A few days ago I shared with you all that I’d agreed to speak at a newcomers’ group luncheon in Tallahassee at a date to be determined later. Well, later has arrived. The date is February 9, so now I can begin working on my speech, and more importantly, over stressing.
If I were to share my speech thoughts and rough drafts here would my readers offer creative and constructive criticism? I really have no one to bounce them off of, except the cat, and she adores me, so objectivity isn’t her strong suit.
“What about Studly Doright?” You might ask. He’d just tell me to show more cleavage or leg or something. Since I’m fairly certain the group is made up almost entirely of women, I highly doubt that showing more skin would help. Besides, I’m 65. Showing even a hint of cleavage or an inch of thigh can go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye.
When I was writing my third novel, Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, I pictured a scene in which one of my favorite characters, Martha Murray, would recite, or have another character recite, a poem she’d written for her wedding ceremony. For several weeks I wrangled with writing a poem for Martha but nothing felt right. I was pulling my hair out and getting nowhere.
Then one afternoon my lovely friend and trusted confidant, Flora Diehl, called to visit and during the course of that call I said something like, “Maybe you could write Martha’s poem.”
I’m not sure what prompted me to say that. It wasn’t premeditated, it just popped into my head and immediately came out of my mouth. Regardless, it was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
Flo thought about it and responded several days, maybe weeks, later with the perfect poem for Martha’s wedding. I cried the first time I read her poem, “Now,” and every time I read it I get teary-eyed. Flo perfectly captured what I wanted Martha’s poem to feel and sound and even look like.
I’m not printing it here. Maybe one day I will, but I feel like the poem fits best within the context of the whole story. There are also a few gentle spoilers embedded in Flo’s contribution to my tale, and we’d hate to give anything away.
Readers can find the poem “Now” on page 302 of the paperback and again after “The End,” but before the acknowledgements. In the e-reader version it’s anyone’s guess since font size matters you know, but it’s near the end of the book.
If you haven’t yet read the first book in the series, Mayhem at Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, I suggest you do so before reading Wedding, but I think there’s enough backstory in book two that one wouldn’t necessarily have to read book one. (Although that would make me happy…)
Due to COVID, I haven’t seen Flo in person in over two years, but when I do see her again I’m going to ask her to read the poem while we enjoy a glass of wine. I’m stocking up on Kleenex for the occasion.
For two days I’ve been waiting patiently for Studly Doright to return home so he can put the angel on top of the Christmas tree. I briefly flirted with the idea of getting out the step ladder and doing it myself, but I’m a klutz and at my rather advanced age I don’t heal quickly anymore.
I left the angel on an end table in easy reach of Studly’s chair, so he’d quickly make the connection once he had an opportunity to shower and relax a bit over dinner, but so far he’s managed to ignore it. Finally I asked, “Will you put the angel on the tree?”
“I’m too tired.”
“But, it’s right there and you’re tall and the tree really needs its angel. It’ll take two seconds.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Now, that’s tired. maybe I should get that stepladder….
I’m not a terribly skittish person—and that’s a really good thing considering that during my 45 years of marriage to Studly Doright I’ve spent a good many nights without him. Between his years working different shifts and then the extensive periods he has had to travel to different locations, I’ve become fairly comfortable on my own. Last night, though, I almost had a complete meltdown.
Studly had just called from somewhere near Hattiesburg, Mississippi, to tell me what time he’d be home today. We’d said our good nights and I went about my normal nighttime routine. I’d just turned out the Christmas lights and had begun washing the makeup off my face when the house went dark. And folks, when you live in the forest, dark is DARK. I literally couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.
My mind began racing: What if someone cut the power off to our home? There was that random couple walking down the middle of our street today. But even so, our generator will kick on anytime now. Unless they disabled the generator…
On that last panicky thought the generator did kick in and I went in search of candles just in case I lost power again, I’m not going to lie, it took me a while to relax afterwards. I wonder if I could develop better night vision for any future occurrences. It’d be a great latent super power.
Peace, and light, people!
My brief time in total darkness reminded me of this suspenseful film. I’m not as brave as Ms. Hepburn was.
Today would have been my mom’s 83rd birthday. We lost her to cancer just a couple of months before what would have been her 56th birthday. I miss her every single day, but especially at Christmas.
Mom made Christmas special —something I’ve never quite been able to replicate, and I don’t believe I ever properly thanked her. We just took for granted that she’d always be there to work her magic and that it would never end. She left a bit of it in our memories of her, though. That’s what I call a blessing.
I opened up the Christmas closet on Wednesday and started my annual decorating routine. The tree is up and looking all spiffy with baubles old and new adorning its branches. Best of all, the Nativity scene is perfect this year with all the figurines present and accounted for—unlike a certain year in which a major player went missing. A year I chronicled in the heartwarming tale of The Case of the Missing Mary.
So grab that bottle of whiskey from your desk drawer, pour yourself a stiff drink, sit back, and relax.
A couple of days ago I received an email from a woman I’d met at a Meetup group. It seems she’d taken on the role of securing speakers for a newcomers’ group in Tallahassee for the coming year and wondered if I’d be interested in speaking at a future luncheon.
Just reading the request turned my stomach inside out. Me? Speak in front of (gasp!) people?! I told Studly Doright about the opportunity and he said, “Do it! It’ll be fun.”
I asked for additional information: How many people typically attend these luncheons? How long would I need to speak? What in the world would I speak about?
When I had the answers, I took a day to think about it and decided that there was no way I could stand in front of 60 women for 20-30 minutes and talk about my writing. But for some reason, I said, “Sure; I’ll do that.”
Now I’m just waiting to find out which month I’ll be assigned to. In the meantime I’ll stress out about the whole thing and probably won’t sleep much. Oh, and maybe I should begin writing a speech. Speech crafting suggestions are welcome. I want to appear witty, so keep that in mind. Oh, I am so screwed.
Look at this! Okay, it’s not in the top 100, but Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort just came in at #253 in Women’s Detective Fiction. That’s because of you, dear readers. Thank you!
I tweet into the void on most days. Even my pithiest tweets receive little fanfare. And my blog posts? Twitter barely notices them.
But this morning. Oh my goodness this morning, the incomparable James S. A. Corey, author of the Expanse science fiction series (also adapted for television), retweeted one of my tweets. I’m positively giddy.
I might’ve gushed. So sue me.
The planets really are doing some fantastic alignment stuff right now. Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter are all visible to the naked eye. Quite entertaining. And apparently influencing one of my favorite authors to retweet me.
What are you reading this weekend? Hopefully something other than the directions for putting up the artificial Christmas tree you bought last year on sale and then forgot all about until you opened up the attic to get the Yuletide decorations down.
“Mabel, did you buy this 16’ pre-lit fake balsam?”
“No, Arnie, you bought that on account of little Barry’s allergies. Remember?”
Arnie doesn’t really remember, but he’s learned, after 50 years of marriage, that Mabel is always right about such things.
But that’s because Mabel keeps her mind sharp by reading. And what might she read this weekend?
Praying for Eyebrowz 