It's almost Valentine's day, so romance is in the air. I'm trying to avoid the chocolate this year, so I'll focus on the love. My own love, in particular.
Love is a tricksy beast, hard to predict, fickle and cunning. When you're looking you can't seem to find her, and she sneaks up on you when you've given up. At least that's how she's treated me.
I'm constantly amazed at the coincidences and twists of fate that brought me where I am now, all the decisions that didn't seem that important at the time, but ended up changing the trajectory of my life.
One of these is Jimmy Buffett.
In the early 1990s, I went on a Honors trip. Basically, kids who were in the Honors Programs at various Kentucky universities all came together and travelled for a week, learning about the history and geography of our fine state. I'd been on one before and had a lovely time and jumped at the chance to go on another.
It was fun. We ate a lot, played pool in the rec rooms at different colleges, laughed, and talked and talked and talked. There was a boy there I made friends with. We connected over a book. We found out that his parents and my parents didn't live that far apart.
At the end of the trip, he invited me to go to a Jimmy Buffett concert with him. I was engaged to someone else, and we were both clear this was a "friends" thing, so I went. It was a wet and miserable night and I was pretty muddy by the end of it, but we had a great time.
It didn't seem like any big deal at the time. But that not-really-a-date laid the groundwork for our friendship to continue. Anytime I came into town to see my parents, I also saw this friend. We'd get coffee, see a movie, take a walk, and talk. Always we'd talk. He was so easy to talk to.
Fast forward twelve years, and we've both had our hearts broken by other people. I was divorced and moving back in with my parents to deal with the financial fallout. He was getting ready to go to grad school. For the first time in all those years of friendship, we were both single at the same time. And boom! There it was.
It's already been another decade since then. We're still happy. So, thanks, Jimmy. Laughing in the rain and singing about spongecake is, apparently, the start of something beautiful.
I love tickets, especially tickets to the theater.
And 2016 has been a great year for going to the theater so far.
There's something about a live performance, even a bad one, that resonates with me. Sure, I love the movies, but LIVE, in person is a one-time thing. No one on any other day will ever see exactly the show that I just saw, even if the same cast is in the same venue. It's like the moment when a dolphin leaps out of the sea. You only see it if you are there. No pause, no rewind.
My first show of 2016 was Ragtime by NC Theatre at Raleigh Memorial Auditorium. Groupon was selling inexpensive tickets on a day when I had a few dollars, so I snatched some up and dragged my husband off with me.
We were seated so close we could watch the actors sweat under the lights. It's really a rather awkward show, using a mechanic where the actors stop and soliloquize in third person about themselves to the audience. Oddly for a musical, there were no "catchy" songs. Though performances were solid and even, at times, stunning, there was no song I walked away remembering.
Our conversation over dinner afterwards though was about striking moments, and our curiosity about which elements were true to history and which were fictional. I admired the difficulty of the writing task to present such a story. My husband admired some of the staging decisions to highlight the contrasts between the different social groups represented. We talked about how the play might have accomplished the narration it needed less awkwardly. So, even a play I don't love brings me joy in the talking about it afterwards.
The second trip to the theater was Matilda at DPAC. We bought the youngest Bryant tickets as a holiday gift. She already loved the book. It's always exciting to see these local versions of the Broadway show, even if it makes me a little sad to imagine all these actors working so hard to recreate a performance first created by someone else instead of getting to make a character their own. But still, we loved the clever staging and several of the songs. I got the double-joy of discussing it with my daughter afterwards, talking about what changes they made from the book and whether those were effective or not. She might be my kid :-)
Not too long afterwards, I got a Shakespeare date! (Those tickets were my holiday gift from the hubby). We saw an experimental production of Twelfth Night by Filter Theatre at Reynolds Industries Theater. In a lot of ways, the show was fun, with audience interactive elements and improvisation. In other ways, it was tedious (like when a game they played with balls went on far too long) or just plain confusing (when they had one woman play both twins, making the identity mix-up more puzzling than amazing or comical). Because my husband and I are Shakespeare geeks, we've seen this play more than once together, so we got to talk about how this production compared to other ones we've seen on stage and screen, recounting favorite moments and how different actors and actresses interpreted the roles.
Then, a few days later we got to go the Carolina, one of my favorite venues. This time it was a family date, though the elder daughter had to back out at the last minute due to homework overload. Tao: Seventeen Samurai is a diverse and exciting show intermixing Taiko drumming with choreography, stagecraft, and creative costuming. At one point or another, each of us gasped with delight from the sheer spectacle and impressive feats of the performers.
The conversation in the car on the way home was all "did you see it when" recounting and our cheeks hurt from smiling.
So, three shows in three months, way above average for what my pocketbook will usually allow. The eldest got some theater as well, seeing The Cabaret talent show her school put on and a high school production of Beauty and the Beast in which a friend played Belle.
Each show is a treasure in its own right, a moment in time, shared with those you brought with you and those who just also showed up. Someday, when I'm fabulously wealthy, I'll go to every show in my area. It's wonderful living in the twenty-first century, a time when performers from all around the world can come to my corner of the planet and let me watch them work. Lucky, lucky girl!
As I always tell my students, No hablo deportes. (I don't speak sports). In general, my policy on sports is that if my daughters are not playing, I don't care.
My husband, however, does speak sports. He's not a die-hard, face-painting tail-gater, but he does enjoy a bit of football. Especially when his alma mater, UNC, plays.
So, when UNC had a teacher appreciation deal, I bought tickets to the game today vs. Virginia Tech for the Sweetman. I figured I would enjoy some nice fall weather, some people watching, and some junk food while he enjoyed the game.
So, we set off for the game. We looked for parking downtown, but, of course, couldn't find any. We'd waited until too near game time for that. We did find a lot of rich people. You can tell them by the type of baby gear they use, their shoes and their haircuts. Even when they are wearing basic UNC clothing, like any fan, they have the most expensive items from the shops. It also shows in the way they assume that their own comfort and ease is more important than the safety and wellbeing of others. (Sorry if the chip on my shoulder is showing). That was probably our first clue that we didn't belong there. Obviously, these events are for Socs, not Greasers like us.
If we had found parking, it would have cost us $20-$40 depending on which lot we let gouge us. Most of the time, when we go to Franklin Street for a little fun, we spend $4-6 on parking. We considered the park and ride, but then realized that even that would cost us $10, plus a lot of time in waiting for a ride back to our car, which adds to the babysitting costs.
Now, if I had not gotten a special deal, those tickets would have been $120. That's a cash outlay not that different than a night at the theater. I don't know about your family budget, but that's a chunk of change in ours. And, when I go to the theater, I get a place to park along with my ticket. If there's a charge, it's more like $5.
Everyone has their thing they hate to pay for, and one of ours is parking. Driving among all the rich people and calculating how much we were going to have to spend to park and eat, we were both getting a little grumpy. Sweetman was getting that tense look that had him hunching around the steering wheel. I was hoping he'd feel better when we finally got to the game.
But he surprised me by asking how I'd feel about giving up the money I'd spent on the tickets and doing something else instead.
So, instead, we went out to lunch at a place we'd been meaning to try (far enough away from campus that we could park there). Then, we went to NC Botanical Gardens, where we hadn't been in a long time. We sat and talked, admired beautiful plants. Then, we went to our favorite game shop and the game Sweetman had been stalking was in! Then we did a bit of practical shopping at Target, got a milkshake, and did the grocery shopping. That's what we call a married parents date. Way better than football. :-)
Trying to get traditionally published is like dating.
You find a likely prospect. He says something flattering about the shape of your line. On the surface he looks pretty good. He's got a handsome veneer, a nice cover and an attractive website. You get a good feeling when he smiles at you. Kind of tingly.
But you've been burned before, so you do a bit of research, asking friends what they think of him, googling him. You check warning sites like Writer Beware and Preditors and Editors so you know it if he has a history of abuse or dishonesty.
Then, you dive in. You share your heart and hope it doesn't get broken.
In that same vein, having your writing rejected is a lot like being dumped.
You put yourself out there, but for some reason it doesn't click. Maybe it's mutual and you feel a sense of having dodged a bullet.
More likely, you are hurt. You overanalyze, trying to understand why he dumped you. Were you lacking in some way? Was it him? Only rarely does the Dear John letter tell you anything other than "not what we're looking for right now," so you might not ever know why.
When you dish with your girlfriends, you talk about the other fish in the sea, and how it's his loss. You let them cheer you, even if part of you thinks it might be you.
But you're still looking for love, so you decide to try again. In secret, you work to make yourself that much better. You work out, lifting heavy verbs and sculpting careful sentences. You polish your craft and try new things; you stretch yourself and grow.
You do the dance many times before you find the one. Sometimes, it's hard to put yourself out there again. You have to fight cynicism and despair and keep hoping. But you're tough. You're a believer. You persevere.
Then you find him. And it's wonderful. You find that audience you've sought for so long. Or maybe it isn't exactly the way you imagined, but it's still lovely in its way.
But you don't just get married and ride off into the sunset together. The right publisher for one piece is not right for another. You'll need more than one beau to escort you to all the balls you want to attend. So, even when you've found a beau you have to keep dating.
If you're lucky, some of those beaus remain in your corner your whole life. Others turn out to have been fleeting romances, and they end, sweetly or angrily. But you go on.
Because there are a lot of fish in the sea. And you're going to catch a big one. I know it.
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This posting is part of the Insecure Writers Support Group blog hop. To check out other posts by writers in a variety of places in their careers, check out the participant list. This group is one of the most open and supportive groups of people I have ever been associated with. You should check them out!
I give permission for IWSG to use this post in the anthology.
This week, I'm participating in "February with a Twist" a project +Becket Moorby has organized through the +Flash Fiction Project
on Google+. These pieces are supposed to feature a twist of some kind.
This picture made me very happy to think on, puts in the hometown of my heart, Nome, Alaska. Part of me will always live there. And I miss my sled dog.
Image courtesy of Jamie in Bytown via attribution license on Flickr Creative Commons (Attribution Link)
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It was the modern equivalent of a mail-order bride, Susan's horrified mother had claimed. But, then, trying the same thing again and expecting different results was the definition of insanity, wasn't it? And she had tried it all. Speed dating. Match.com. Church groups. Letting friends set her up on the basis of her "nice personality."
So what if he lived in Alaska. It was just another place, wasn't it? Maybe it would be better than here. Susan liked what he'd had to say in his emails and over the phone. His picture was probably an honest one. It matched the age he claimed and wasn't too handsome to be believed. She'd sent an honest photo herself and he hadn't backed away.
What was that saying about Alaskan men? The odds are good, but the goods are odd. She could do with some good odds, even at the price of odd goods. And Michael seemed less odd, at least over the phone, than many of the friends-of-friends she'd spent awkward evenings with over the past ten years.
So, she'd bought the plane ticket and taken the trip. She pushed down all the thoughts about the worst that could happen and tried to find her adventurer's spirit. No one thought this was a good idea.
She'd done her best to prepare, but she knew as soon as she stepped off the plane that the gear she bought in Ohio wasn't going to cut it. He was thoughtful though. He had a pair of bunny boots and some real gear waiting in his truck. He'd shown her the guest room in his small, but well-kept home, then walked her out to the dog kennels.
He seemed really happy when she asked if she could go for a ride. Susan had a good feeling about this one. This could be the ride of her life.
This week, I'm participating in "February with a Twist" a project +Becket Moorby has organized through the +Flash Fiction Project
on Google+. These pieces are supposed to feature a twist of some kind. Thanks for reading!
She staged the scene so carefully. She wasn't very good at this really, but she wanted to try to make something nice, hoping for a bit of luck. One red rose lying on the table, champagne icing in the snowbank just outside the door, soft sultry music playing low enough that they'd be able to talk. Her dress wasn't new, but it still looked new and he'd never seen her wear it before. It was soft and feminine. It fit her well, emphasizing the smallness of her waist compared to the fullness of her hips. She felt pretty. It was about as perfect as she could afford.
If he had only come to the door with a paper heart-shaped box of chocolates and a smile, it might have ended differently. She didn't really think it would have been happily ever after, but it might have been a very nice evening. There could have been kisses and that happy breathless feeling and resistance overcome without too much struggle. He'd have gotten lucky. There could have been laughter over small buttons. Some good times to remember later, when things turned bad.
Of course, he'd arrived drunk and laughed at her not-really-champagne in its golden paper. Just her luck. He'd smelled of smoke and sweat and something greasy. His shirt was stained. The good looking ones were always so awful. He said she looked like a Sunday school teacher in her dress.
With any luck, when the ambulance arrived, she could sell the story of his sliding in a wet spot on the floor and hitting his head on the coffee table. With any luck, no one would notice that the dent in his head matched the bottom of the bottle she was drinking from now.
This week, I'm participating in the Flash Fiction Project founded by +Becket Moorby.
Each day, there's an image for inspiration and we all write a piece.
I'm excited about participating just for the promise that I will,
indeed, write something every day.
It had been an excellent dinner full of light banter and flirtation. She'd been pleased to find that the step between "friend" and "date" hadn't been as awkward as she'd feared. She could still eat in front of him like a normal person and laugh at her lack of grace with chopsticks. He still ducked his head when he said something witty, just as he always had in all the years of their friendship. If anything, it was less awkward now. They could acknowledge the subtext. It was the first time they had both been free at the same time.
After dinner, they decided to walk a bit. He offered his hand, and she took it, pleased at the way her fingers fit into his. His hands were very warm. Hers were usually cold. It was nice. It felt so easy. It scared her at little. Love had never been easy. She worried there would be a catch.
He suggested a direction leading to an overlook, a view of the city below. She wondered if he was staging a kiss. She hoped he was. She knew him to be a man of romantic gestures, a man who thinks about things like lighting and ambiance, who holds snapshots of memory in the deep pockets of his heart. She giggled a little nervously.
He began to swing her arm, like they were children skipping together. She laughed again and, looking up into his face felt a lurch, a tug somewhere in the depths of her. It was then that she tripped. He followed her a step later, stepping into the same hole. Somehow they didn't end up on the ground, but standing holding each other's arms for support. The world stopped and they breathed together, still giddy.
If this had been a movie, they would have kissed there. But, this is real life, and they both felt suddenly shy, so they linked elbows and walked around the hole in the sidewalk together, to the overlook. Standing, looking at the lights of the city and its bridges below them, she slid her hand around his waist in an easy way, as if she'd always known how to fit their bodies together. "You think that's why they call it falling in love?" she quipped. He laughed. And that was when he kissed her.
This week, I'm participating in the Flash Fiction Project founded by +Becket Moorby.
Each day, there's an image for inspiration and we all write a piece.
I'm excited about participating just for the promise that I will,
indeed, write something every day.
It had been a very good party indeed. Ralph was a little wobbly, so Ted and Dan decided to walk him home. Ted promised to pick him up in the morning and get him back to his car.
Ralph walked with his head down, watching his feet. He had not dressed for a cold snowy walk and regretted now his shiny shoes with the slick bottoms and the absence of a hat. Even a ballcap like Dan's would at least have kept the snowflakes from obscuring his glasses. Ted's dorky anorak now seemed much less dorky. Ted wasn't freezing his ass off because his coat actually repelled the moisture.
But Ralph had hoped to make an impression on Jenn, who worked at his office. so, he'd worn the dressy coat an ex-girlfriend had told him made him look like he came from money. Not very warm. Not very practical. But quite nice looking. Of course, he hadn't even been wearing the jacket when he saw Jenn, so he probably could have worn his usual barn coat and been more comfortable now.
Between the alcohol and the snow, Ralph was finding the walk a little too 3-D for his taste. So he trusted to his friends to steer him true and let his thoughts wander back to Jenn. She was very pretty, but not in that untouchable, over the top way. He hoped she wasn't out of his league. She'd looked lovely in the soft white sweater and grey skirt. He'd told her so and she had smiled. He wondered now if commenting too specifically on the sweater put off a gay vibe. But it seemed too pushy to comment on her body directly. It was so hard to make sure you made the right kind of impression.
Ted grabbed Ralph's arm at the corner, stopping him from wandering out in front of delivery truck that was taking the corner a little too tightly. They were just across the street from his apartment now.
Ralph thanked his friends and turned to salute them after he got the door unlocked. He had just closed the door behind him when his cell phone rang. "Hello? Oh! Hello, Jenn!"
