How do we contain our emotions when troubles leak into our lives…

I went in the “red zone” today. I had a brief temper tantrum with the company who is publishing my teacher memoir book (Red Pens, Blue Screens).

I finished writing it four months ago, and then I turned it over to them to edit it, do the layout, make the cover (which I specifically detailed and designed already), and print out hard copies. A number of readers have already agreed to write pre-launch reviews of the book, and I have an entire language school planning a field trip to my launch event at Barnes and Noble. All systems go….ready for take off.

And then they sent me the PDF of the final draft, the 15th one that has been “corrected.”

There are more, not less, mistakes than in the 14th draft. Th one I explicitly told them which page each mistake was on.

So I texted one of the agents who is my usual contact person:

Here it is-

John,

The corrections that have been made are much worse now than the original.

Frankly, I’m not convinced that anyone up there knows anything about writing.

I don’t even know how to begin.

I’m writing yet another time-consuming email detailing all of the FRESH, NEW mistakes. 

I am regretting not publishing this damn book myself.

I don’t know how anything could get worse than this…. at this point.

It’s like we don’t even speak the same language.

Ok. I know I should have waited, and I should have gotten control over my tone and composure. I usually try pretty hard to be tactful.

Dad’s Red Zone Warnings

When I was a kid, I was prone to have tantrums. My dad told me that they were like the “red zone” on his electrical meter when the voltage was too high for the machine or the device. He would say,

“Audrey, do not go into the red zone.”

All these years later, my dad’s sage but brief advice sticks with me. Today, he would have disagreed with my reactive text.

I sent a follow-up email that was much more tone appropriate, but still packed a punch. I told them that my next step would be to hire out another editor. And this is after they called me at least thirty times begging me to sign with them, all the way back in August of 2025.

The result of my text and email was a phone call (almost immediately) promising they would “fix everything and have it ready tomorrow. We promise.”

We shall see.

Maybe composure isn’t about never entering the red zone.

Maybe it’s about recognizing it before you stay there too long.

As for tomorrow, I’ll need to keep that internal meter close by—so I know when it’s time to step back out of the red.