Birth Announcement: SWAP / MEET
Swap / Meet made its debut in June 2018 from Space Cowboy Books in Joshua Tree, California, USA. It arrived as a chapbook, handmade with quality papers, measuring 8.5″ x 5.5″. It was conceived, written, and delivered in the nine months following my move home to the Mojave, although I grew up in Connecticut. Each of its nine tiny stories is a classified ad. Together, they connect.
CONCEPTION
I began writing the stories in Swap / Meet almost immediately upon my arrival in Joshua Tree. The inspiration came from the local, online marketplaces I stumbled into while trying to unload moving boxes. I became obsessed with the hastily-posted photos of items for sale. The accompanying text gave only the price, and whether it was negotiable. Whether the seller was willing to deliver. The photos revealed more than intended: a push-up bra tossed onto an unmade bed, an artificial Christmas tree erected beside a filthy canister vac. I felt the sellers’ disdain for this worn out stuff that had overstayed its welcome.
I wondered about these people and their things. How did they get them? Why did they want them gone now? As ever, I was curious about the stories in junk.
As I settled into my new life in a small desert town, I began to think that some of these sellers must know each other. Their lives must have touched or overlapped. In my mind, I heard their voices. I dreamed their stories and knew what glimpse they’d allow me to share.
WITH CHILD
Here in the desert—my home—beneath this vast, blue-dome sky, in this silence, I wrote. In all this space, I had room to play. I was ready for a departure in my writing. Why not? Everything else had changed.
I’d spent the last eleven years raising my son in the suburbs north of Atlanta. Georgia always felt a bit strange to this Yankee—personally, and as a writer in the South who was not a Southern Writer. My work was rooted in landscapes far from where I lived then. My novel Not On Fire, Only Dying (Twisted Road Publications, 2015) begins at “the ecstatic pinnacle of autumn” in New York’s Hudson Valley, where I spent several meaningful years. But when I rolled into Joshua Tree last September, my son back East, starting college, I felt as rootless as I ever had. Rootless and light enough to be tossed around on gusty desert winds. Subject to change. I wanted to sketch a bare framework of setting. In Swap / Meet, I mention downtown, the mall, a trailer park—but I don’t describe any of it.
I discovered a monthly poetry reading and open mic in Joshua Tree, hosted by the literary journal Cholla Needles. Readings were held on the round, outdoor stage behind Space Cowboy Books. I read a story, or classified ad, called, “1 Table, 2 Chairs: Ugly,” which was published in Cholla Needles. People seemed to like it, so I wrote another story, and another.
DELIVERY
The stories became free-wheeling, first-person accounts that wandered far from the initial sales pitch to follow each seller’s conflicted thoughts. We only know what they tell us. Never forget: they’re trying to sell something. I riffed on a variety of themes: miscommunication and regret; parents and children; ex-lovers and soul mates. Humor and heartbreak coexist, as they do. I trusted the reader to take the ride with me. I explored the rhythm of language and the nuances of word choice, taking cues from poetry.
I allowed the characters to reveal how their stories might connect with others in the collection. I knew I wanted these pieces to be more together than they are alone.
When Space Cowboy expressed interest in publishing a chapbook of these stories, I knew it was perfect—Swap / Meet would be born in the community that supported it from conception. I admired the beautiful presentation of Space Cowboy’s chapbooks, each with an original painting for its cover art, and by the energy they put into making books happen. There is a pioneer spirit out here that turns ideas into art you can hold in your hand faster than I thought possible, before.
Now I hope Swap / Meet grows wings and flies far from this desert, to every downtown, mall, and trailer park. No matter this book’s trajectory, I’m already grateful—overwhelmingly so. Now: onward. To whatever’s next, in writing and life. None of the old rules apply now that everything is different.
SWAP / MEET IS OUT NOW AND AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE FROM
BONUS: 1 STORY FROM SWAP / MEET:
Black and Blue Babydoll Nightie (used). “Sexy.” Matching panties=N/A
Price: $4.99
Note: Size 38DD, no underpants
I am not ashamed. I turned 40 and my husband left me for an older woman. He was characteristically thoughtful and apologetic: it wouldn’t be fair to me if he stayed, because he was pretty sure Rosie was his soul mate. It was nothing against me.
Hell yes I bought myself slutty lingerie after that. I hoped life had something left for me, too.
This babydoll nightie has structured, underwire bra cups, royal blue satin overlaid with black floral lace. They lift and jut your tits—sorry, boobs—like trophies. Useful if you’re trying to get someone’s attention, but not what you’d wear to relax.
The matching G-string panties are long gone and that’s a long story. Let’s assume you wouldn’t want them, anyway. The nightie has adjustable, skinny, satin shoulder straps. A big black rose smack dab between the boobs. Sheer black mesh hangs from the bra top to the hips, the edges finished with a band of silky material. It’s parted in front, like a curtain. Lets you break it to him slowly, LOL.
Or her. Do women go for this kind of stuff? I wore it for men, but don’t let me limit your imagination.
The first guy, I met at the gym’s smoothie counter. I’d just finished a Zumba class and the endorphins made me chatty. I asked him if all green smoothies taste like lawn clippings and he replied, “My wife and I are separated.” It just dropped out of him, like that. I made him wait in the den while I changed into the nightie. Then I called, “Come join me in the bedroom,” like we were in a movie. He lost his mind when he saw me. LOST HIS MIND.
It’s probably worth more than $4.99.
Sure, it felt odd, when that first stranger walked into the pale blue bedroom I’d shared with Stéffan, or when he peeled back the comforter and slipped in on Stéffan’s side. But then, and ever since—the room was different. The present replaced the past.
At the beginning, my heart flopped when Stéffan walked in the room. That kind of love. We tried for a baby. We’d get our hopes up, and then there’d be silence where there should be a beat, or blood where there should not be. We stopped trying.
Some things run their course. Silence becomes the language. It’s not uncommon. Too many marriages hollow out, passion replaced with friendship and pajamas. Former lovers lie next to each other without touching. There’s nothing lonelier. Divorce IS death, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I wore this babydoll for 5 men, once each. I’m selling it because I’m ready for something a little less rough on the tits—sorry, boobs. Give these 40-year-old girls a break, already. I think I’ll still find men who want to sleep with me, even if I’m comfortable. 40 is old enough to know that once you become who you are, there’s no going back. My husband left and I don’t have a baby and all week I answer phones so other people will seem important and then on Friday nights I hit a dive bar for cheap frozen daquiris and let middle-aged men flirt with me. They need stuff, too. I’m happier than I remember being. I have secrets and some color in my cheeks.
40 isn’t old but it’s not exactly young. You start to get a sense of how quickly time passes. How little is left, comparatively. You have some regrets, by 40.
But, wearing this nightie with its aggressive bra top, I forgot my regrets. I remembered myself. With those 5 kind strangers, I felt like the best, bustiest, most bodacious beauty queen they had ever had the good fortune to encounter. I heard my own laugh for the first time in forever. For an hour or three they were mine. Then I sent them away. It was bliss, which makes up for a lot.
I’m asking 5 bucks—trust me, you’ll get your money’s worth. Serve up your tits—no, I DO mean tits—and get what you need. Go ahead and set the rules. Wear slutty lingerie with strangers or with your soul mate—what do I care? Everybody needs something, and maybe what you need is this black and blue babydoll.
…
BIO: Susan Rukeyser is the author of a novel, Not On Fire, Only Dying (Twisted Road Publications, 2015), an SPD Fiction Bestseller and finalist for the 2016 Lascaux Fiction Prize for published books, and a flash fiction chapbook, Swap / Meet (Space Cowboy Books, 2018). Her short fiction, creative non-fiction, and multi-media work appear in journals including Hippocampus Magazine, Atticus Review, WhiskeyPaper, Mom Egg Review, and Women Writers, Women’s Books. Find her here: www.susanrukeyser.com.
Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing
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