention how I “fell” off the stage close to a dozen times. Yes, I was a weird kid. I’ve never denied this. But it was a pretty clever way to snare some attention, too, eh? Gives new meaning to fallen angel (ba dum dum).
I’m the youngest of four girls. Feelin’ for my dad now, aren’t you? (Sounding a little Irish now, aren’t I?) As the youngest, I had to brainstorm creative strategies in order to garner attention. I won’t even mention the time my older sister shined as one of three golden angels in the Christmas pageant while I dimly stood as one of twenty silver angels. I won’t even mention how I “fell” off the stage close to a dozen times. Yes, I was a weird kid. I’ve never denied this. But it was a pretty clever way to snare some attention, too, eh? Gives new meaning to fallen angel (ba dum dum).
In the writing industry I’m challenged to conjure up similar creativity when it comes to marketing, though now I do it without the drama or woe is me silver angel mentality.
Practicing Patience…Waiting for My Turn
Whether it was trailing behind as my sisters made a beeline to the bathroom, watching my sisters talk for hours on the phone with boyfriends, or eagerly awaiting my period (yeah, I know, what was I thinking?) I grew accustomed to waiting. It became a way of life.
Whether it was trailing behind as my sisters made a beeline to the bathroom, watching my sisters talk for hours on the phone with boyfriends, or eagerly awaiting my period (yeah, I know, what was I thinking?) I grew accustomed to waiting. It became a way of life.
And as anyone in the publishing industry knows, waiting = breathing. It’s just part of it.
Weight to Words
Because around our dinner table it was often difficult to get a word in, I made sure the words I said (or wrote in letters) counted. I knew I had three point six seconds to grab attention and keep it, so I truncated and gave the headlines as opposed to the entire news story as often as possible. My dad liked this. My husband likes this. Must be a guy thing, too.
Because around our dinner table it was often difficult to get a word in, I made sure the words I said (or wrote in letters) counted. I knew I had three point six seconds to grab attention and keep it, so I truncated and gave the headlines as opposed to the entire news story as often as possible. My dad liked this. My husband likes this. Must be a guy thing, too.
Editing is the art of truncation.
Sharing the Glory
When the igloo towered over our elementary school bodies, our folks applauded. When we performed elaborate play after play, our folks cheered. When we swam the lake in order to not have to wear life jackets in the boat, our parents celebrated (my sisters, not me because I never was able to swim the lake). Anyhoo…my point is in a big family it was rare to accomplish something, correction…anything alone. My sisters and I often worked together, learning the ins and outs of collaboration and receiving collective praise.
When the igloo towered over our elementary school bodies, our folks applauded. When we performed elaborate play after play, our folks cheered. When we swam the lake in order to not have to wear life jackets in the boat, our parents celebrated (my sisters, not me because I never was able to swim the lake). Anyhoo…my point is in a big family it was rare to accomplish something, correction…anything alone. My sisters and I often worked together, learning the ins and outs of collaboration and receiving collective praise.
I try to remember this as I witness my friends succeeding with book contracts and multiple book deals. By sharing their news with me, I tend to view it as though they are sharing the glory. Someday I intend to share with them.
Humble Bumble
I liked to dress up as Mia the bee—way beyond Halloween (if you've read Little Bee, think Batman costume). That story got passed around our Thanksgiving table crowded with guests. So did the one about me falling off the stage and the one about how I painted an Easter egg with the words Don’t Tease Jesus. Hmm…the psychology behind that one. Anyway, I got used to embarrassing stories about moi being dinnertime fodder. It takes a lot to embarrass me now.
I liked to dress up as Mia the bee—way beyond Halloween (if you've read Little Bee, think Batman costume). That story got passed around our Thanksgiving table crowded with guests. So did the one about me falling off the stage and the one about how I painted an Easter egg with the words Don’t Tease Jesus. Hmm…the psychology behind that one. Anyway, I got used to embarrassing stories about moi being dinnertime fodder. It takes a lot to embarrass me now.
Receive one rejection and you know how this one helps in the publishing world.
Hand Me Downs
I wore my sister’s dresses. In fact, my thirty-eight-year-old sister still sends me sneakers she’s gotten minimal use out of. The idea stuck I guess. I don’t have a “you owe me, must be me” sense of entitlement.
I wore my sister’s dresses. In fact, my thirty-eight-year-old sister still sends me sneakers she’s gotten minimal use out of. The idea stuck I guess. I don’t have a “you owe me, must be me” sense of entitlement.
You lose this pretty quickly when you walk around in hand me down tennis shoes as a thirty-six-year-old. Sort of brings it all into perspective. I’ll end up with the house I’m meant to be with. End of story.
Picked on—Tough Skin
I have calluses that would put a lumberjack’s to shame. My name wasn’t Wendy growing up, it was cry baby. At the first hint of a tear that name got slapped on me. In retrospect, I see why. I was good at crying. I knew how to get my feelings out. Really well. Ha! But I knew how to take the punches and this only inspired me to grow thicker skin. I still feel deeply, but I’ve well-learned what to let go of.
I have calluses that would put a lumberjack’s to shame. My name wasn’t Wendy growing up, it was cry baby. At the first hint of a tear that name got slapped on me. In retrospect, I see why. I was good at crying. I knew how to get my feelings out. Really well. Ha! But I knew how to take the punches and this only inspired me to grow thicker skin. I still feel deeply, but I’ve well-learned what to let go of.
Paying Attention & Taking NotesAs the youngest, I got the rare opportunity to tune in to see which behaviors and life choices worked for my sisters and which ones led them to rock bottom. I took copious mental notes about how I wanted to live my life.
I’m still doing this with those ahead of me on the publication highway. I’m watching. I’m observing. I’m taking notes. Learning every step of the way.
Have you ever given thought to how your birth order impacted your decision to pursue your choice profession and/or how it prepared you?
*photos of Paine girls
