“… at this time we are moving forward with other candidates that more closely fit our needs.”
This email came ten minutes after I finished
screaming at reprimanding Angelic Daughter for WRITING ON MY NEWLY PAINTED WALL and then removing every privilege, excursion and cherished food I could think of from her foreseeable future, replacing them with cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming and REPAINTING SAID WALL.
Well, karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?
The bullshit factor just rubs it in, because this is what they say when their lawyers have instructed them never to tell you the truth, to wit, “you’re too old and too expensive.”
This was the second time in as many months this has happened to me – the callback interview went really well: I really thought I had this one in the bag. And just as I was thinking it would be another week or so before I heard, WHAMMO, the buzzer sounds.
Thank you for playing, NEXT!
The clock has also run out on me with the two agents I pitched at the Midwestern Writer’s Agent Fest – one who requested the full manuscript of my book right there at the pitch, the other who said she’d look at my query.
Pocket vetos, both.
So on a day when I screwed up badly as a Mom and feel horrible about it, I was rejected from a job I thought I had for sure, my confidence in my writing has sunk to a new low.
I know the problem with the book – in a very crowded market, a memoir has to be about something greater than the mere experience of the writer – they want grand social themes – Hillbilly Elegy, or Educated – from “marginalized voices.”
I’m a straight, suburban white woman. About as non-marginalized as it gets.
Except for one thing:
If there is one universally marginalized group of people on this planet, it is older women.
So much for “yippee! I’m sixty and invisible!”
That has quickly become, “Oh shit, I’m sixty and unemployable.”
And unpublishable too, apparently.
They see my book as a “me-moir.” It has to have more universality or social impact than is readily apparent. It can’t just be both heartwrenching and funny. It has to connect to some broader social theme.
Really? Well, how about this:
There are nearly 12 million widows in the US.
And (pulled directly from the Family Caregiver Alliance website):
- Approximately 43.5 million caregivers have provided unpaid care to an adult or child in the last 12 months. [National Alliance for Caregiving and AARP. (2015). Caregiving in the U.S.]
- Upwards of 75% of all caregivers are female, and may spend as much as 50% more time providing care than males. [Institute on Aging. (2016). Read How IOA Views Aging in America.]
- Older caregivers are more likely to care for a spouse or partner. The average age of spousal caregivers is 62.3. [National Alliance for Caregiving and AARP. (2015). Caregiving in the U.S.]
And the American Cancer Society predicts:
1,762,450 new cancer cases and 606,880 cancer deaths in 2019.
I want to believe that my story could help caregivers feel less invisible, and less alone. Caregiving can be terrifying, exhausting, fulfilling and heartbreaking.
It can drive you crazy. It did me, and made me do ridiculous things, to avoid facing the certainty of my husband’s premature death at just 54.
I don’t feel crazy anymore, just defeated. If I couldn’t land this job, a job for which I simply cannot believe another candidate could have been better qualified, then I give up.
And today I feel like giving up on my writing, too.
It’s going to be 95 tomorrow, 98 on Friday, and no air conditioning. We’ve been through it before, but sitting immobile in a damp bathing suit, periodically hosing oneself down, isn’t conducive to sparkling query letter writing.
And what if, even with my spot-on experience, I was rejected from the job because I blew the interview? How could that be? The interviewer said I was first on her list to contact, and started the interview by just asking me if I had questions. Kept me there meeting volunteers for half an hour longer than I planned.
Did I ask too many questions? Give too much information? Was it because I explained my need for a little time to find a caregiver for Angelic Daughter?
If it was that, then, I wouldn’t want to work for you anyway. Feh.
After my previous rejection, my sweet brother sent me this:
I’ll hang on to that, and try to believe it, while I clean the bathroom and vacuum the floors.
But Angelic Daughter is going to repaint that wall.
Trying to find my redirection, I remain,
Your disappointed, self-doubting, wanting to find a way to keep trying,