Here’s how the conversation went down:
Me: Here’s the article, check it out. (hands him the laptop)
Him: Why is it here? I thought the New York Times was publishing you.
Me: Are you high? I never said that.
Him: No, I just somehow thought this, so what is this site?
Me: A chronic illness/mental health site.
Him: Oh. (disappointed)
A bit later . . .
Him: Where did they get this awful picture of you?
Me: I sent it to them as my author picture.
Him: Why?!? Why would you do that?
Me: Because it goes with the story, and I like that picture.
Him: It’s not flattering, and I would think you would wabt to use a sharper picture.
Me: It’s been enlarged, so not as sharp.
Him: Still, you should really think more about what you put out there.
Then I tried to tell him it went with the story, read the last line of the story. He snapped he was getting to the end, and read the last line of the submission call because he had already scrolled past my article without reading it. So, he didn’t get it. And yes, I did take it personally. His “douse every ember” methods have struck again.
And this, this right here, is why it took me an hour to open the email and post the link. This is why I didn’t get happy and giddy and celebratory. This is why I was nervous all night. Because I knew someone was going to trash it. And it was my husband. Over a fucking picture. He wouldn’t read the article. He says my writing is too “emphatic” for him. So he won’t even give it a chance, he doesn’t realize there is a difference between that and my journal writing. What the fuck ever. Dick.
I messaged my mom a link to the story. I thought I would tell her, instead of my Other Mum, who follows us on FB. I was really nervous after I did it, wondering what the fuck I just did. She responded this morning, “Really well written. Thanks for sharing.” was her reply. The nicest thing she has said to me in 16 years. So that was pretty fucking incredible.
I’m not sure what I am going to do today. I have a massive amount of photos to add to the Member Area. And all of the usual art stuff to work on if that gets boring.