I am writing this from a coffee shop in Saint Louis, where I’m trying to get a lot of work done. Rewrites are definitely underway for part two of my novel: I’m trying to completely rewrite ninety pages of mediocre first draft, while adding to my original cast and crew. I’ve found a new sub-villain, a buffoon, two terribly arrogant men, and a cynic. Very fabulous characters, and they all have a lot to say.

So. Plenty on my writing plate. And today I need to rewrite two scenes, have to get them done… but the real, living, breathing, tangible, audible people around me are so fascinating that I abandon my imaginary characters, drop my pen, and let their words and actions catch my attention.

It’s amazing what you’ll hear and see when you give yourself over to peoplewatching. Perhaps it’s my profession that makes it endlessly amusing… I’m tempted to cast half the people I see into my novel. Their mannerisms, laughs, turns of phrase… I almost can’t help using them.

I’d say it’s high time for winter. --jl

A few Sundays ago, in church, I heard something strange during the quiet parts of the service. From a few rows behind me came a steady pulse of click-whoosh, click-whoosh, click-whoosh.

I had no idea what it could be, and I fought the urge to turn around and scan the congregation like a five-year-old. As I listened harder, I realized it was an oxygen machine. By now it had my full attention--not that it was very loud, but its rhythm settled in my head and grew there, like a mental itch. Click-whoosh. Click-whoosh. Click-whoosh. It filled the spaces in the vicar’s reading of Romans. 

Something I didn’t expect from the wedding: the amount of time I would spend talking about writing. I guess it’s natural: I knew half the people there, and after we said “Oh my gosh the service was beautiful and Jon looks so happy and Adrienne is so gorgeous and she’s getting married can you believe it!!!” they would ask about writing. And what really surprised me—though I don’t know why—was the amount of times I was asked about what my title would be.

Sigh. My title. I have no idea what the title of this book should be. It’s been a thorn in my writerly side for a long time now, as I have made lists of over a hundred possible titles, and all of them were rubbish. And since I mercilessly judge other books according to their titles, I know mine has to be good.

Wedding stories continued…

6. The cakes. Here’s an unabashed plug for the wedding cakes (they had three): Each one tasted eyes-closed heavenly. No Styrofoam-dry cakes at this reception! The guests I polled raved about them, just as we had been raving for months… The bakers at La Bonne Bouchée and The Cakery are geniuses. If you are near Saint Louis, go check them out. Try the Four Flavor Cake and the Strawberry Black Forest at La Bonne Bouchée, and get the Confetti Cupcakes from The Cupcakery (run by the same folks as The Cakery). They are sublime, and I promise you’ll love them.

the wedding bouquets

I could go on and on about the wedding, how much fun it was, how wonderful, how perfect everyone looked, how happy Jon and Adrienne were (and are!)… but superlatives are boring to read, even if they are easy to write. So here are some wedding moments, for a glimpse into the wedding weekend…

1. Pottery. The bachelorette party: we painted pottery at a nearby place called Pottery Hollow, and had a great time choosing colors and being amazed at how creative the other bridesmaids were. Oh, and note the fabulous wedding weekend t-shirts!

the maid of honor and the bride, with their pottery creations

But, no, I didn’t cry, sob, bawl, or in any other way create a ton of moisture in the front of the church. Surrealism and sheer joy mixed for a strange cocktail that kept me grinning all day.

I can’t believe it’s all done! I hardly know what to do with myself. So I’ve been reading for hours, gazing at the walls, and sleeping late. (Although, I haven’t been perfectly lazy. Yesterday I had a baking fit and transformed nine cups of leftover reception fruit into two pies. Lattice-top blueberry: fabulous. Crumb-topped strawberry: not so fabulous.)

Needless to say, forming sentences is a little tricky just now: writing isn’t really going to happen until next week, at the earliest.

More wedding stories to come… --jl

isn’t she beautiful, beautiful, beautiful? lucky you, jon.

Well, we’re going mad as calmly as we can…

Everything comes down to these last few days--bachelorette party tonight, decorating and rehearsing and rehearsal dinner tomorrow, and then everything wedding on Saturday. Both of my sisters are veteran bridesmaids, but this is my first saunter down the aisle, and I’m half-convinced that I’ll trip. And what do you look at as you come down the aisle? It sounds like a dumb concern, but I have these visions of myself with a cheesy grin on my face, or trying to wink at Jon, or wave to my cousins… But I guess I’ll hear all about proper bridesmaid etiquette tomorrow.

2. the inappropriate reaction(s): the reply I got from the clerk at the department store. I pushed the silver necklace I got for my bridesmaid dress across the counter; she asked about the occasion. I gave my quick “younger sister getting married, super excited, can’t believe it’s next week” speech. And then she told my parents and I stories about how, in her country, younger sisters would never get married before the older sisters. 

WOW.

This means that there is tulle in the kitchen, boxes of napkins in the laundry room, my hair is in a practice updo (more hairspray than I’ve had in years), and I have shoes in my purse. It means gifts in the living room, knitting marathons for me (almost done with the fourth pillow!), and it means that I should not, under any circumstances, watch Father of the Bride. It means that we’re all excited and happy and yet have these surreal looks on our faces and impossible to-do lists.

Best of all, it means that in eleven days, I have a brother! And not just any brother… Jon is fantastic.

It also means that I will take any and all suggestions on how not to cry when I’m standing up there in the front.

Seriously. I’m a weeper. I cry when I’m happy and I cry when I’m sad. And since weddings are a weird and wonderful mix of emotions… I figure I’m in pretty deep trouble. (I cry at the weddings of people I don’t even like. Right.) I don’t know if there’s any mascara in the world that will be waterproof enough.

You have no idea how nervous I am about this! So send me your tricks of the trade, ways to disguise Kleenex in a bouquet, anything at all. I’ll listen…

More to come. --jl