Valentine's Day around the corner, and the stores are
saturated with the sweet smells of roses and chocolate.
If you’re a chocoholic, you are happy already. You also won’t
be sympathetic to this post.
Although I make a point to stop and smell the roses as I go about life, I haven’t been caught
by the seduction of chocolate. Call me Ms. Vanilla.
I got to thinking about why so many confuse chocolate with
that loving feeling. I read about the studies that supposedly prove a certain chemical
in chocolate is identical to what our bodies secrete when we’re in love. The
chemical, phenethylamine, causes the release of endorphins or some
such.
Allow me to be skeptical. No doubt, the chocolate business
loved it.
Long ago, red ripe tomatoes were viewed as love offerings,
the way roses are now. As I examine this dispassionately, (pun intended) I think
tomatoes are a far better choice. A good tomato is colorful (unlike chocolate)
and beautiful, and we now know it’s good for you. Medieval Europeans, apparently,
thought tomatoes were poisonous. Think of how much good eating they missed.
This bring me to (what else?) writing conventions. We hear
that editors are hungry for “different,” but much of what is published is a
slight variation on the same. What if we really thought outside the box?
Think picture books that are one hundred pages long. Think middle
grade stories that consist of links only, each telling their POV of the same
event. Think novels that are wordless. Just think.
Okay, the smell of love in the air has my brain floating on
a misty wave. In a week, I’ll be back on earth, and working on my next (very
grounded) revision of a tried, true and conventionally acceptable manuscript.
With love.
