Lisa Robertson’s poetry and short fiction have appeared in the Salt River Review, The Apple Valley Review, Word Riot, the forthcoming Tahoe Blues Anthology, and have received an honorable mention from Glimmer Train in the December 2011 Fiction Open contest. She is the tiniest bit relieved that this essay was rejected by Modern Love, because she had promised her husband that upon acceptance, she would forgive him for the wedding ring disaster. Turns out, he is still very much on the hook.

Conflict Free

My grandmother had worn a two-carat princess cut diamond solitaire wedding ring for most of her adult life. My own mother, in defiance of her mom, had worn a plain gold band, so unadorned that her wearing it was nothing short of an act of war. And whenever I looked at my mother’s ring, I knew that I wanted the exact opposite.

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Peggy Sturdivant is a freelance writer in Seattle. She writes a weekly column for the Ballard News-Tribune (At Large in Ballard) and SeattlePI.com. She also contributes essays to the Martha's Vineyard Gazette, reveling in a part of the ope-ed page once occupied by Art Buchwald. She is also co-author of "Out of Nowhere" a non-fiction account of a tragedy involving a young woman in the Northwest that led to a safety law called "Maria's Law." Fittingly this rejected essay was accepted by Modern Love Rejects on the seven year anniversary of the day that she posted herself on Craislist to meet a partner with the subject line, "Craigslist Worked When I Sold My Car." It was her best respondent and now husband who introduced her to the Modern Love essays. Her first attempt was in the glory days of rejection when the email came from Daniel Jones. As president of an unofficial Reject's Club in high school she feels in much better company here than she ever would have been in Sunday Styles.

Unprescribed Honeymoon

On what was supposed to be a five-week honeymoon trip I stood on a cliff above the Mediterranean in Portugal and realized I was going to be a widow. I was pregnant; my husband was simmering with fever in our pension bedroom. With a certainty that was never disproven I saw I would be raising our child alone; that his lymphoma was no longer in remission. Jim died three years later at the age of 40; I was a widow at 33.

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Lea Lane is an award-winning writer and communicator. She writes for magazines, newspapers and websites, including the Huffington Post, has authored six books (including Solo Traveler, finalist for best travel book of the year from the North American Travel Journalist's Association). She contributes to dozens of other books, from encyclopedias to guidebooks. She wrote a column called "Going It Alone," for Gannett Newspapers, and was managing editor of "Travel Smart" newsletter. She is editor of SoloLady.com. Divorced once, widowed once, Lea is now happily married again and dancing as fast as she can.

A Remarkable Synchronicity

It’s been 10 years since my second husband, Chaim Stern died. I was only married to him for about three years. But our love was remarkable, and so was the story of how we got together:

The slim, dark-haired woman sitting at the table in the Westchester brasserie was reading Pride and Prejudice. That was a prediction of possible friendship, but our lives would eventually intersect in ways we could not have predicted if you had given us infinity to do so.

But we were at the beginning of it all.

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Tina Traster is a New York Post columnist, Huffington Post blogger and essayist. Her work has appeared in magazines, newspapers, literary journals, online literary sites and on NPR. Her essays have been anthologized in three collections. Traster lives with her second husband—and soul mate—daughter, five cats, and six chickens in an old farmhouse in New York's Hudson Valley.

Life-line

I was surprised to see he had no front teeth. He smiled thinly while beckoning me to enter his cluttered dining room. Musty and dank, it was a museum of lifetime accumulation. Stacks of yellowed paper, stuffed owls, clocks, a brass American bald eagle affixed to the wall. A worn checkered cloth covered a small square wooden table with spindle legs. Mr. Pulda pulled out a chair and motioned with his beefy hand for me to take a seat. His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t the type of man who entertained guests. He didn’t like outsiders. Not even those who proclaimed they would help him save his farm. Mr. Pulda wanted was to be left alone to feed his cows, to tend his soybeans and corn.

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Allison Ellis is a children’s media consultant and writer. Her essays and articles have appeared in Redbook, Working Mother, Daily Candy and Seattle Weekly. She is currently working on two novels and a memoir. This was her first attempt at a Modern Love Essay. She was so shattered by her rejection that she wrote this but plans on putting herself out on the market with more blind submissions again soon.

My Doctor in Shining Amour

I was on the phone with Jeff, an eligible plastic surgeon in training. It was the night before our tentatively scheduled blind date; he was calling to confirm a time and meeting place. The requisite “screening call” had already occurred several days before and I thought it had gone well. We had spoken for nearly an hour about a variety of subjects and not once did he mention my recent tragedy and for that I was grateful. How tactful, I thought. I found him to be polite, humble and funny; he didn’t come across at all like any of the plastic surgeons I’d seen on TV.  He “sounded good looking” too, so there was hope. At this point I was looking forward to meeting him in person and didn’t feel the need to talk any more than was absolutely necessary, lest I screw up my chances. Still, he had to pry. “How was your weekend?” he asked, casually, after we had worked out the details for the date. What I should have responded with was: “Fine. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow!” but being exhausted and not thinking I sighed and replied, “Oh, it was interesting… I took my daughter camping.”

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Melani Robinson is a Manhattan based writer whose work has appeared in The Moscow Times, The St. Petersburg Times, and NBC’s Petside. This essay is pulled from her recently completed but yet unpublished memoir. Robinson has actually seen Daniel Jones live and in person and although she wanted to loathe him–he’d just rejected, Dressing for Neal, she found Mr. Jones to be extremely likeable. He’s recently rejected a second essay and she is currently reconsidering her position.

Dressing For Neal

I glanced at my size-6 black Valentino suit hanging on the door and smiled a little as I recalled the debate we’d had before I bought it.

“You’ll wear it over and over so stop worrying about the cost,” Neal said. I suggested we wait for a sale.

“Anything on sale is a mistake or it would’ve sold at full price.”

Neal said that a lot. Then he’d added that no designer could make a woman feel more beautiful than Valentino Garavani. He should know. Fashion was his life.

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