Lessons from the animal kingdom

The Waterhole 

I was sitting cross-legged on a small patch of pokey dry grass. In front of me was a watering hole, to my right a lone giraffe methodically chewed at the green shoots of a tree. To my left was what I imagined inspired the game lodge's name: a vast expanse of the wide-open African bushveld, the golden thatch grass swayed gently in the light breeze and Akasia trees dotted the landscape. Hubby and I were taking a much needed holiday at Safari Plains, part of the greater Mabula reserve, just outside Bela-Bela. I should be feeling calm and relaxed.

Except, I wasn't...

I was anxious or maybe scared was a better word. I couldn’t settle to anything, and my stomach persisted in twisting in knots. With a sigh, I set aside the novel I'd been trying to read. I had reread the same paragraph about four times but had absolutely no idea what I'd read. 

The reason for my distress was that the moment I had been dreading since February 2020, had finally arrived – I’d handed my book manuscript over to my husband, Gerhard. I regarded him as my ultimate beta reader. According to Wikipedia, a beta reader is “… a test reader of an unreleased work of literature or other writing, who gives feedback from the point of view of an average reader to the author. A beta reader is not a professional and can therefore provide advice and comments on the opinions of an average reader.”

He had promised to read it for me whilst we were away. I knew that he had his reservations, my book would resuscitate trauma and sadness that we both preferred to forget. Nevertheless, in preparation, I’d popped into Postnet earlier in the week to have a copy printed and bound. I'd surrendered the bundle to him that morning and, unable to bear being in the same room whilst he read, had promptly bolted out of our tent-style chalet like a frightened rabbit. In search of tranquility and calm, I’d eventually settled next to the watering hole. 

I’ve known Gerhard since 2004, where we had worked together at Deloitte. I was only too well aware that his advice and comments are never average. He was unfailingly direct and honest and usually ended up being proven correct (much to my disgust on many occasions). Although I had drafted many reports for him in the past, this time was different. This was no factual findings report, it was far more personal than that. I had no idea what he would think of the (not so little) word monster I had dumped in his hands. 

My hubby is a man of few words - which took me a while to appreciate. I learned the hard way how to assess whether what I had written was awful, sort of ok, met, or exceeded expectations. At least, he remains ever consistent in how he delivers his feedback. There are typically four scenarios: 

1) If I presented him with something awful, I'd get a frown and a request to reassess what I'd put together. Basically, what I'd written was dreadful and I needed to start over...

2) If it was sort of ok, he would usually shake his head, ask me to email it to him, and then attempt to fix it. 

3) If it met expectations I'd usually get what I refer to as 'the nod'. Then he'd usually provide suggestions to improve. 

4) If I'd exceeded expectations, he'd give me the nod and tell me I'd done well.   

I was unable to stop worrying. At best I expected a shake of the head (sort of ok), although, in this instance, I'd definitely be the one doing the fixing...

In the preceding months, I had received reactions on sections of my book from a variety of beta readers. This was all part of the publishing process, each person I mentioned in my story needed to provide approval for me to include their name in my story. To date, none of the responses had been critical or even suggested my manuscript was terrible – on the contrary, most of the input had been positive. I shouldn't have been worried, but I was. I also know that one is not supposed to care so much what others think. Theoretically, I agreed with the sentiment. In this instance, I couldn't help but care. His opinion mattered to me, probably more than he realised. Particularly since I knew that the story wasn’t just mine, but ours. He remained an integral part of what I had written and my life in general. There was no way I was pushing the print button on my book unless he thought it was okay. So there I sat, freaking out more than a little, staring blankly into space, whilst a giraffe munched away nearby.

How do I get myself into these situations? 

Strong like an ant

I moved my flip-flop clad foot away from a rather scary looking ant and absently watched it struggle with a piece of grass about four times its size. I vaguely recalled that some ants can lift up to 50 times their own body weight. That meant that Mr Scary Ant had a good chance of moving his piece of grass to wherever it needed to be. Me on the other hand, well at that moment I didn't feel very strong at all ...

I shifted a little, my bum numb from sitting (more like hiding) for too long. I checked my watch, a little shocked to realise that I’d been sitting at the waterhole for over two hours. The giraffe paused her chewing and turned her head to stare at me with gentle brown eyes. I stared right back until she (or I think it was a ‘she’ anyway) decided I posed no threat and positioned her long limbs to drink some water.

I was also thirsty.

I hauled myself up and dusted off my jeans. Picking up my still unread novel, I made my way to the human watering hole (Also commonly referred to as the bar).

‘Hi Andrew!’ I greeted the cheerful barman.

‘Hi there! What can I get for you?’ He asked with a smile.

‘I’m thirsty, what do you suggest?’ I asked.

‘How about I make you a special ‘Andrew’ drink?’ He suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Err, okay.’ I nodded, hoping that there was alcohol in his proposed concoction. I needed a lot of 'dutch courage' before I entered our chalet again. I took a deep breath. 

‘Can you make it two please?’

‘Sure, no problem. Coming right up.’ He said over his shoulder, already mixing up a storm.

I tucked my book under my arm and picked up two very large glasses, they actually looked more like fishbowls. It appeared the ‘Andrew special' was an enormous amount of rainbow coloured, gin. Gin wasn’t necessarily my drink of choice, but there was definitely alcohol included, so I wasn’t about to complain. Shaking my head a little at the crazy situation I found myself in, I made my way along the dusty pathway to our chalet.

The husband was in exactly the same position I had left him. Lying on the bed, bound manuscript in hand focused intently on the words (my words) in front of him. I hovered at the door for a while, but he didn’t notice me.

‘Come on Zoë, cowboy up. At least he hasn’t nodded off (yet).’ I mumbled under my breath, forcing myself to enter the room. Outwardly calm, I deposited his colourful drink next to the bed and retreated to the veranda to sip on mine. A few minutes later, he appeared, book in one hand, fishbowl glass of rainbow gin in the other. Without a word, he parked himself next to me, and continued to read…

I covertly glanced at the words that I could see from where I was sitting. I had reviewed, edited, and read my manuscript so many times I knew exactly which chapter he was reading. Estimating that he was approximately 70% done, I checked my watch. Our game drive was scheduled to start at 16:30 – we had around 20 minutes before we were due to assemble with the other guests at reception. I realised that he wouldn't finish reading before the game drive, but I also knew he would have read enough to have formed some sort of opinion...

Trying not to freak out any further, I picked up my novel again - perhaps this time around I’d manage to at least get through one whole paragraph?

Just before 16:30, I closed my book (still no luck with my reading endeavours) and deposited it neatly on a small table inside the chalet. I gathered my camera equipment and a light jacket from the brown leather ottoman positioned at the end of the king sized bed.

‘Are you coming with?’ I asked from my position at the door. He was still reading…

‘Unh.’ He grunted in reply.

‘Get a move on then, we have 3 minutes to get to reception.’

‘Huh?’ he turned to look at me. ‘Yikes, ok. You go so long, tell them I’m on my way.’

‘You will not ask him what he thinks.’ I instruct myself firmly, as I waited for him to appear. Gerhard didn’t take long to arrive and clambered into his seat alongside me in the large dark green land cruiser.  We were soon on our way, the chitter-chatter of the guests helped a little to take my mind off my concerns over what the beta reader may be thinking. He looked pensive as he gazed out over the bushveld. I couldn’t read his face and eventually redirected my gaze to the scenery flashing past. The game ranger stopped a couple of times to allow us to take photos of zebra and waterbuck, and even provided an informative lecture on the importance of dung in the wild. Yes, we really had a lesson on poop! I listened with half an ear, I was still worrying…

I reigned in my thoughts and instead hauled out my bazooka to hook it up to the camera. My bazooka was a 500mm telescopic lens, with a Canon mount. It was heavy and it was huge - it weighed far more than my DSLR camera - but it facilitated good photos. Despite it being a pain in the backside to lug around, I never went on a game drive without it.

We drove under a bridge, and suddenly all conversation ceased...

Mr Lazybones and his entourage

On my side of the vehicle, perhaps 2 meters away, lay one very large yawning lion with a massive mane. Fortunately, I had my camera at the ready. I wasted no time in capturing, what I considered to be, some pretty cool photographs of the King of the Jungle. 

Yawning seemed to have exhausted him and in true lazybones fashion, once done he promptly flopped onto his side and fell asleep again (I behaved similarly in the mornings). Undeterred, the game ranger inched the vehicle a couple of metres down the road. It took me a while to realise that I had another prime view of a couple of lionesses lying in the long grass next to the road– they had just woken up.

My arm had started to shake from balancing the heavy lens (note to self: add extra weights to my cross-training programme). I ignored my complaining arm, photo opportunities of such magnificent animals didn’t come along every day.

Having woken up, the lionesses had a good stretch. I think one of them may have been allergic to humans since she also entertained us with a sneezing fit. The other lioness presented her back to us, contemplating the faraway horizon.

They eventually started a slow and methodical amble out of the tall grass, past our vehicle. I should add that the vehicle was open on all sides. Should one of the lions have fancied a snack, I would have been the closest hors d'oeuvre. Relieved when they didn’t even bother to glance in our direction, I turned my attention (and my lens) to the back of the land cruiser.  Mr Lazybones from earlier had bestirred himself and was strolling along in pursuit of his ladies.

I’d found a small hole in the canvas covering at the back of the vehicle, and balanced my lens through it. I had a front-row seat to the lion’s saunter along the road. 

‘When the lionesses move, the lion follows them. His role is to protect the pride. He conserves his energy so he can fight to defend them if necessary. The lionesses are in charge of hunting for food. Lions are some of the bravest hunters. I think they will probably be hungry by now, they haven’t eaten for a few days.’ The game ranger explained to his rapt audience.

I quickly changed a few camera settings, the sun had set and the light was fast disappearing. I managed to capture quite a few photographs as he sauntered past the vehicle. As I scrolled through the tiny thumbnail images on my camera, I wondered which was better. To be strong like an ant or brave like a lion? I decided that perhaps I needed to aspire to be a combination of both. Shaking my head at myself and my daft thoughts. I packed the camera away. The bushveld is making you crazier than usual, I thought to myself.

The verdict 

The game drive had helped take my mind off my concerns and I chatted away happily with Gerhard as we walked back to the chalet to freshen up before dinner.

After dinner, we armed ourselves with after-dinner drinks and settled in around an enormous bonfire. We were alone, and the fire cast dancing shadows far into the blackness of the plains. We sat in comfortable silence for a while. 

'It isn't what I thought it would be.' Gerhard eventually spoke.

'What? This place? No, I agree, It's much nicer than I thought it would be.'  I responded.

'No, not this place. Your book.' He swigged some of his brandy, his gaze still focused on the fire.

I bought myself some thinking time by also taking a sip of my own drink. My moment of reckoning had arrived, it was time to be brave.

'Oh?'

'I usually hate books like that, but I couldn't put it down.' He said softly.

'That's good?' I needed to be sure.

'Yes, it was good. You did well, it was nicely put together.'  He confirmed.

'Thanks' 

I swigged more of my drink. The outcome was far better and had been delivered far sooner than I had envisaged. 

'Is there anything you want me to change?' I eventually asked quietly. 

'One or two factual details to update, but nothing major.'

'Ok.' I said. The comfortable silence returned and I realised that my book had received both the nod and dare I say a fairly well-disguised compliment?  

I'd passed the last hurdle! His feedback had been the last thing standing between me and 'go to print.' Yes, there were still things that had to happen - proofreading, finalising the cover, other small changes to the text, but the main perceived obstacle had completely disappeared. I had no more excuses to hide behind. I was about to embark on one hell of a crazy adventure. 

The time had truly come for me to be strong like an ant and brave like a lion. I was about to release my very first book!

"Be brave. Be strong. Be fearless" ~ Unknown