 For Authors: October 18, 2017 Issue [#8557] |
  For Authors
This week: Murphy Foiled! Edited by: Fyn-elf  
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To keep your marriage brimming, with Love in the loving cup, whenever you're wrong, admit it; whenever you're right, shut up! ~~Ogden Nash
A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person. ~~Mignon McLaughlin
A great marriage is not when a perfect couple comes together; it is when an imperfect couple comes together and
learns to enjoy their differences. ~~Dave Meurer
Marriage is a mosaic you build with your spouse. Millions of tiny moments that create your love story. ~~Jennifer Smith
A long marriage is two people trying to dance a duet and two solos at the same time. ~~Anne Taylor Fleming
The great secret of successful marriage is to treat all disasters as incidents and none of the incidents as disasters. ~~Harold George Nicolson
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When two people (or characters) finally get to the point where they are getting married, one wants everything to go smoothly, have it all be a fairy tale and have it be a perfect day. Because life is perfect, right? NOT!
My daughter got married on Saturday. YAY! They've been together for eight years, bought the house and survived the 'I lost my job, how am I gonna pay my share of the mortgage, you're on your way to the hospital ---OMG! Are you okay?' stresses and survived. They've shared vacations, job woes, insidious bosses, three cats, his OCD and her whatever the complete opposite of OCD might be. She was ready to just go to a Justice of the Peace; he wanted her to have 'her wedding.' He won.
Her gown was lovely and exactly what she wanted. (She looked absolutely lovely, by the way! Proud mom moment) They got married under a beautiful ancient oak tree out in a field. Tents were set up, the nearby llamas contained, the DJ was briefed and all was coming together. Long, long, LONG day of all of us getting everything set up. The' Did you remember to get the (insert any one or three of the vast number of things one needs to remember and didn't even think of) moments were handled, created, fixed or cobbled together. The rehearsal was funny, totally unrehearsed and no one knew any more after than they did before. Clouds were forming.
Tired people get cranky. Hungry people get feisty. Bride-zilla surfaced for a bit. Too be honest, so did Maid of Honor/Photographer-zilla and then Mom-zilla joined the fray. Nothing too far out of whack, but it wasn't pretty. There were too many generals and - lots of privates decided to rearrange things. The generals moved 'em back and chaos reigned. Eight hours in on Friday, the clouds were very grey, lightning flickered around the edge and I'm not just talking the sky.
Saturday morning came. So did the real rain. In buckets. It teemed. The Weather Channel was checked repeatedly. The decorating crew headed out for the final decorations. It wasn't raining on site. But the skies gushed everywhere else. "Don't forget to pick up my bouquet, Mom." I wouldn't! "You got something for the bridesmaids to carry, right?" Dead silence. "And you ordered a corsage for Noah's Mom, right?" More silence. "Got it," I answered. I'd take care of it, because, that's what moms do, right? Of course, right. My best friend texts me. She's sick as can be and can't make it. We are both so disappointed. I needed her here. She wanted to be here. And it isn't going to happen. Deep breath. Reassurances all 'round. Later, I will send her pictures. She spends the day curled up on the couch.
Hubby brought his tux with him (as he and my brother were that early morning finishing crew. He assured me it was not raining, the tents were all still up and decorating was proceeding according to plan. I checked the rain gauge. Already over an inch had fallen. Ah well, curly hair, damp weather, my hair would work just fine! It curled, ringlets didn't frizz. I climbed into a long gown for the first time in years. At this end, it all came together. I took my first selfie ever. Yeah, I looked darned spiffy, if I do say so myself! *grin* Head off to the florist. I see her bouquet. It does not look like the picture I saw. At all. It was supposed to be cascading with ivy and ferny green stuff. They inserted, wired and pulled and voila, cascades. Even though they were swamped, they found lilac colored roses for the bridesmaids. They came up with a matching corsage for the groom's mom. My bank account took yet another unexpected hit. Get all the flowers, and me into the car without getting too soaked.
The skies had opened and as I drove on down the back country roads that normally took an hour plus to drive (in dry weather) I started watching out for arks. Didn't think about the gas gauge. Three plus round trips to the venue plus round trip to the airport. Brain dead. Of course the tank was on fumes. There are few gas stations between points A and B. Praying to the gods of happy weddings, St. Jude and all the Powers that Be, I happily chug into the only station, throw in twenty bucks and head off again. The gas station, however, was one of those old, old, OLD ones. No canopies over the gas pumps. The umbrella was patently useless against sideways blowing rain. It was a light, flowy gown, it'll dry, I thought, refusing to let deluges, downpours and OMG, was that hail? ruin my day.
Two miles past the gas station, the rain stops. Dry roads. Halleluiah! The tents were amazing. Hubby and my brother did a stellar job. The tables were decorated, the candles were (somehow in the light breeze) staying lit.The guys hit the tent to get dressed.
I get a text that the violinist and cello players had a flat. My heart rate rises. They'll get here on time, they assure me. I head to the tent. Standing outside, I hear the three men inside. "How do you fasten these ties?" "I have no clue." "Are the shirts supposed to be this big?" "I've only got one sock here." "Aren't there supposed to be cufflinks?" "Is there some special way these handkerchiefs go in the pockets?" I shook my head and wandered away. "Would I go over and tell the men to hurry up? The bride needs the tent to get dressed." I go back, tell the men they will be booted out of there in five minutes, ready or not. That comment is met with silence. Then, nervous laughter. They pile out and my hubby looks amazing. Well, the collar's a bit loose and his cuffs are a tad long, but still. He tells me I look gorgeous. Life is good!!!
I get another text from the musicians. The tire is replaced, they are back on the road and almost here, but they can't find a 4060 on the road. I tell them it is 6040. Smiles all round. Look for a huge white tent.
My daughter in attempting to encase herself in miles of lace and silk and some sort of rather scratchy petticoats. She's worried that her arms will rub raw from the pearls on her gown. She supports herself in the strapless gown, I offer resistance as her maid of honor pulls and tugs her ribbon-ed corset tight. (Think the 'Gone with the Wind' scene with Scarlet and the bedpost!) . There is much laughter. Cara's is wearing a ring of my Mother's, all the kids have something on them of my folks. My mom and dad are there, even my older brother felt it. More smiles. Musicians arrive and set up. The chairs are filled. It is still dry although there are many nervous looks skyward.
Deep breaths. Calming moment. A few last words. My daughter is glowing. Pachelbel's Canon in D begins. The procession starts. My hubby (one of the two best men!) and a granddaughter start off, followed by maid of honor and other best man. That pause. Then Cara and I begin our walk. We are both emotional. She asked me to walk her down the aisle because I was the constant in her life.
And the music stops. Violinist (we find out later was stung by a bee!) And resumes. Cara almost trips; she has eyes for no one and nothing except the groom. He is smiling adoringly. I hand my daughter off to her amazing hubby to be and happily gain my seat. They are centered under the widespread branches of an ancient tree. Their creative service was officiated by my eldest daughter who, because she is vertically challenged is standing on a tree stump. The ceremony is funny and sweet, heart-achingly beautiful. Sniffs are audible. Eldest is choked up and almost falls of her perch. Laughter ensues before they calm down and exchange vows that are so uniquely them. It is official. Mr. and Mrs.
The staged wedding photos after. Two ex-husbands and my hubby all being civil. Awkward, but it all worked. Everyone making nice. Pictures, pictures and more pictures. I know I am smiling. I'm just so happy. My face aches though. A picture of my daughter and I swirling together. Perfect moment.
The grey skies open again. But we had dry for the ceremony and the pictures. Life is good. Mad dash for the tents! Party ensues. Toasts and kisses, dances and laughter. The Macarana and the Chicken Dance. A rousing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody and everyone sang.
So much could have dampened this day. Nothing did. It was wonderful! Cara mentioned later that all the oopses and raindrops, spazzed moments and catastrophies made it memorable and perfect. Better even than if everything had been according to Hoyle and gone perfectly. Then she said, "Wait a minute. It was perfect!" And smiled. And glowed some more. Someone else said, "Chalk it up, Murphy tried and lost!"
Too often, writers get their characters to that happy place and they get blissfully married and go on to happily ever after. But part of what makes the 'happily ever afters' are the things that go wrong, are out of place or almost forgotten. Life doesn't go along with everything right. There are hiccups and miscommunications, people who can only be with you in spirit, trips and bee stings. It is all a part of living and life. It is what makes things real and we need to remember that when we are writing.
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| |  | What Marriage Is (E)
A mother gives her daughter a small wedding gift and explains the meaning of marriage.
#1717913 by Tamara  |
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#974162 by Not Available. |
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Quick-Quill  says: I'm "uber-adaptable" I write anywhere. I try to have a notebook with me all the time. Right now I'm trying to push myself into finishing my re-edit of my published book. I withdrew from my publisher and now have to fix their mistakes. It's not going as well as I like. I have to bribe myself to do it.
Always a good idea, if possible, to research a publisher and talk to several of their authors. Won't guarantee perfection, but it puts you a step ahead!
Osirantinsel  writes: I have a 'study' but I generally don't do any writing there, only typing or reading. I handwrite and my preferred places are either in bed or on the couch in the dining room in the sun. Both allow me to lean back and bring my knees up to lean my writing pad against. A beanbag works, if I can get it into the right slouchy position, but otherwise I'm just not comfortable enough write any other way. It comes out scrawly and factured and I don't like it. I do actually have a writing desk (a secretaire) and I'm looking for an awesome new desk to put my computer (and all the other things surrounding it) but I know that I will never 'write' at either of them. I can't write on a flat horizontal surface any more.
Whatever works!
Bikerider  comments:This is a great topic for a newsletter. I read somewhere that Stephen Spielberg plays loud music when he writes and if true I don't know how he can. I have two places where I write. I have a room where I can close the door if I need quiet, which I sometimes do. Across the desk is a 30 gallon fish tank with several fish that helps me to relax. I also take my laptop out to our screened patio that is surrounded by the hundred or so orchids my wife raises. It's like a paradise.
One last thing. I listen to Kitaro when I write; he can be found on YouTube. His music is both relaxing and spiritual.
Great newsletter, Fyn.
:) I love Kitaro! I tend to listen to anything classical.
Angus  adds: Thank you for a great Newsletter, and thank you for featuring my story, "Be Good To Your Muse..." in it. I'm glad to see you're going to have a new 'nook' where you can write. Personally, I don't currently have one, but I think that's going to change pretty quick! Oh, and by the way: you wrote three books with three children aged 6 and under without a special place to write in? VERY impressive!
The dining room table at 2 am before they got up! :)
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