February 20th, 2012

Rose-coloured reviews *Small Change* by Elizabeth Hay

Another book that I read along with everyone else in Canada a few years back is Late Nights on Air by Elizabeth Hay. And just like everyone else, I really enjoyed the novel–the exotic setting of the Canadian North, the real but somehow gentle characters, the fascination and nostalgia of the radio culture.

A few years later, though, I was completely blindsided by Hay’s work in The New Quarterly called The Last Poems. This story had sharply defined characters but a weirdly interior world of rage and psychology and love. I thought it was brilliant writing, far more insightful and memorable than even the novel I so admired.

I think Hay‘s short-story collection, Small Change comes from the same well of stories as The Last Poems–I even recognized some of the characters from the TNQ piece appearing briefly in this book. And these stories have the same brilliant intensity. I was completely immersed in and astounded by the first story in the collection, “The Friend.” In it, a protagonist with a husband and small daughter finds herself taken over by her new friend Maureen, a woman with a small child of her own, a problematic marriage, and a will towards pathos that allows no problems or indeed voices other than her own in the conversation.

*Small Change*’s back-cover bumpf says the collection “illuminates the changing seasons of friendship,” so I was expecting the stories to be linked only by theme–a sort of concept album-style collection, which is not exactly something I’ve seen before. But it turns out that the collection is also linked by protagonist–the same  not-quite-young woman appears in most of  the stories–though a few are in third or even second person, they are all about her. The second piece in the collection is actually still about her relationship with Maureen, sort of, and this former friend proves a touchstone throughout the book, though she is not actually onstage again.

There’s an incredible sense of insight into the worst kinds of human behaviours. “Hand Games” is the story of very little girls and their afterschool friendship that goes awry in a way that most of us will recognize, but I’ve never heard described so well–the power dynamic of refusing to play, of changing the game, of liking and then not liking. It’s persuasive and true and banal and utterly sad–a riveting story.

The problem with the book–or the problem with me that caused me to have a problem with the book–occurred to me about halfway through. In *Small Change,* all the friendships go awry, and they do so in a dramatic sad slide of envy and jealousy, boredom and insecurity, and quite often a desire to “win” encounters not so far removed from the story about the six-year-olds. I found the stories incredibly insightful about certain moments of intense emotions, but not awfully insightful about the rate of incidence of such moments in everyday life–for every friendship I’ve had that ended badly, I have lots that are still going strong, and a few that just kinda quietly drifted off. I don’t know any adults that bring a consistent level of drama to friendships–I really don’t.

When I found the statement, late in the book, “how difficult it is to have companionship without being encroached upon,” I felt like I had found the unifying philosophy of the book, and I didn’t agree with it. I find it easy and lovely to have friends, and I find most of them give more than they take. As a character study–a study of a woman struggling with her inability to keep friends over the long term–the book is perhaps perfectly realistic but deeply sad and finally hard for me to relate to. Each individual story was incredibly vivid, emotionally accessible and relatable, but taken in sum, the stories seem to come to the conclusion that  (I’m paraphrasing from the book itself) all friendships have an expiration date, like milk, and since friendships must end and it’s impossible to end them gently–chaos ensues.

I was so depressed by this book that I thought perhaps I read it too fast–sometimes when I do that, it’s like I’m living inside the text, becoming the characters. But my notes say it took me more than 10 days. Maybe the power of Hay’s writing is that it had me living inside it while reading only a few pages a day. I honestly don’t know what to say about this book–I think the artistic achievement of it is immense, but by the last page I was so miserable I can’t honestly say I liked it.

This is my second book for the 2012 To Be Read challenge.

February 14th, 2012

Be Nice to Everybody Day

I got over my Valentine’s Animosity years ago, and I’ve been liking it more and more. It’s a great day to be loving towards people you don’t always remember to treat that way–people in the grocery store, fellow highway drivers, the bus driver. Sure, why not do the traditional Valentine’s things (eat red foods and dessert with frosting on it), but also remember to extend the love beyond the warm glow of the people you’re generally nice to anyway. I do worry about our societal presumption that the people we won’t have to see again, we don’t have to be kind to.

I just realized that last year’s V-day post was almost verbatim this one, but with a quotation, so here’s one for this year:

“And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the light and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves.”

Guess what that’s from? Under Pressure by Queen–not sure how that bit connects with the rest of the song, but I think the isolated sentence is true–loving one person a lot should make me more generous, more caring, kinder, even to those far from the spotlight of romantic love. Definitely the best couples I know, the ones I know are terribly happy with each other, are also better for it in other ways, and they share their good fortune with those around them in their warmth and kindness. I hope my relationship is like that; I think it is. It’s certainly something to strive for.

February 12th, 2012

Buying Books–One Way to Support Authors

Occasionally folks say to me that they want to buy my book(s) to support me and ask what’s the best way to do that. It’s an interesting question–I never thought about it before I had a book of my own in the world. Of course, buying a book by *any* method is a lovely thing to do, but certainly not the only way to support an author. After the standard, “Of course you don’t *have* to buy my book, and if you are so kind as to want to, I’m not choosy as to method” disclaimer, here’s what I’ve come up with–I’ll be curious to know if other authors and book people have more/different thoughts.

Buy books directly from the author: Works for me! I mean, if I’m around, and I happen to have books on me, and you have cash–unlike a store, I can’t process plastic. Authors get books at a discount, so yes, we do make a little extra money on books we sell our own personal selves. But unless it’s a stated book-selling opportunity–like a reading–or you are actually in my house, this probably doesn’t actually work all that well as an exclusive book-buying policy–lots of won’t have books to sell unless you warn us in advance. But if you do–happy to help!

Buy books directly from the publisher: This is another good-but-occasionally-tricky idea. Not all publishers are set up for direct sales to individuals–check the website before you drop that cheque in the mail. But many are, and direct sales are great for them–the publisher gets to keep a larger percentage than from bookstore sales. There is no direct financial benefit to author from this sort of sale–we get the same royalty as normal–but most of us feel that’s what’s good for our publishers is good for us. And lots of eager customers clamouring to buy books from the publisher are a reminder of what a valuable little author they have in their hands. Some publishers will handle booksales at literary events in their general geographical area, but obviously this is limited by, well, geography.

Buy books from online retailers: Hey, you want to buy a book, I want you to do that–any way you feel comfortable with. But when I have options, online bookstores ones aren’t my favourites. Bookseller websites don’t handsell to other customers based on what they saw you buy; their algorithms just suggest further books that *you* might like. You can write reviews on these sites too, which is always a good way to support something you like. Each sale on certain sites makes your “ranking” on that site go up, but I think those rankings are only for author-ego purposes; I have never heard anyone say they bought a book because it was #10450 sales ranking on a given site. The financial aspects: publishers and in some cases writers (depends on the contract) take a smaller perecentage home from sales through the largest internet retailers than through other sales venues. Not that I want to dissaude anyone…just FYI.

Borrow it from the library: Another cocktail-party comment I get semi-occasionally is, “You must hate libraries–all those people reading your book for free.” Which is a crazy thing to say to someone who loves books and wants as many people to read them as possible, which is a description of many authors, and probably all of us who are playing the low-returns sweepstakes of literary writing. Libraries pay for the copies they buy, they talk up and promote books to readers, they host events, and they also support us through the Public Lending Right of Canada payments. Trust me, there aren’t many authors who don’t want you to use the library.

Buy books in bookstores, big or small: Books purchased from bookstores give authors a standard royalty, and sometimes publishers too, though some of the bigger stores charge extra fees for placement. However, bookstores sales can generate more bookstores sales in a way other sales can’t. If a book sells out in a given store quickly, they might make a larger order next time. With a larger pile of books, they might make it into a display or at least be more eye-catching on the shelf. The biggest thing, though, anyone in the book business will tell you, is handsales–booksellers talking about books with customers, make a real connection, and putting a book they think the customer will love into said customer’s hands.

Handselling happens more in small independent bookstores–where staff are likely to be true book people, or even just to be truly listening to what customers have to say. But I worked in a “big chain” store for a while, and I was always listening for customer opinions, if only because I couldn’t read every book myself. If a couple people bought the same book and said enthusiastic things about it, I definitely repeated that to other customers–and the guy who put in the orders.

I think reading a book–buying it, renting it, borrowing it–is always an act of support for an author, and I really don’t want to tell you how. But for those who insist they want to do something extra, walking into a store, asking for the book by name (even if you are pretty sure you know where to find it), and maybe even remarking to the salesperson how much you are looking forward to it–well, I think that’d be pretty amazing support.

I wonder what others think?

February 4th, 2012

Lit Live and Rowers Pub Reading Series

Just a quick note to remind you that I’m reading Sunday night in Hamilton at the Lit Live Reading Series and Monday night at the Rowers Pub Reading Series here in Toronto. Twould be lovely to see you at one or the other.

Happy weekend!!

January 29th, 2012

Rose-coloured reviews *Beatrice & Virgil* by Yann Martel

I was one of the many many people really who liked Yann Martel’s second novel, Life of Pi–I found it fascinating, completely engrossing, realistically weird, and warm-hearted. Though folks have since attempted to explain to me the ins and outs of the book’s symbolism, and though those explanations strike me as plausible, at the time I found it to be the most novelly of novels, completely consumed with its own characters and events, a world unto itself. I liked it very much.

I also liked Martel’s first, and less successful, novel, Self. I mean “less successful” in that fewer people read it than *Pi* (it feels like almost everyone in Canada read *Pi*) but also that it works less well as a book. There, the symbols and politics are much closer to the surface and the world seems a bit too much created for the reader’s benefit, but I was nevertheless interested in the characters and their lives. *Self* seemed an ambitious and adventurous experiment, and I wasn’t overmuch concerned that not every aspect worked out.

I have not read Martel’s first book, a collection of stories, but someone gave me his most recent, Beatrice & Virgil, and I decided to go with it. The novel starts with a frame story in which a novelist much like Martel but named Henry, who had great success with a novel about animals, much like *Life of Pi*, writes a new book that combines essay and novel in a single volume, both treating the Holocaust as their central theme. The Martel-like novelist is then totally shot down by his publisher, gives up writing, and moves to a new and unnamed city with his wife, Sarah.

There, with the financial success of his previous book allowing him to eschew the struggle to make a living, he abandons writing in favour of amateur theatrics, music lessons, work in a cafe, adopting pets, and answering his fan letters. One of these letters comes from a fellow writer also named Henry, who is working on a play but is stuck. He sends an excerpt from his play, a completely charming bit of dialogue where one character attempts to explain to the other what a pear is like. He also sends an exceptionally gory story about the murder of animals, by Flaubert.

From the return postmark, our Henry sees that the other one lives in the same city. For reasons that didn’t make complete sense to me, the protagonist answers his letter and decides to hand deliver it. He finds himself at an ornate (and ornately described) taxidermy shop, drawn into conversation with his correspondent.

On the one hand, I’m embarrassed that it has taken me so many words to describe this simple setup, but on the other hand, the novel could be seen as little more than what I’ve described above. The rest of the book consists mainly of descriptions of the taxidermy shop (I loved these until I hated them; they go on and on), dialogue with the taxidermist, and scenes from his play. The play, pear scene above notwithstanding, is a grim metafiction about two creatures–a howler monkey named Virgil and a donkey named Beatrice–who have endured horrific events perpetrated against animals in general and themselves in particular–trying to find a way to tell their story. They name the events “The Horrors” and compile a lists of ways to remember them.

Beatrice and Virgil are not exactly real to me, but Martel brings them into my head if not into life in a way that’s affecting. Affecting enough that at the terrifying end of their story, I turned my face from the page in genuine horror.

Michiko Kakutani’s NY Times review of this book makes much of Martel’s “derivative recycling” of Samuel Beckett’s *Waiting for Godot*, a play I think has enough spacious genius within it for many retellings (I’m glad Kakutani hasn’t read this). Martel’s characters have more obvious tenderness for each other (though I do believe Vladimir and Estragon love each other) but maybe the problem is that they aren’t different *enough* for some. I don’t know–because we only read snippets of the play, out of order and incomplete, I find it very hard to criticize these sections. Much as I liked them, it was hard to fully enter Beatrice and Virgil’s experiences, because of all the meta-y double-lensing.

I didn’t do much better understanding the life and experience of our protagonist, Henry. The literary blow from his publishers–and his confidence-bordering-on-cockiness beforehand–sets things up as a kind of satire. The book never goes farther with the satire than those opening chapters, but the depth–shallowness–of characterization would’ve worked with satire. We know little more of Henry than his hobbies–certainly not where his interests in animals and the Holocaust come from. His wife, Sarah has no character at all and indeed almost never seen. The only truly affecting scene in the Henry sections is the death of his pets–I found that devastating, though nothing in his human relationships touched me. I sense that that was, to some degree, the point.

I am not entirely certain what “a novel of ideas” is, but i think that this sort of demi-character–half reliant on what we already know of the author, half only a carrier of plot and opinion–might be a signifier of one. And in that, I do find *Beatrice and Virgil* lacking. I wished I’d cared as much about the human characters as about the animals or, failing that, that the human characters hadn’t been so a large percentage of the book.

I didn’t read the reviews when this book came out but I went back and read a few online in preparation for writing this one. One thing that surprised me is that no one mentioned another very strange, very meta-y novel about another novelist struggling in the shadow of an early bestseller, who also connects crimes against animals to the Holocaust. JM Coetzee’s *Elizabeth Costello* is, like Martel’s book, concerned with representation, though perhaps more with *what* than *how*. That book asks a lot of different questions, though, and comes at them from many angles, whereas I felt *B&V* was pretty much stuck on one. More importantly to an emotional reader like me, Elizabeth lived in my mind as a real person struggling with a hard matter, whereas Henry always seemed a construct to me.

I don’t think *Beatrice and Virgil* a failed book, just an incompletely successful one, like *Self.* The writing is deft and absorbing, the bits of the play sometimes truly lovely, and lots of white space on the pages ensured I finished the book well before I was tired. I liked this book, though the ending was horrific without making enough sense to me to think of it further in any meaningful way. I really don’t know what the final section, “Games for Gustav” was *for*, you know? And I do feel that loss, for I think this novel is above all for thinking about.

If you’ve read the book, you’ll know the inscription in my copy–“To Rebecca, May you never have to play Game #13, Yann Martel”–is not entirely friendly. I have never met Mr. Martel–the giver of the gift got this signature for me–so it’s not personal, but it does seem to be a kind of challenge, words offered by an author concerned with something very different than being liked. That, if nothing else, is courageous.

This is the first book of my 2012 Off  the Shelf Challenge.

January 27th, 2012

Mail Haul

Today my copies of Best Canadian Stories 2011 arrived, filled with exciting stories, including my own “Dream Big.” As if this weren’t enough, my contributor’s copies (and cheque) were part of an exceptionally nice mail haul, which also included a handwritten thank you note for Rosemary Sullivan’s lovely kids’ book Molito, a copy of The Fiddlehead, a set of wedding-invitation samples (terrifying), and a letter to someone who doesn’t live with us. There are a number of such individuals that regularly get mail (and phone calls) chez moi, but Cyril is my favourite, because every time I see his name I am afforded a happy memory of Cyril Sneer one of the best Canadian cartoon villains (not a tight race, perhaps) of all time.

And then when I got online, by google alert informed me of this review of *The Big Dream*on The Toronto Review of Books blog.

A day well-begun, I’d say!!

January 26th, 2012

Insane!!

Guess what I did tonight–had coffee with the director, producer, and star of an upcoming short film based on one of my stories. I had met the director and producer before, and they are lovely–creative, enthusiastic, and generous with their time (not every film-maker spends time getting to know the author of the work the script is based on, I don’t think). But the star I hadn’t met before, and it was a shock to me to meet someone who is going to embody one of my characters; who will briefly but genuinely become someone who previously only had life inside my head and, I hope, inside my readers’ heads. It was a strangely emotional moment for me.

Obviously, I think this is all fantastic–fantastic that I wrote something that other people related to so much that they want to re-create it in their own way, in their own medium. And there was no dissonance for me in meeting and talking to the actress–she looks just right to me, and I was fascinated to hear how she thinks about her work. Though I don’t know exactly how it will feel to see and hear her living the role, I can’t wait to find out.

But you can see how this would all be deeply weird for me, can’t you? I hugged everyone goodbye at the end of the night–movie people are good huggers, it turns out. And when I put my arms around the woman who will become this character, I couldn’t help but think, “She’s a real person!”

Wild.

January 22nd, 2012

Unlikable Characters

I’ve been working on a fairly grim new story. A few of my early readers, while they said good things about the story as a whole, were unhappy with the choices the characters made and, while they felt the choices and their results were honest and believeable, wished for better behaviour the fictional folk within the story.

No one has suggested I change these things necessarily, but they have wondered about how easy it’ll be to sell, pointing out that many people don’t like to read about unlikable characters.

It was a revelatory moment for me. People don’t like to read about characters they don’t like? Well, really? Yes, really–what sells a lot is, I suppose, more slanted towards the hero/villain market than the protagonist/antagonist one. Of course there’s always Macbeth, Wuthering Heights, anything by Martin Amis…but really, most of the time, yeah, likeable is what people like. I know this is true.

Huh.

But the other stuff, those other people with their bad behaviour, moral standards at variance to mine, bad spelling and poor table manners–fascinating! People I don’t like–I usually need to avoid sitting next to them on the bus lest they start making fun of my hair or expounding upon libertarianism. But in fiction, I can run through a logic that, while not mine, is *like* mine, and end up at fantastically different place. I am interested in thinking, reasoning, not particularly stupid people (stupid is too easy; it’s a one-word answer) that do things that I think are bad. To just say they are bad, and dismiss them with that other one-word answer, is to say it’s not worth trying to understand hate, or violence, or viciousness, or whatever.

Which is why I’m not interested in amorality–if you don’t know the difference between right and wrong, how can your choice to do wrong be an interesting one? There is a small but thriving genre of serial-killer thrillers written in part or entirely from the point of view of the killer, as he or she relishes the killing and never ever analyzes her choices. I read a few too many of these as part of a job I had, and consider them tantamount to snuff pornography; I certainly didn’t learn anything.

I am interested in immorality–people who do things I consider wrong because of an alternative version of morality or a view of extenuating circumstances or some other thing going on in their heads that makes the issue less than black and white. My objection to treating characters as villains in fiction is that limits the conversation to how others see these folks; we never see them as they see themselves. Because no one is ever not the hero of their own story, no matter how villainous they may seem from the outside. And I truly think no one thinks, or not for very long, “I am a bad person and what I am doing now has no moral justification.” I am interested in the justifications we all find for the compromises we make.

Which is why I am eager to read and write about people who behave in ways I find abhorrent, who forgive themselves for all of it, and never see the error of their ways–I want to know why, and how. Not all the time, of course–sometimes all I want is to read about is a sweet young book editor who can’t find some of her tax forms and eats too much chocolate, but at the end of the day is kind to her cat and her fiance and is rewarded for her efforts with a really nice new printer. I really hope someone is writing that book.

But other times, when I am feeling strong, I am looking for books that ask me to stretch beyond myself and my own petty concerns, and discover something I didn’t already know about the human condition, even if the new knowledge is uncomofortable or even unpleasant. I’m not saying my work does that…but I want it to. Isn’t that what fiction is for?

January 15th, 2012

What’s Going On

The Big Dream came out four months ago this coming Friday (yes, I do celebrate book birthdays) and it is still enjoying some nice attention. The Globe and Mail ran a very happy-making review on Saturday, and I have a number of events coming up. If you’re not sick of me/this book quite yet, I hope you’ll make it to one. And, as ever, if there isn’t event in your area and you wish there were, let me know–couldn’t hurt.

Hope to see your smiling faces at one of these! Drop me a line if you need more info.

January 12th, 2012

Never do anything that isn’t a verb

I’m going to be presenting at a careers evening at University of Toronto later this month (it’s not open to the public, I’m afraid, but if you’re a student there and want to attend, message me and I’ll send you the deets). I love talking about work, jobs, and careers (are those three different things or three synonyms–discuss!) and this is a chance for me to be even more opinionated than usual.

I’m warming up with a few blog posts (well, perhaps only 1, the way this month is going) about topics the organizers told me will probably come up. First up, the ever-alarming concept of Networking!

One of my least favourite compliments, the one that *always* seems backhanded and snarky, is “You’re such a good networker.” I usually take it to mean, “You effectively pretend to be nice but you really aren’t,” or somethine else similar and dreadful. Also, I sort of think I never “network”–because it’s not a verb, at least it didn’t used to be back in the good old days of rotary dial phones and yellow taxis. The Oxford Canadian now includes the verb form, but the definition I like best is the first one, “n. A group of interconnected or communicating things, people, or points.” Your personal network is all the people you know, and to network is (sigh) to try to expand that group.

I like getting to know and keeping in touch with a wide range of people. Such statements get a lot of eyerolls, especially in these modern times where knowing lots of people is supposed to get you fun friends, but jobs and power and global domination. I don’t know that I’ve had that much in the way of power and success, but it’s not like I haven’t had wonderful support and encouragement from people I know in the writing community, and it’s not like that hasn’t helped me.

So maybe saying I don’t network is just a dictionary game, and maybe I do know how to do this, at least a little. However, I’ve also noticed that people tend to take the need to “network” as license to be awful–glancing over your co-conversationalist’s shoulder for someone better, hijacking conversations with resume-lists of accomplishments, generally getting people to talk to you and then making them sorry they did.

People who are actually good at this stuff have told me that that’s the wrong way to do it, so for all I know, maybe my way is right even though I have not ended up ruling the universe. So here’s my most basic, at-least-won’t-make-things-worse advice on the networking thing:

Be super nice. Be warm and friendly. Start conversations with people who look lonely. Engage on topics they seem engaged by, ask questions, listen more than you talk, and remember what you’ve heard. Share your gum, give up your seat, pick up something someone else dropped. If you admire something someone did or said, say so; if you don’t, don’t say anything. If you think someone is doing something cool, ask them about it. If someone is looking for help or recruiting volunteers, say yes if you can. Show up to events when you are invited–whether it’s a birthday party, pub-band show, or a corporate soire, you have a better chance of meeting new people if you are there to meet them.

Be honest. Don’t feign interest in things you don’t like, don’t spend time with people you don’t enjoy, don’t pursue endeavours you hate. I totally think this is a kind of honesty. I have a policy about not spending time with anyone I know for a fact I don’t like–it’s a waste of everyone’s time, because the feeling is usually mutual, or it will become so when I “fake nice” someone for too long. The thing is, in order to get factual confirmation that I truly don’t like this person, I need to talk to them for a while. And actually engage and converse, not just nod and wait for them to wind down. And then, I have to do it again on a completely separate occasion, in case one of us was just having an off night the first time. After that, if this person really seems like a negative force, I avoid them, smile politely, offer a greeting or a quick question (how’s that tarantula?) when I have to and keep moving. There is simply no point in befriending people I don’t like–it’s no fun and, anyway, most people can tell (I can!)

This also goes for electronic networking. Sure, try a blog, Facebook, whatever you think is your ideal venue for succssful connections with other humans–but if you find you hate it, don’t continue, even if your boss/publisher/career advisor insists it’s an important part of your “brand.” At an online networking workshop I once attended (yeah, yeah) someone once said, “No one ever made a bestseller on Facebook.” These sites are tools like any others–useful when used properly, otherwise potentially damaging. If you can’t image how alienating a grudgingly written blog is–you probably need to research the endeavour more before you begin.

Work really hard. You can befriend everyone in the world, but if your work isn’t awesome, it doesn’t much matter. Always have something in progress that you love, so that if someone asks you about it you’ll be not only able but eager to talk about it. Be eager to do your best stuff even when there doesn’t seem to be enough money or glory (or any of either) to make it worth your while. The thing about networking is that you’re always doing it, even when you don’t want to be. Everyone *does* know everyone, including that boss that you consistently underperformed for, the volunteer team you quit, and the colleague you were rude to.

A big pitfall for folks entering a new field, especially creative ones, is to take internships or do pro bono work for the “resume credit,” then not do a great job because they’re not being paid. The work is still out there, though, representing you, even if you feel it doesn’t. I think if you can afford to, you should probably stop doing anything you don’t like well enough to do a good job–get out before it ruins your reputation.

Everyone’s not watching…unless you give’em something to watch. A neat thing that’s happened to me once or twice is to be standing around chatting with friends at a party, and have a Very Important Person cruise by and say, “Hey, Rebecca, how’s the new book [or some such] going?” Whomever I’m with is always really impressed with me and my successful networking, but it’s really the VIP who is good at it. The more you’re in the spotlight, I think, the more you learn to pay attention to those around you, to learn how to best work with people so you’ll get their best work, and to keep friendly relationships even with those you don’t work with–in case you ever might.

I realize this is an extra rose-coloured post–I hope it doesn’t come across as sappy. I know there are less ingenuous things you can do to expand your sea of connections, but I don’t really think they’re worth doing or thinking about. Besides if you network my way, even if you don’t advance your career, you still might make some friends.