Keep grumpy letters coming

I never thought I would enjoy receiving hate mail, but I do. Hate mail indicates that somebody, somewhere, not only reads my column but the words I write are irritating enough for them to respond. Perhaps hate mail is too intense a term for some of the letters I have received. Actually it is more like grumpy mail than actual hate mail. I guess I’m not controversial enough to inspire true hate.

My love affair with this type of feedback started in my second journalism class at Ball State University. Our instructor, Fred Woodress, had invited a local reporter to speak to the class. The petite blonde spoke of what it was like to work for an area newspaper. Since that was the career choice most of us were actively exploring we listened intently.

After talking about how she spent her days and various other aspects of her job, she said something that none of us believed at the time. She said she loves getting hate mail! Her reasoning was that if someone felt strongly enough to respond to something she had written it meant that they were actually reading her articles.

Every student in the class looked at her as if she was crazy. Most of us cringed at the thought of receiving less than a perfect grade on a paper. We were sure that if we ever received mail that criticized something we had written, we would be forced to consider another career or at the very least go hide in a cave forever.

We were wrong.

I never know if anybody reads what I write. I assume that nobody cares what my opinions are or that every morning my cat throws herself against the bathroom door until it finally swings open. Therefore, I am constantly surprised when someone comments on something I have written. It doesn’t matter if they call me at home or work, stop me on the street or send me letters about their own experiences, I’ll take all the feedback I can get.

I know of at least three cats that have found new homes because of something or other that appeared in one of my columns. I have had people comment that they thought they were the only ones to feel a certain way until they read that I felt that way also. I have had people try to convert me, and strangers come up to my door and refer to something I wrote months and months ago. I find it a bit disconcerting to realize that people know where I live, but that is the price I pay for residing in a small town.

I can’t think of anything I like better than to have someone say that something I wrote made them laugh or to read that they have sent one of my columns to a friend. That is the ultimate pat on the back.

Hate mail and grumpy mail is a bit of a left-handed compliment. The writer wants to be me, or maybe just to have my job. The thought that anyone wants to do what I do boggles my mind. I think if they really want to write, there is nothing I can do to stop them. And I am truly baffled to think that anyone but us wants a cat that mutters to herself all day long.

When I was a young girl I was a big fan of a columnist named Marj Heyduck. Is that a great name or what? She wrote about ordinary things and lived in the town where we bought our groceries. I used to long for that kind of life as my childhood was anything but dull and less than ideal. Now I am the one who writes about ordinary things in an effort to show some unknown person that life won’t be awful forever. Things change.

Even if what I write is not of “great interest to area readers” it obviously interests enough people that they take time out of their busy days to contact me. Since I get mostly positive reactions it makes the grumpy mail that much more special, so keep those letters coming. I cherish them all.[[In-content Ad]]