The Incarnation of Love

In honor of Valentine's Day, or perhaps in protest of it, here's a little flash fiction piece I wrote a few years back. And by "fiction" I mean a version of this actually happened to me, which I suppose technically makes it flash memoir. Or something like that. Names have been changed to protect the people whose lives turned out exactly as I expected they would.

THE INCARNATION OF LOVE

As if it isn't miserable enough to be a twelve-year-old girl, add some jealousy and humiliation and you've got the makings of the worst Valentine's Day ever.

The year:1988, the object of my affection: a boy named Matt, part rebel and 100% flirt. In math class he would reach into a tiny Ziploc bag, pull out a miniature rubber band, and instead of slipping it onto his braces he would shoot it across the room. Right at me. From what I had been told about preteen boys, this act was a sign of affection. I would laugh, whisper a flirtatious, "Stop it" and smile inwardly.

He obviously loved me.

When Valentine's Day rolled around I took a chance and confessed my feelings via a student council carnation. My tiny act of adoration paled in comparison to what Matt did to show the world which girl he truly liked.

Spoiler alert: It wasn't me.

It was Kara, who had recently moved from Tennessee and had a sweet southern drawl and beautiful golden flecked hair. I had been one of her first friends when she arrived, but as we approached teenage-hood she began to pull away and associate herself with the popular crowd, destined to become a cheerleader in high school and date all the best looking jocks. Matt, of average attractiveness (a hunk by my standards), did not even blip on her radar. But that did not stop him from sending her a dozen red roses. Roses. That he ordered from a florist and had delivered to homeroom. Their appearance made a mockery of my single white carnation. And dashed any hope I had of Matt becoming my Valentine's Day sweetheart.

What a sad, sorry tale of woe. So what? Heartbreak happens all the time. But it didn’t end there. On a dare, Matt decided to eat my carnation. Chomped away at it during first period as if it were an ordinary breakfast sandwich. Did I mention he was a bit of a class clown? Oh, yes, the rubber bands. An act I had mistaken for affection, one that was carried out simply for a laugh. And there I sat, once again the butt of his joke. If that hadn't humiliated me enough, he proceeded to draw a flower onto a piece of notebook paper, staple it onto the last two inches of stem that hadn't ended up in his stomach, and place it on my desk. Desperate, I took it as a sign that maybe I did have a chance with him after all, and saved that pathetic spit covered stem for weeks. On the paper flower he had written, in scrawled boy handwriting, "Sorry I ate your flower. Love, Matt"

Love! I held onto that hope way past its expiration date.

Meanwhile, Kara threw her flowers in a nearby trash can, unwilling to give any indication that she returned Matt's affection. The path of rejection drew a straight line to her, the one with the most power. It taught me a valuable lesson in the hierarchy of love and showed that taking a risk does not always pay off.

As for Matt, he ended up in the hospital with stomach distress. Turns out the chemicals florists use to dye and preserve carnations make them inedible.

Love hurts, but karma is a beautiful thing.

The Levels of Rejection

Big news! My most recent submission got rejected! With a personal letter!! It was a pretty big deal really. It means that I am close. That someone out there who isn't a friend or family member obligated to like my work likes my work! The letter said that my piece was good but it needed a bit more development. That I should continue to submit as they were interested to read more of my stuff. WIN!!

Sometimes it's the little things, really. The baby steps.

I actually got rejected three times in one week. The first was for a flash fiction piece that I am really proud of but haven't found the right audience yet. The email came when we were visiting my sister-in-law, and I'll be honest here, it made me cry a little. But my husband, my sister-in-law and my best friend (via text) all told me I needed to keep pushing forward, that it took a lot of courage to get this far and I should be proud of that. The second rejection was the personal letter. It was for a short story I wrote back when I was teaching - as a model for the students. I've been tweaking it here and there and it is slowly taking on a more publishable shape. My writing group friends and critique partner agreed that the letter was good news, and I was reminded of Stephen King's advice in On Writing (if you haven't read the book - it's a great one!) that you need to take these sort of letters to heart. People in the publishing world know things. Listen to them. The third rejection was one I was already expecting, but came officially via form letter. Last fall I submitted a piece about our first adoption and how it changed my life. It was a real tear-jerker. Got both my parents to cry. But it didn't make the cut. It is a good piece, and I am hoping to find a home for it someplace else. The bottom line is that my writing will come across the desk of someone and if it doesn't speak to them, they will pass on it. But someday soon (and it has happened before - so I am hopeful) it will come across the desk of someone and it WILL speak to them.

My novel is nearly done. Once the first draft is finished I'll need to go back and revise, and I hope to get the opinions of some trusted readers (if you are interested - let me know!) along the way. Then the querying will begin. The sending out of my baby into the world to see if the professionals think it has a chance. I am both excited and terrified about this step. People are always posting good news online - securing an agent, getting a book deal, successfully self-publishing. Of course they don't post the bad news. The piles of rejections. The heartbreak. It's there. And I guess my advice for today is to look for the levels of rejection and try to find the positive. Advice from someone who generally sees the glass as half-empty, but who is trying to shift her perspective ever so slightly.

Winning isn't everything. Is it?

I have a confession to make: I like winning. A lot. And in the early parts of my life, winning came very easy to me. Contests, athletic events, even boys. If I set my sight on something (or someone) and focused all of my energy on achieving it, it almost always happened. My father says it is because I am lucky. My sister says it is because I am ultra-competitive. Me, well, I think it is because I just don't like to lose. It hurts to not get what you want, and if it is something you have been pushing and pushing for, the hurt is even more intense. Trust me. I have become very familiar with the feeling over the past few years as my career path took a careening drive off the side of a cliff. Then foolishly landed me in an industry ripe with rejection. One of my goals this year is to submit a piece of writing at least once each month, hoping in part that something will be published, but mostly so that I can start getting used to certain words and phrases. NO. Unfortunately. Sorry. It wasn't right for us. YOU LOSE. No matter how the rejection is sugar coated, that is what I hear in my head every time: YOU  LOSE. And it hurts. (See above.) My husband has said comforting things like, "You just need to stand up one time more than you get knocked down." Our pastor suggested wallpapering my den with rejection letters. I recently read that Steven King hung his on a nail until the weight became too much and he had to switch to a spike. It is part of the industry. Everyone knows that. But how do we toughen ourselves up for it? And how do we teach that skill to our children?

Things come easy to my oldest son. He is smart, cute and full of charisma. And thankfully, he has a very thick skin. Two years ago he entered a contest to win lunch with a visiting author. The students got raffle tickets for reading a certain number of minutes. Every ticket P earned went into the lunch with the author basket. Every day he came home telling me how excited he was to meet the author and ask him questions. Then he lost the raffle. Sadly, I was more devastated about it than he was. It was one of those moments when I am thankful he does not share any of my DNA. I would have moped for days, but P, he just shrugged it off and went on to tell me about the other fun activities they did during the author's visit. This past year he entered the cub scout's annual pinewood derby with a firm intent on winning first place in design (he already won fastest car in the 2013 race). His car was designed to look like a hammerhead shark, and sadly it was destroyed on the first run due to a weak spot near the wheels. In my husband's defense, he had tried to warn P about the possibility of instant destruction, but our son insisted it would be fine. There were no trophies this year. Last place for speed, and 4th place for design. P was disappointed, but again, not crushed. Just more determined to win next year.

There is a bit of controversy in the parenting world today about nurturing a child's self-esteem by giving everyone a "trophy of participation". I don't agree with that philosophy because in life no one is going to give you a reward for just showing up. You have to be the best, or at least better than other people trying to accomplish the same goal. Therefore, we celebrate winning at our house. Winning feels good, and there is nothing wrong with acknowledging that rush of adreniline you get when the thing you hoped for finally comes true. But we also try to work on losing gracefully. Whether it is a contest, a friendly game of Skip-Bo, or a life altering moment. That is what I work on daily. Losing gracefully, and not moping about or drowning in self-pity after each and every letter that starts with, "Unfortunately". For whatever reason, winning was not meant to be at that moment. And hopefully (says the trying-to-be-more-of-an-optimist), a better opportunity is waiting around the corner.