Another one bites the dust

I got another rejection last week from Cosmo. Waiting for Latina Mag to get back to me. I'm also starting to consider the international section of Semana magazine.

Hi Carolina,
I finally got word on the essay. Everyone liked it, but ultimately the eic felt it was missing a sense of urgency or high stakes. I was disappointed—I thought it would have been great.
I’m sure you can place it somewhere else, however. Thanks again for the submission, and if you ever have other ideas, please let me know.
Ky

"I have to say, what a beautiful dress. When you got on the train, you looked absolutely gorgeous."
"Why, thank you."
"Are you pregnant?"
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No. It's okay."

And rejection no. 2 comes from Psychology Today. I'm going to rework before sending it to the Washington Post.

Hi Carolina,
Thanks for sending us your essay and I'm glad you enjoyed the happiness profiles.
I'm afraid the essay doesn't work for us. It's interesting as a story about a very unusual job interview, but there's not much psychological insight. It almost reads as though you wanted for a brief moment to rebel against your family, but quickly decided not to, and then never regretted not rebelling. The Jimmy Choos seem to be your reward for not rebelling, which almost makes the whole experience seem shallow and not a real learning experience.
I do think this could work for a women's mag if you recast it as a humorous job interview story.
Best wishes!
Carlin

I fear that I'll never be strong enough to leave my corporate job.

I fear that Evan will never make enough for me to leave my corporate job.

I fear that I won't live up to my expectations.

I fear that I'll never finish a novel.

I fear that I'll never stop fearing that everything good in my life won't last.

I fear that I'll never get to places I always wanted to see, Africa, Russia, China, India.

I fear that I'll never learn Italian fluently.

I fear that if I don't stay on top of my game, Evan will leave me for someone younger, better.

I fear that I'll always be too scared to follow some of my dreams, like living in the city.

I fear my parents growing older.

I fear that I'll never become a writer.

moving forward

One of my dearest friends is getting married in a couple of weeks. Evan and I are flying down for the wedding. She's enjoyed every moment of wedding planning and can't wait to start her life with her husband. Utter bliss can't even describe the stage she's in, she's in fucking nirvana heaven. Another close friend of ours just started dating a really cool guy she's had a crush on for years. She's thrilled, I should be for both.

And while a part of me is ubber thrilled, another part yearns for what was. I know in five years, my married friend might have a child. She'll be a little bit more settled than she is know. She'll know the routine of what marriage is; love-making, fights, waking up with your husband over and over again, indulging and enjoying the reality of what routine life is, which at some points, at its worst, is fucking boring. When its at its best, its beautiful knowing that you have someone watching your back, and you enjoy little things like just watching him cook for you or staying in bed tangled up in a mesh of limbs and sweat. The one that just started dating might just be getting married in five years. She will be where I was two years ago, just starting out. Excited by the mere-thrill of moving out of her parent's home, getting to choose her own damn furniture and arranging it in anyway that pleases her. If she's lucky, her husband won't care.

I'm pretty confident of my decisions, but its interesting to grapple with the emotions that come with close friends beginning to move forward. Did you move to fast? Did you jump into something? My gut tells me I didn't, yet I still miss the innocence of care-free dating.

I got rejected by John Glassie, editor of The New York Times Magazine. I guess it's okay to be rejected by the best. Not really, it still sucks. I'm going to rewrite the essay a bit and redo the cover letter. I'm hoping Psychology Today or the Washington Post will want it bad.

Thanks, Carolina. Sorry to say I won't be able to use. Please understand we receive 4,000 submissions per year for 52 Sunday slots so a lot of good stuff doesn't appear on the page.
Best wishes.
JG

ying and the yang, fighting

The subway stopped at 23rd street and as I got out two ladies flew right past me, almost knocking me to the ground. As they landed on the benches, I realized they were cat-fighting. They fell to the ground and continued to scratch and pull each other's hair out. Their hands were arched, inflicting pain was their goal. One was an African American, the other, a white woman. My fellow passengers were shocked. A guy, a little bigger than me, tried to pull them apart. He had no such luck as the African American woman was huge and difficult to pry away from the white woman. As befuddled passengers continued to watch, these two adult woman continued to pull and scratch at each other. I attempted to pry them apart, but as the African American woman reached out her hand to slap me, I moved away.

It wasn't until a really big man stepped in and pulled the African American woman away that the fighting stopped.

"Let go of me," She yelled to him.

He held her tighter.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm pregnant," she sputtered, "and she pushed me."

You're fucking pregnant and rolling around on the floor? I wanted to approach the white woman and ask her if she was okay. Her face was all scratched and she was touching her ear, I think it had ripped. Before I got a chance to ask her, she took off like lightning, I would have too.

"Do you want to file charges?" the man asked the african american woman, still holding her.

"Yes," she screamed.

"I'm pregnant," she sputtered, "and she pushed me."

It's really all right to get mad when your pregnant, especially if you're on a friday morning NYC subway commute. But to pick a fight with a smaller woman over a push and to endanger your baby by acting like a fucking acrobat is just plain stupid.

Leaving the subway, I heard a sixteen year old girl say,

"So stupid. Their fighting like kids and they are adults."

A part of me was pleased. Another, felt like telling the girl, you really don't know how it's like, until your a white woman who gives a fuck for others, or a black woman who doesn't give a fuck for herself.