Rice-A-Roni and French Fries: Fear and the Juxtaposition of Art and Life

‘Life imitates art,’ or so the old cliché goes. I wonder, though, if it isn’t the other way around. After all, another cliché tells us to ‘write what you know.’ So, does art imitate life? This question ran in a continuous loop in my mind as I wrote Flygirl, the story about Tris Miles, a pilot forced to swim against a tsunami of harassment and discrimination just to make it through the workday.

As I layered the details of this talented, determined fictional character, I found it surprisingly easy to craft a woman that was a little tough to know, grasped unsuccessfully for the right words in critical moments and jealously guarded her secrets. Someone who thought pain could disappear if she could be better, stronger, and craftier than the demons in her own head. And heart. Memories of the past became her personal junk food. She gorged on them, but never really felt full.

Tris had all the tools and abilites necessary to reach her goal and become a jet captain. But she allowed herself to be haunted by a decision that had life-altering consequences: a seemingly innocent choice in a moment of time equivalent to the blur of a passing road sign on the highway. In that barely measurable flash, she lowered her scythe and yielded to fear instead of embracing love.

And, as her toxic workplace closed in around her, Tris found herself in a battle without armor or a magic tiara. Words were her best defense against her attackers. And she couldn’t speak.

While only some of the action in Flygirl is based on my own flying experiences, the fear of the consequences of speech—the bullies that silenced me as a child—was very real indeed.

As the daughter of a single, divorced mother in the 1960’s—a time when parents stayed together ‘for the kids’—I was immediately set apart from my peers. My mother, a high-school-educated secretary, had no extra money for new clothes. So I showed up to school in hand-me-down dresses that hung below my knees. Kids laughed at me and brought me to tears, which I shed alone, around the side of the school building where no one could see.

A clique of girls followed me home after school every day. They taunted me, calling me a ‘bastard’ (which was technically untrue) as I passed the cars of stay-at-home moms picking up their kids after school. As soon as we were clear of parents, they began punching me.

We lived in my grandparents’ house. While the adults—both grandparents and my mom—worked, my aunt, my mom’s developmentally disabled sister, watched my brother and me. Of course, we didn’t use the term ‘developmentally disabled’ back then; there was another word that begins with ‘r,’ which has thankfully fallen out of favor. Even at a young age, I knew my aunt could not help me.

At the end of the workday, when my mother came home tired and hungry, there was no space for a child who was struggling. My younger brother, the first boy born into a family of girls, was always the one who got whatever emotional scraps my mother had left. Desperate for positive attention, I’d make up stories about the great day at school I never had.

I held onto my pain. One day a week, just one—Saturday, when no one had to go to work—my mother would ask me if there was anything special I wanted for breakfast. Giddy from this feeling of importance, I’d proudly announce the names of my two favorite foods—Rice-A-Roni and French fries. She’d nod, grabbing the vegetable oil and butter she’d use to coat the two pans necessary to prepare my feast. Within a half hour, all my feelings of inadequacy were temporarily drowned in oily, salty goodness.

Come Monday, recovered from the hazy food coma of a snack-filled weekend, I clenched in preparation for another week of stuffing down my feelings: wondering what other people thought of me, and actually caring.

This personal history of social separateness was where Tris was born.

In the span measured by the pages of a novel, Tris faces marginalization, harassment, and verbal and physical abuse from men who model detached parents. Her tormentors cannot see even a foot beyond their own needs. And, in her lowest moment, she tries to fold into a ball, press herself into a corner, and disappear.

Tris knows how to walk a step behind her fear, stuck in a situation where she balances a career at risk and the unpredictable behavior of the people around her. And only when her very core is threatened does she realize that the only way she can hold onto her integrity is to speak. Speak out. And not be afraid.

Yes, Tris is conjured from my own history. A debut novelist, a fledgling artist, Tris and Flygirl sprang from my own insides: the things that shaped me as a child, teenager, young adult, professional pilot and, finally, someone who will celebrate their 60th birthday later this year.

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Robin “R.D.” Kardon is a former corporate and airline pilot with an Airline Transport Pilot certificate and three Captain qualifications. She had a twelve-year flying career that took her all over the world in every type of airplane from small single-engine Cessnas to the Boeing 737. She also holds a B.A. in Journalism and Sociology from NYU and a law degree from American University. A native New Yorker, Robin now lives in San Diego, California with her beloved rescue pets.

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Find out more about her on her website https://www.rdkardonauthor.com/

Follow her on Twitter https://twitter.com/rdkardonauthor
Flygirl (Acorn Publishing) is her first novel.

About FLYGIRL

Let pilot Tris Miles lift you up, and fly you to new heights in this inspiring story of love, ambition, overcoming obstacles, and the true meaning of success.

It’s 1997. Women stand beside men in combat and fly fighter jets. Pilot Tris Miles is not content with her job as a First Officer for tiny Clear Sky Airlines. She wants to be a Captain—the only way she knows to prove her worth as a pilot and atone for a deadly mistake.

To further her career, Tris accepts a prestigious job with Tetrix, Inc. But her dream of becoming pilot-in-command twists into a nightmare. As the company’s first woman pilot, she encounters resistance, marginalization, and harassment on a daily basis. Fortunately, Tris has one thing her co-workers can’t deny—skill.

When Tris finds herself in a crippled airplane thousands of miles from home she must prove she can lead. With her career on the line, can Tris earn the respect she’s been craving? And if this is the end, can she find the strength to forgive herself?

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing