Over the past month, I've been approached by a few people for help on different matters. Some with regard to writing, others with regard to stuff that has nothing to do with writing. Which adds a nice variety to my day.

So I helped out. Did my bit for king and country. And waited for the rave reviews to arrive. A few filtered in slowly, but in one case I didn't even receive any acknowledgement at all.

That made a me a little cranky. Okay, a whole lot of cranky. (The DH has been living on the driveway the past few days.) So I've eaten a few bags of chips and looked over my email, wondering what the heck I did to deserve the silent treatment.

Shit, maybe the helpee was dead. Or on the lam. Or in a coma. Or their computer went all henky. I even considered contacting the person who referred me so that I could send them a piece of my mind. In triplicate.

Then I had a Dr. Phil moment. Put a southern accent on any problem you're experiencing and it all seems to sort itself out.

"Giving without expectations is key," his voice echoed in my head.

And although I hate it when he's right, I had to agree with the man. Had I just handed over the advice with the intention to help and not to appear like a hero, I probably wouldn't be sitting here feeling my blood pressure elevate over a silly little absence of etiquette.

It smarts anyway. But that's what learning's all about. Even long after high school is over. Now I just need to walk off these nachos.