The flowers he’d given me were dead. I hated to shove dead flowers in the trash. So, I pulled all the petals off the roses and put them in a bowl. I stepped outside the apartment without my shoes and in my peasant skirt. A tree blocked the view of our upstairs apartment from the street and the apartment across from us had been empty for over a week.
I flung petals in the air and spun around. The petals scattered around me in the breeze. I spun a little more and flung more petals higher. Then I heard the clearing of a throat.
Looking over my shoulder I saw our new neighbors. The couple stood on the landing with suitcases and bags. “Hi!” I said and brought my arms down to my side. “Um, I’m your new neighbor.” I brushed long strands of hair from my face.
They nodded.
I looked at my bowl of petals and reached for my door. “Well, I guess I’m done now. Nice to meet you.”
They nodded again. “I’ll just be going inside,” I said. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Who knows what they thought. They were quiet neighbors.
I feel like I’m scattering my novel out there and who knows what people will think. But at least I don’t have to live next door to any of you. Ha-ha-ha.
Marta Pelrine-Bacon 
\”Well, I guess I\’m done now. Nice to meet you.\” Ha!
Though I do wonder what the heck these people were doing on the landing with their luggage. Waiting for the Mother Ship\’s arrival, perhaps? Maybe they were just as embarrassed as you — to have been caught in intergalactic transit, as it were?
Which now that I think about it, actually continues your metaphor. Maybe all of us are just standing around, embarrassed to have been caught in our various acts.
Well, they were moving into the apartment next door. Maybe they’d already made a few trips into the apartment. I don’t know. I just saw them there with there stuff. And I felt very silly.
Okay, what’s wrong with the neighbors who:
A) Only NOD to acknowledge a greeting? What are you, mute? SAY something you jerks!
and B) Carry their luggage out to their deck. I’ve moved a TON of times in my life (unfortunately), but I’ve NEVER carried my luggage to a patio or deck for any reason.
I hope they know how weird they are. And I hope they see this blog and remember the incident, and then say “Wow … we were jerks.” ‘Cause they were. š
You’re not going to experience this with your novel, however. That humiliation of being caught doing something which later seems silly won’t haunt you. You’re a talented writer. While not everyone will love everything you write, more will than won’t. I’ve seen it firsthand … and I know that’s true.
All writers go through this; it’s a rite of passage, I guess. We have to have confidence enough in our work to let it go and show its face to the world, even if we aren’t every confident ourselves in its worth. I know insecurity drags at me like an anchor. But your ability to tell someone a story in a way which makes them live it with you as you tell it is something you can be secure in, confident about, and yes, proud of.
Let the petals fly.
I think my comment on your blog post speaks to your comment here.
I think you’re very brave to do this. I’m dying to read the whole thing. I really should finish my novel and at least TRY to get an agent or published or print it up myself or send people pdfs.
Kudos to you for putting yourself out there, freak flag or brilliant or unpublishable or whatever you might or might not be
Thanks rowena. I am terrified, but as much as I hate how cliche this is, I do believe in feel the fear and do it anyway. That is really the only mantra that keeps me writing. I mean, what is the alternative? Stop?
I think dancing with the rose petals is awesome. š
Rude neighbors! You should do more petal dances, just to antagonize them with your joy!
They’re no longer our neighbors, but the apartment across from us now is empty, so who knows how I can impress them!
Live dangerously! š