A word on professional mistakes
A little while ago, I translated a book. I translated it in the good faith that it would be published by a certain publishing house that had (as far as I interpreted our dialogue) agreed to do so given I procure a printing cost grant of 1.200 €. I kept in touch (or assumed that what I was doing was keeping in touch) with them during the translating process via a third party. After I had applied to two institutions and successfully secured the printing cost grant they demanded, I turned directly to the publishers.
Now, however, it turned out that they were not interested any more, yes, that they had not been all that interested in the first place. Or so they said. They did actually turn against me, accusing me of passing them over when applying for the grant, and how dare I just apply for it by myself, when they needed other grants from the same grant-giving body for different and more important projects. They condescended, spoke of an unfortunate situation, and ultimately turned themselves into a professional body conniving at my unprofessional proceedings. It was a phone call, and I was taken aback because it went very differently from what I had been expecting. I found myself saying that, apparently, we had been talking past each other all the time and that the whole project seemed to have been based on a misunderstanding. I hung up, and felt bad. I felt bad because I had failed to see it coming, because I had proceeded in a way that seemed logical to me, but was found lacking, because I had been thrown off guard by their reaction and not even defended myself.
My mistake had not been to go ahead with my translation, to try and stay in touch with them, to apply for the grant. That, à mon humble avis, was perfectly fine – I have learned that (you could say that, after all, there is one thing I learned from being Maia Damianovic’s assistant), in the dog-eat-dog world of arts (as much as anywhere else), you will only get a neatly preserved specimen if you serve the taxidermist the head of the dead ice bear on a silver plate. So that’s what I did. The problem: The taxidermist did not feel like preparing ice bear today. Period. I felt like an idiot. It’s not that I am taking it personal – I have learned that professional criticism isn’t personal. It may not even be concerned with the actual work you have done. The taxidermists didn’t say that they didn’t like the head. What they disliked was that I had shot the ice bear in the first place, and carried its bloody head into their office. My mistake had been to assume that because we were all speaking German, we were actually speaking the same language. On my planet, ‘yes’ is not an ambiguous word. On the publishers’ planet, however, it seems to mean many things: ‘maybe.’ ‘yes.’ ‘no.’ ‘we will see.’ In my unfortunate case, it turned out to mean no. ‘No’ is not an ambiguous word. Neither on my planet nor on theirs. It means precisely what it sounds like: ‘No. Go home. We don’t want anything to do with that bloody head of an ice bear you should never have shot.’
Very well. I am one of those people who believe in the priceless educational value of mistakes. Since I have learned something new from this one, you could say that it was not for nothing:
No matter what you do, always get a written contract. Don’t rely on third parties; always contact your target person directly.
And now? Well, I will try again next time. Because that’s who I am: I learn. I smile. And I walk on.
...
"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." ...
(Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)
Now, however, it turned out that they were not interested any more, yes, that they had not been all that interested in the first place. Or so they said. They did actually turn against me, accusing me of passing them over when applying for the grant, and how dare I just apply for it by myself, when they needed other grants from the same grant-giving body for different and more important projects. They condescended, spoke of an unfortunate situation, and ultimately turned themselves into a professional body conniving at my unprofessional proceedings. It was a phone call, and I was taken aback because it went very differently from what I had been expecting. I found myself saying that, apparently, we had been talking past each other all the time and that the whole project seemed to have been based on a misunderstanding. I hung up, and felt bad. I felt bad because I had failed to see it coming, because I had proceeded in a way that seemed logical to me, but was found lacking, because I had been thrown off guard by their reaction and not even defended myself.
My mistake had not been to go ahead with my translation, to try and stay in touch with them, to apply for the grant. That, à mon humble avis, was perfectly fine – I have learned that (you could say that, after all, there is one thing I learned from being Maia Damianovic’s assistant), in the dog-eat-dog world of arts (as much as anywhere else), you will only get a neatly preserved specimen if you serve the taxidermist the head of the dead ice bear on a silver plate. So that’s what I did. The problem: The taxidermist did not feel like preparing ice bear today. Period. I felt like an idiot. It’s not that I am taking it personal – I have learned that professional criticism isn’t personal. It may not even be concerned with the actual work you have done. The taxidermists didn’t say that they didn’t like the head. What they disliked was that I had shot the ice bear in the first place, and carried its bloody head into their office. My mistake had been to assume that because we were all speaking German, we were actually speaking the same language. On my planet, ‘yes’ is not an ambiguous word. On the publishers’ planet, however, it seems to mean many things: ‘maybe.’ ‘yes.’ ‘no.’ ‘we will see.’ In my unfortunate case, it turned out to mean no. ‘No’ is not an ambiguous word. Neither on my planet nor on theirs. It means precisely what it sounds like: ‘No. Go home. We don’t want anything to do with that bloody head of an ice bear you should never have shot.’
Very well. I am one of those people who believe in the priceless educational value of mistakes. Since I have learned something new from this one, you could say that it was not for nothing:
No matter what you do, always get a written contract. Don’t rely on third parties; always contact your target person directly.
And now? Well, I will try again next time. Because that’s who I am: I learn. I smile. And I walk on.
...
"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." ...
(Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)
thisandthat - 10. Apr, 05:12


