#65: "Her cheek scar crinkles."
Vinegar Valentines: fiction edition! Plus art + March's theme
Today I got coffee with an American friend. We sat on a terrace and talked about healthcare, the state of tap water, how used to the threat of gun violence we were just by living in the US, and how strange it is to be here now.
This is the second time in my life I’ve found myself a foreigner living in a country with an increasingly choppy relationship with the states. The first time, I was living in Russia when they invaded Ukraine in 2014. The second, I’m here, in France, while the US defends Russian hostility against Ukraine. The circularity of it, how much can change in eleven years and how hollowing it is for us all to be here now, clicks its pen in the back of my mind all damn day.
That, I’m sure, is a different article for a different day (maybe a whole different newsletter altogether), but today, waking up to the fallout of that disastrous Oval Office meeting, the duality of 2014 and 2025 is all I can think about.
Anyone have Putin’s address1? He could use a Vinegar Valentine, at a very bare minimum.
Til I manage to send a nasty letter his way, today I’ll…
💌 share my replicas of the oldest vinegar valentines,
💌 dish the voting results for this month’s prompt,
💌 thaw your understandably jaded heart,
💌 and share some monthly creative news.
💐 A month in postcard art
When the entire theme of this month was about physical mail art, I thought there was only one option available to me this month to send my darlings: replicas of the oldest Vinegar Valentine I’d found, dating back to 1790. Each of my cards are painstakingly hand drawn, which definitely took more time than it should’ve, but wow is it fun to make y’all postcards.
A closeup:
🗳 The votes are in
Patrons and full-access subscribers voted for this month’s postcard-fiction prompt:
Action: untying a shoe
Word: languish
Inspiration: Vinegar Valentines
In case you missed it, here’s everything you need to know about the meanest holiday trend since Krampus dragged naughty children to hell:
#63: "It says as plain as it can say, Old Fellow you'd best step away."
By the time Valentine’s Day rolls around, I’m always worn out.
Each month after voting closes, I give myself a measly 48 hours to write you a story set in whatever slice of history we explored.
Maybe I’m a big ole softie, but I struggle with being mean, even in fiction - which definitely influenced my approach this month.
🚪 Valentine’s Day 1919, Chicago
Here’s the postcard I wrote on:
And here’s the story:
Bill lugs mail door to door, trudging up and down stoops, heart heavier than the satchel on his shoulder. This year, Joan’s got eight “valentines,” no return addresses. Cowards.
Sure, she has a nose wart and yes, a dog bite scar puckers one cheek, and fine, her laugh sounds like a deflating balloon, but she’s Joan. She teaches kids viola, pretending not to hear them snicker. She wears ribbons. And most mornings, she greets Bill with coffee and a chat, balloon-laughing at his stories about his route’s neighborhood biddies. Sometimes, her gaze lingers, sending his gut somersaulting – and by God, today he’s going to tell her so with the handwritten valentine tucked in his breast pocket.
Last Valentine’s, Bill delivered Joan’s mail in exchange for the usual steaming coffee. As they chatted and he sipped, snowflakes alighting and melting in the mug, she opened a letter. Peeking was against USPS rules, but there was no ignoring the cartoon woman, warty face carved like a pumpkin, leering from the page. Joan’s eyes watered.
She folded the letter, clearing her throat. “ I, ah– leave that mug on the mat when you’re done, would you? Excuse me.”
Before he slumped away, he heard her crying through the door as she ripped the letters up.
Not delivering mail’s illegal; no getting around that. But when her home’s thirteen brownstones away, Bill stops to pet a dog. Then a cat. He rescues a can languishing in the gutter and tosses it in a nearby bin. His bag’s so heavy, his shoulder trembles. He sets it down, crouching to tie his shoe. Then untie it. Then retie it. Down the block, Joan’s stoop awaits. And before he can overthink it, he yanks her letters from the bag and chucks them in the trash alongside the can.
After that, his bag’s so light, he practically floats the rest of the way. And as he lands outside her door, she opens it, balancing their coffees in her hand. With a grin, he accepts one.
Despite gripping her mug so tight her knuckles go yellow, her voice stays level. “Anything for me today?”
“Well…” Nerves a pigeon in his belly, he pulls out the poem he wrote. “For you.”
And this time, when tears prick her eyes as she reads, she smiles. Her cheek scar crinkles.
Bill has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
💻 Your turn: write microfiction!
Using the same prompts above (untying a shoe/languish/vinegar valentines), write a story of your own! Give yourself 48 hours or less to write it, keep it short, and remember: the goal isn’t perfection. It’s putting your pen (cursor) to the page (screen) and making some art.
When you’re ready to share it with me, reply to this email, post it directly in the comments, or write it in the form of a mean-spirited poem and make me cry. Reading your work is the highlight of my month!
(As always, if you’re feeling stuck getting started, here’s an article I wrote on microfiction fundamentals.)
👸🏿 All hail the Queen!
This past round of voting had almost too many good options. I honestly had no idea which way y’all would tip. But one pulled ahead of the rest, taking the cake.
So in March, we’re visiting a less-traveled corner of U.S. history, witnessing the birth of the drag scene as we know it.
We’ll be learning about…
👑 William Dorsey Swann - America’s first drag queen and their letter to Grover Cleveland 👑
Start practicing your vogue skills!
🌍 Updates in my creative world
I opened an Etsy! It’s a brand new endeavor for me, and I’m so excited about it! I’m going to be adding new items to it weekly, mostly postcard packs, so keep your eyes peeled! Even if you’re not called to buy anything, please go give it some hearts/follows - it makes a big difference in pleasing the algorithm gods!
Remember how I decided to pull my novel from the query trenches for editing? It’s fucking moving, y’all. Edits are pouring out of me, and I’m both shocked and pleased to find myself excited to implement all these changes. Finding a million things to improve means I’ve improved as an author, and what a gift is that?
I’m nearly nearly done with an oil painting and it’s my favorite piece of art I think I’ve ever made?
Things are hopping along with switching to the French freelancer visa here - I cannot wait to participate more as an artist here and really become one with my sweet city.
And I got contacted for Eastercon Belfast to teach workshops on photo embroidery and erasure poetry - see you there!
Got an idea for my Etsy? Want to talk snail mail? Write a short story on theme and wanna share? Please send it all my way! Supporting you is my love language!
All my love and sassy vinegar forever,
Nikita, your Snail Mail Sweetheart
Ask me about the time I mailed Donald Trump a postcard with a little ~extra something~ on it when he was first inaugurated 2017. Maybe one day I’ll share but I am pretty sure it was illegal???