Art of Love Chapter 1

I boarded the plane with a weight on my heart and a package in my hands. The Houston Museum of Art had just turned down my painting of the Eiffel Tower. They had said that it “lacked emotion” and “needed life”. I, however, could see nothing wrong with it. It looked perfectly, well, perfect in my eyes. I mean, sure it looked normal to everyone’s eyes, but it wasn’t that bad.

But, everyone else had said that when I went to sell my art to them. “It looks boring and lifeless. I don’t even want it in my gallery right now, so get it out,” “I’m sorry, but it looks like we will have to get some different works than yours,” “You’re driving people out of my gallery with your ‘art’,”

So what if my art was different? I was different. Well, I wouldn’t describe it as different. Just unique. My art was unique, so was I. It was just that other people didn’t realize the talent that I possessed.

I sat in my seat, frustrated and a little worried. How was I going to pay for my rent? I was spending all my money on airplane tickets and advanced art classes to help me sell my art (which wasn’t selling). I would have to find another part time job other than one I already had at the pet shop.

I wondered if I could get a job at the new bookstore down the road. I had been there just once, but it seemed nice enough. And I loved books almost as much as I loved art. That seemed like a good option. I guess I would apply for a job the next day.

It was getting dark outside my window. The plane was about to take off, but I wasn’t sure I would be able to sleep with the loud growling engine of the plane in my ears the whole way back home to Oregon. The plane was heading down the runway, gaining speed. I didn’t want to go back home, I hated to stop traveling. It was sort of like being trapped inside a cage when you have just flown over the clouds. The plane was doing that just now. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the last hours of my travel of the month, or maybe longer.

A voice tore me from my own world. “Excuse me, miss. Would you like a pillow?” asked a smiling flight attendant.

“No, I’m fine,” I told her, a bit annoyed.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I growled.

“Okay.”

The smiling flight attendant finally left my side. I rested my head on the back of the seat and prepared for a long flight home.

* * * *


I unlocked the door to my dark apartment. I left the lights off and walked through the house with my bags still in hand. I dumped them right on the floor and flung myself on my bed, looking forward to a good nights rest. I looked at my digital clock on my bedside table. All I saw before I fell into a peaceful sleep was 3:45.

This has quite a bit of potential and I can't tell you how excited I am going to be to see where it goes. You've done a good job YET AGAIN of conveying sheer and raw emotion just below the surface of everyday things. This time... you've conveyed the "Square Peg in a round hole" sensitivities.

I'm afraid I will have to leave it to others to see the technical errors -- and grammar and spelling, for example.