As a writer I am used to getting those nasty little rejection slips. In my younger days, each impersonal form letter broke my tender heart. Over the years I discovered they were much worse than originally thought. While pouring out of my heart and soul to strangers, literally begging the publisher to take pity and print anything, not even a tiny paragraph was read!
Alas and alack the truth eventually became known – I wasn’t the only person sending in manuscripts. In fact, there were hundreds of thousands sending their passionate works to the same publishing houses. The houses, as I discovered, had a limited number of readers. Thus I learned to grab them in the first sentences or there would be no second chance. (This does nothing to explain the occasional book that drones on endlessly without meaning for chapters before getting to the meat of the matter.)
The dating sites go by the same rule. Your book jacket, i.e., your picture, must be a grabber. Translation – it helps tremendously if you are a total knockout. Of course that begs the question if you are that hot, why the mischief have you resorted to dating sites?
Next comes the first juicy bite of the apple – your profile, especially ‘Your Story.’ Contrary to many opinions, no one cares if you like walks on the beach in the moonlight. And, heaven help you, if you read a profile that declares “I want a real woman, with real feelings, who likes flea markets, NASCAR, rocking with Elvis, and doesn’t play games. She doesn’t have to be any special body type”
Remember when you were young, ladies? Games made relationships interesting. If there are no games, no drama, what do you tell all your friends? “Yeah, Grace, me and Jack went to the movies. Nope, he didn’t try anything. Nope, not seeing him again.”
Games are what made the world go ‘round. He sneaked a kiss; you blushed. Yes, I know at our age it’s harder to bring up that blush. What do you think rouge is for? He cuddled you close; you protested for several minutes. Today it may be mere seconds, but, hey, we aren’t ingénues any more. Time is clicking by. He nudged you toward the back seat and this is where the games stopped. Either you did or you didn’t. I’m an oddity these days in that I still don’t. I also let that be known from the beginning. Games are one thing; ticking someone off by being a tease is a whole ‘nother critter.
But I digress. You answer ‘real woman’ guy with this note: I’m a real woman with real feelings who likes flea markets, NASCAR, rocking with Elvis, and I don’t play games. I’m no special body type.” This is when you discover he has no clue what he wrote or someone wrote it for him. You have mirrored his profile and he doesn’t even come back with a tiny hello.
In other words, ladies (and gents get this scenario, too), you get a rejection without the letter because there are hundreds, nay thousands of women and men doing the same thing. Frankly, I prefer the letters. At least I can save them in my desk drawer to pull out later and think ‘what if?’