Jealousy is an old coyote

“Sometimes this human stuff is slimy and pathetic – jealousy especially so – but better to feel it and talk about it and walk through it than to spend a lifetime being silently poisoned.”
― Anne Lamott

The following exchanges took place in September 2011, when my Oldest Dearest Internet Friend, who had come up for the wedding, challenged me to turn jealousy into something beautiful. I'm still reeling from the fact that she came. It was incredibly amazing and brave of her, as she had known me since my wretched 14-year-old fanfic-writing days, but had only met me ONCE. I call that industrial-strength courage. She is a splendid human being with magnificent plumage and the terrifying ability to start magazines.

And she is making me write the romance novel that is currently occupying far too much of my runtime, because I have a problem with jealousy.

First, I want to talk about jealousy quickly; even Saint Anne of Lamott, who is probably my spirit animal, knows what its bite feels like, and she treats it as an old friend. God, she writes so beautifully about that old coyote, the Trickster god of the soul - the slitty-eyed shadow always slinking into our wagon-circles and nipping away with our delicious bacon. Jealousy! Always saying, If somebody else is doing well, then it's at our expense, they're using up all the luck that was meant for us. Always saying We're better than those fools, so why does everyone like them more? How dare they be prettier or smarter or more adjective-er than ourselves?

But Jealousy is a lonely dog without much power by itself, and once we name it, we don't need to feed it. Once we put a collar on it, we're the ones in charge of Jealousy. But instead, we act like it's something to be ashamed of. Worse, we use it as an excuse lie to ourselves and others. She only got that book deal because it's marketable right now, we fire across the bow. She's doing better at work because she's prettier than me. People only like him more because they THINK his tumblr is funnier - the mediocre, narrow-minded, pandering FOOLS!  

We claim it isn't the voice of Jealousy after all, but good taste and clear-eyed truth. We sniff around for a tribe of others who will believe us. Perhaps we want to be haters. We do like to bite. A lot of us secretly believe that we are actually stunning, shining talents who haven't succeeded yet because Unfair World is purposefully keeping us down. And so Jealousy breeds itself, a self-replicating virus, a simple and selfish bundle of genes.

Well, that's where we go wrong, I think. I don't think there is anything good to come out of lying to ourselves. I think you have to embrace your Jealousy and claim it, like any other foolish flaw.

And that's why, a few days after my wedding, when I was lolling about with my Accomplished Husband Who Has A Book Contract But Still Can't Construct A Sentence Without A Blueprint, and my Oldest Dearest Internet Friend who, as I said earlier, is pretty much a publishing industry unto herself, I felt comfortable and loved enough to talk about my Jealousy. We like to think that our Jealousies are special - uniquely twisted little creatures, lovingly nourished and perfect in their own way - but just like any other Common or Garden Jealousy, mine evaporated into ridiculousness when held up to the light. It was ugly, yes, and negative, but by no means unusual.

I told my new husband and my dear friend that a woman in my laboratory had recently left her job because she had received a book deal. And I was jealous! Sincerely, stupidly jealous! I had never sent a novel of my own to an agent or publisher. And here I was jealous of her! I was happy at my workplace, while she had patently resented every second of her existence spent there, so the change had probably wrought wonders on her life - and there I was, jealous! Jealous of someone clawing out her dream! Jealous of her baby book!

The two of them looked at me like I was a tiny baby bird, rumpled and damp and impossibly adorable. Head-patting was involved.

"But I'm TOXIC," I mewled.

"Everybody is pretty fucking toxic," they said.

Me:  I am basically oozing toxicity from the PORES of my FACE.

The Brit: Yes, you are, dear.

Me: I hate you. And while I support this woman and recognize my own disgusting folly, I also have this urge to lie in a bathtub and drink vodka from a squirt gun. Her book has pretty much killed my desire to write anything. I am a horrible person.

BFF: So you should write a romance novel too! You should interrogate it from the wrong perspective! You should write a steampunk romance novel with a sexy paranormal element and some spunky corset-ripping. A BAD ROMANCE. Then we can analyze it in online forums and start flame wars and have a fandom. PERFECT CURE FOR WRITER'S BLOCK.

Me: I can't write a romance novel, it'll be a steaming pile of crap.

BFF: THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD. It'll be liberating. And then you can blog about how it's so HARD to WRITE.

Me: Writing isn't hard, you just need to open a vein. It isn't HARD to bleed. Everyone can.

BFF: That's gross, and probably also why you have writer's block.

The Brit: I'm writing this down.

Me: Honey, stop, you don't know anything about writing. It'll just be bickering couples degenerating into squabbling and flippant bitchery, interspersed with dark horrible slimy things. It'll alternate between slapstick and horror. The sex scenes will be gruesomely awkward. Saucy kisses will turn into awkward tongues-in-the-ear. It will be easy! Bloodless! NOBODY WANTS BLOODLESS WRITING!

BFF: The market disagrees with you. How else do you think these things get written? Here is your penname.

The Brit: Here is your outline.

Me: How do you know what an outline IS? What is this?

The Brit: It's your novel. It's a fluffy steampunk romance novel about adventure and stuff, it has corset-ripping, and at some point they bicker on a train! In India!

Me: What have you two been drinking? Because I need to drink a lot of it and lie down in a dark room for a while.

BFF: Write this up and send it to the girl's publisher. If it gets in, Virtue is its own Reward. If it gets rejected ... you'll have the strength of your convictions?

The Brit: Throw in some ponies, I like ponies. And a sexy Englishman! It can't go wrong! Nothing goes wrong with sexy Englishmen!

Me: AND YET. SOMETHING WENT VERY WRONG WITH YOU.

==

Later

==

Me: ROMANCE! *keyboard smash*

The Brit: What.

Me: I am writing my romance novel and the heroine has just barfed on the hero's sister's boots. ROMANCE!

The Brit: Does that happen ... often ... in romance novels?

Me: It's okay, the hero's sister threw them out the window-thingy. She's a lesbian, but nobody can ever know. She may stick her tongue in the heroine's ear. Things are up in the air right now! ROMANCE!

The Brit: Is this actually how professionals write romance novels?

Me: Well ... no. Well... probably.

The Brit: You do realize that shouting "ROMANCE" doesn't automatically make it romantic? And wanton expulsion of bodily fluids doesn't either?

Me: I've vomited on every lesbian I know and still got to second base with all of them. ROMANCE!

The Brit: I just realized that we've been married for, oh, three days.

Me: OH! Remember that time when you made me come over to build your porch swing for you, because you were bullshit at it, and you made me my first gin-and-tonic, and I threw up on you? And then you kissed me after?

The Brit: You mean, do I remember our first date?

Me: SEE?! ROMANCE!! Which is more romantic vomit - bilious or chunky?

The Brit: That isn't even a question.

Me: I'll leave it up to the reader's discretion. They might not be as romantic as I am. I wouldn't want to force anything on them.

The Brit: Yes. Yes, you set a standard that is very hard to approach.

===

Sometimes the Brit finds it difficult to keep up with me and how romantic I am, but he's only human.

And that is the splendid origin story of the piece of work that I am grudgingly beginning to consider as a novel. Born out of Jealousy, but named and claimed and made my own. Better out than in! It was born out of something difficult, and I believe that's the only way to make things that are beautiful - like my marriage. Like my journeys. Like my favorite stories. Like my life and soul, I hope.

If you're out there, tell me about your Jealousy stories. Because I want to hear them. Because I want to promise to you that you are not alone, that you should not be ashamed - and if you don't hear Jealousy for what it is in your life right now, maybe it's time to listen.

Love,

Cinna