Update: Greetabl experience

This past fall, I gave Greetabl a go. You may have seen the post. Nobunny paid me to do it. I'm just a sucker for a good novelty item that:1.) can be gifted 2.) <$25 3.) that will not require me to scan the Target Dollar Spot for tiny giftable novelty items <$25 and end up fighting with cart munchkins for the last pair of Shopkins socks. Urrghgah!

I sent my friend Jeni a Just Because Greetabl because moving away from her has been hard on my heart and has left a wide gaping hole in my stomach where the muffins she used to deliver me used to be. After Jeni discovered that the Greetabl I sent her was in fact for her and not for her cousin who was re-routing her mail through Jeni's address (long story), she was quite delighted with her li'l bumblebee Greetabl with tea inside.

Since that maiden voyage, I've sent a Greetabl to my cousin Kore (it had Leslie Knope on it. Who wouldn't love it? Knopebody, that's who.) I also sent one to StepMom for Mother's Day and she loved it because of the personalized pictures of her with my kids. I even shared the love of the Greetabl with my friend Foxy who sent one to her new bosslady. Upon receiving of said Greetabl, Bosslady sent her this text that I found crazy charming:

Because I'm passionate about gifting and not committing an assault in Target in the act of gifting, and also about my friends being called beautiful humans for filling their bossladies' maws' with caramels, I think we should all send more Greetabls and here's 15% off to sweeten the deal!

P.S. Father's Day is upcoming and my old man will be most likely receiving one, too.

On Rejection

So far in 2018, my work has been rejected more than 30 times. More than 20 by literary or other magazines, 6 by literary agents, 1 by a graduate program.

When I got the rejection from the graduate program, I felt disappointed, confused, at peace, then markedly more confused, followed by a chaser of confusion and peace. And then I felt relief and I still feel relief coupled with a little bit of confusion. I think that's about the truest feeling I can describe upon being rejected. It's so rarely just one singular feeling that wraps around one's tender ego and that plugs up the heart from leaking out rejection tears. It's a little bit of this and a little bit of that unexpected other thing that mingle together in the rejection cocktail. Even when relationships didn't work out, this was my experience. A lot bit sad, a little bit relieved. A strong portion of UMMM WUT? and a slice of the OH GOOD, one fewer people to revolve my life around, hey? 

Rejection always stings not because it's a denial of one's work or one's companionship. It's a rejection of something one has chosen with which to be vulnerable. This is why self-preservation is such a powerful reflex for some of us. If we don't make ourselves vulnerable, we won't deal with rejection. Nor will we ever see our work published or experience deep love or anything that places our vulnerability at risk?

I decided that 2018 was going to be my year to aim for at least 104 rejections (2 for each week of the year). It's not enough to say I want to be published because publication is a moving target on quaaludes. If I play the rejection numbers game, it's like that old corndog adage about aiming for the moon but landing among the stars.

And my work has found a soft place to land in a couple of publications, and that has felt even better. Better than the sting of rejection is the feeling of acceptance. What they don't tell you about acceptance as a writer, though, is that it begins from within and it has to be a continuous renewal process. It's very difficult if not impossible to receive the acceptance of a publication and to really appreciate what it represents if you haven't accepted your own strengths and limitations as a writer, as an artist. I'm not so self-actualized that I can read things I wrote, like things I wrote two sentences ago, and don't want to find a nice cement mixer and fling myself underneath its direct pour. Fortunately, that feeling becomes more fleeting, though, the more vulnerable we make ourselves, the more practiced we become at receiving rejection and putting it in its place.

That's why I'm aiming for a year of rejections, because aiming for the moon still nets me some stars, and seeing the moon up close must be pretty cool, too. 

Can We Fat Talk?

Can you picture her? The girl in your same grade who constantly asked, "Do you think I look fat?" Maybe she was your best friend or the bane of your existence. Maybe she had the strong core of a ballerina or the strong calves of a star soccer player. Maybe she was rail thin or gorgeously curvy. The facts of her figure didn't matter. The resounding chorus of her being was the same, like a broken record, replaying the same few notes over and over. Am I fat Am I fat Does this make me look fat Do you think I look fat...

The chorus began to lose meaning, so diluted by its frequent play. The question became a rhetorical one that begged no answer. It was symptomatic of issues much deeper, but how to broach those?

***

I received an advance release copy of Rachel Simmons' Enough As She Is: How to Help Girls Move Beyond Impossible Standards of Success to Live Healthy, Happy, and Fulfilling Lives which just released in the last week. I've already delved into it and even though this book primarily offers guidance for parents of daughters, there is one chapter that has universal appeal for women.

The "Can We Fat Talk?" chapter is grounded in current research and offers a very sobering portrait of what a social media-saturated girlhood is like. I found myself highlighting and dog-earing just about every page. Simmons knows her stuff. But rather than simply painting a fearful portrait, the book also offers many helpful, actionable solutions for steering girls away from body shaming and toward a positive, holistic view of themselves at this moment in time.

In many ways, though, this chapter seems as though its audience could be any female readership. Fat Talk is a problem that begins in girlhood that we cannot seem to outgrow as women. Simmons writes that Fat Talk may feel like Friend Talk but it builds a bridge at the expense of putting down an individual. As women, too often we bond over one-upping (or one-downing?) each other on our body shaming. How many times have you been privy to two women gushing about how much they ate over the holidays or how lazy they were on a vacation? Maybe you were even participating in the conversation. It may have seemed innocuous, but is this the message we want to send girls? That the currency of true friendship is exchanged by putting one's physical self down?

***

Simmons visited my children's public school system earlier this year and her talk was very resonant, covering the same topics addressed in her book (bullying, social media, the pressure to be perfect).  She invited girls grades 2 and above to attend the talk. She was able to address the girls as well as their parents, speaking to both audiences in a way that was relevant but not preachy, funny but still heavy with the gravity of an important message. Many of the topics in Enough As She Is are geared toward parents guiding girls through the latter years of high school, but there is plenty relevant to parents of younger daughters. Moreover, so much of the message of modeling positivity and listening to our bodies and their unique needs is ageless, timeless.

Simmons' book is certainly a drink from the fire hydrant and I'm finding it may be a perennial go-to resource than a quickfire read. The complexity of issues and the depth of the research and guidance speak well to the complexity and depth of being female, though, and I would recommend it to anyone who is one or who cares about one.