I *Don't* Wanna Marry You

*Post inspired by the Lightning and the Lightning-bug Flicker of Inspiration prompt, "I Wanna Marry You."

For our next prompt, I'd like you to write about a wedding. The wedding can be fictional or real; the only requirement? That a wedding appears at some point during your piece.  

This is another segment from my novel, November Rain. For more, and to see where this fits in with the other segments I've posted, visit the page above.

The strangest scene played before Justice, and a faint, deadly tune was its soundtrack.  A funeral? 

No, there was no casket.  But is sounded like a funeral.  It felt like one.  There was a congregation, but she wasn’t a part of it, and every person sobbed.  She stood before them, at the front of a chapel, and a priest was there, too.  And so was Lily, Russell’s sister that Justice had only met a few times.  She and Justice were matching in dark purple gowns, the material stiff and constricting. 

A wedding?  The preacher started to speak, the deadly, funeral-like song still lingering in the background, and she looked around in order to find where it was coming from.

That was when she saw Raegan.  Justice couldn’t see her face, since Raegan was shrouded in a black veil, but there was no question in her mind that it was her best friend.  Justice sensed her, sensed her familiar dismal energy that had a long time ago killed her sunny soul.  Her dress was heavy and black, unfitting for the matrimony she was clearly a part of, but fitting for the person who wore it. 

Even stranger was the man, Lucas, standing with her, his large dog loyally at his side.  Lucas’s hands grasped Raegan’s tightly, and he looked desperate.  Happy, but desperate. 

Just as the preacher was about to ask Lucas if he took Raegan as his wife, Raegan shuddered with a sob and ran from him, down the aisle and through the large church doors.  Justice wanted to go after her, but she couldn’t move.  And that music…

That damn tune still played in the background, and none of it made sense.  Then her surroundings appeared hazy, the picture slipping away and leaving blackness in its place. 

Still, the tune played. 

She lay in her bed now, slowly coming to, and forced herself awake.  Her phone was on her nightstand, coming to life with Raegan’s personalized ringtone.  A few months ago, Raegan had stolen Justice’s phone and set it in an attempt to be morbidly funny: Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor—or better known as the Funeral March.

Dear Future Me

*Post inspired by the the Lightning and the Lightning-bug Flicker of Inspiration prompt, "A Letter to You, Part 2." A month ago, the prompt was to write a letter to your sixteen-year-old self, and this time it's a letter to yourself ten years in the future.

What can I say? I'm sure you're much wiser than me, so I'll steer clear of the advice route. We both know how you hate preachy advice, especially when it's given by people younger and more naive than you.

But I do hope all your dreams have come true, Older Me. I hope you can proudly say you have a few more novels under your belt, maybe some even published. Maybe by now you've actually gotten recognized for the talents you have.

And hopefully you're confident enough that you can actually call it a talent now.

As you know, it's taken us a while to come into our own and really figure out who we are. And I hope, Older Me, that you're even more sound in that. I hope you don't let the little things get you down and make you feel bad about yourself.

And I really hope you can confidently stand in a place that fits all your beliefs and viewpoints--in a place your past self is still struggling to find. You're voice should be sharpened by now, more in tune in your head. And that means you won't be afraid to say what you think or feel what you feel.

And even though we swore off children after Luke, I'm willing to bet money that you have more. A girl, maybe? I hope so. Because with three boys who are going through puberty, you'll need some extra estrogen to balance that out.

I'm scared for you, having to deal with three teenage boys and all the yucky that comes along with it. So, good luck with that, Older Me. I snicker, only because I'm a procrastinator and I don't have to worry about yet.

But I bet your boys are really cool, and I bet you and Dave love hanging out with them. I bet Sam is either in choir or theater or something. And Josh has gotta be in football. Luke? Maybe the best of both worlds. I'm sure they're so great, and I can only imagine just how much you love them.

Don't stop loving your husband. Ever. Don't let the spark fizzle. The kids are older now and that means you have no excuses. No newborn babies (hopefully). So you better be going on dates (even if you have to be the one to initiate them), and maybe even getting away for a weekend or two every now and then.

Please don't lose your faith. Life and people suck sometimes, and I'm sure it's even worse now. I don't want to imagine what you've had to endure. But there is good out there, and the gospel is true, no matter what the people in the church, or the organization, have done.

Continue to raise good boys and enjoy life. And please...work on that temper. Because I know you still have it.

Oh...and remember, you're only thirty-eight. You're not old and decrepit...yet. So keep working out and keeping that body looking tip-top (HA!).

Love,
Twenty-eight-year-old You

P.S. I bet you're laughing at how horribly written this is, aren't you? Either that or cringing. Because I'm sure you're the most fabulous writer on the planet by now.

Flicker of Inspiration: The House

*Post inspired by Lightning and the Lightning Bug's Flicker of Inspiration prompt, "House."

 ...For this week's prompt, we'd like you to write about a specific kind of setting, a setting that can be ominous or comforting, a setting that can easily take on a life of its own. Your fiction, poetry, or memory this week should involve a house. Be sure this house plays a pivotal role in your piece...

I know I usually save segments of The Exception for my Red Writing Hood posts, but I'm bending the rules this time.

Aside from the fact that I haven't had much time to write anything new for the wonderful writing prompts I've been missing out on, I had to share this because the "house" is such a key ingredient in this story, almost a character itself.

For the other excerpts I've shared, visit here, here, here (this particular excerpt fits before this one), and here (listed in the order they appear in the novel itself). And for a segment I wrote separate of the book, but still involves the main character, visit here.

This segment takes place when Elanor arrives to her childhood home, seeing it for the first time in nearly twenty years--a home that holds painful and precious memories alike. She realizes it was more than just inheriting the deed that pulled her there.

Elanor’s breath caught as she turned onto Graham Road and caught a glimpse of the old country-style house at the top of the hill, nearly bringing the car to a standstill.  The wooden roof shingles looked even more dilapidated than before.  Taking a deep breath, not knowing what putting herself in that place would do to her state of mind, she pressed harder on the pedal and forced herself to move forward.

She hadn’t known what to expect when preparing for her trip.  She hadn’t known what she would feel.  But as she stood before the house, every emotion was foreign.  Maybe it was because the house was different, looking nothing like the way she remembered.  In her memory it’d always been aged, but now negligence masked any trace of her childhood home: peeling paint, one green shudder hanging by a single bolt, a crack in the windowpane of her old bedroom, weeds growing above the bay window, the dirt drive nowhere to be seen. 

But what threw her even more was the size.  It used to feel huge and threatening.  Now it seemed small.  And sad.

It broke her heart to see the home that had once housed her grandfather and his grandfather before him in a shambles, unused and empty.  No longer a dirty remnant of her childhood, it suddenly became a disappointing remnant of her ancestors.  Where their sweat and blood had produced something once beautiful, now it was indeed an eyesore, as Gerard had said.  What did they think from the afterlife as they looked on the remains of their posterity—on a drunken waste of life, rotting in prison, and a hardly sane, hardly normal woman who would probably end up alone the rest of her life?  Would the Noble line stop with her? 

Scanning her eyes over every spec around her, even the heavens above, she whispered a simple “sorry” as though they could hear.

It was fall, which usually brought sharp, brisk days in Idaho, but today the atmosphere was clear, and she stepped forward, leaving her jacket in the car.  When she reached the overgrown path, she stopped and closed her eyes, letting the breeze move through her hair like cool, energizing fingers.  Feeling moved upon by a great force, a force beyond this world, the spirit of the home and all it represented overwhelmed her.  She swore the energy of her ancestors was in the wind that blew through the trees and rustled the leaves, swelling with the newfound emotions in her heart. 

Somehow, they wanted her there.

This is still a work in progress, but as always, helpful criticism is welcome!

Dear awkward, naive, sixteen-year-old self...

You know how you've always liked to write long, meaningful letters? Well, here's what one from the future looks like:

It's been quite a crazy and rewarding twelve years. You actually ended up where you hoped you would be: the wife to a wonderful, supportive, and faithful husband, and the mother to three fantastic children. It was all you ever wanted, really, since you could never put your finger on what you actually wanted to do with your life.

But even though you got what you wanted, be aware that you veered pretty far off the course to get there.

And you know what, past self? Though those certain obstacles and "bad" decisions in our life delayed the rewarding outcome, don't regret them. Because all our mistakes and life experiences--difficult and joyous--have made us who we are today. And we are pretty proud of that.

So, live life. Make the mistakes you will at one point regret. Because without them, you won't have a full understanding or appreciation for the Savior and His atonement. You won't have the life experience and character you now have. And you might not even have the open-minded view you now own.

One thing to look forward to: You realize you're pretty healthy after all, even after the Epstein Bar and depression episodes. You have a great immune system and can actually handle sleepless nights with a tinge of grace.

You love to run (imagine that), and you actually have your own sense of style. I know, that's hard to believe, isn't it? But you now know how to match, what styles do and don't fit your body type, and you only wear what makes you comfortable--not what you think you should wear.

Plus, there's a great show called What Not to Wear, from which you've learned a few helpful lessons.

Though you'll still have a hard time with it, you will learn how to say "no" to people and be slightly less of a pushover. Only slightly though. Maybe in twelve more years from now, forty-year old us will say it's not a problem at all.

You're not a singer, like you always wished you could be. In fact, your singing glory days were in high school, unfortunately. You haven't even sang in church in years, though you wish to. But you do still have that embedded passion for music. It still moves you in a way that nothing else can. Be proud of the fact that that's always been inside of you. In fact, don't feel embarrassed about any of the things that move you.

Despite your fears of what kind of a mother you'll be, especially because of your distaste for children, know that you will actually be a pretty great mom. There will be times when you won't feel like it, but you are. And you will love them without even trying. You'll love your kids, you'll actually know how to wear the mommy pants, and you'll be proud of it.

And you're proud to wear the wife pants, too. Sometimes they're old, dirty sweats (more times than we care to admit), and sometimes they're a little more appealing. Sexy even. I know, it's not a word in your vocabulary yet because you can't comprehend such an idea, but you will learn it's just one more thing that makes you, you.

Don't be afraid of intimacy, in any light.

And don't be afraid of sex. I know, you will blush when reading this because you aren't very open-minded about the idea, but that will change. There's nothing to fear. And it's actually pretty great.

Your husband loves you a great deal, and believe it or not, he finds you pretty desirable. He even claims he is the luckiest man in the world. And though you will not understand or believe him, take in his compliments.

Oh, and enjoy your smooth stomach while you have it. Because one day, after children, there will be nothing there but saggy, stretch-marked skin. But you will also be grateful because of what those scars have earned you. Your children are your life. And though they take on some of the traits you hate in yourself, you love it in them.

You will learn how to cook. Don't be so afraid of it. Your husband will give you all the pointers for a good foundation when you get married, and from there, you'll teach yourself. And half the time, you'll actually be quite decent at it.

Now, here's something you might not want to hear: you are still strangely proportioned, physically awkward, and uncoordinated. I know you hoped and daydreamed of one day growing into your long arms and legs, and maybe even getting better hair and a longer neck. But it doesn't happen.

In fact, sometimes you will feel even more uncoordinated than you once were. And you'll blame that on the beautiful children. You will hear this a lot in life, but it's true: pregnancy and raising children makes you scatter-brained.

Did I mention you have amazing, beautiful, strong-spirited children? Three boys, who will drive you nuts but make you feel like the most important, blessed girl on the planet. And that list you made with all the qualities you want in a future husband? You got them.

Well, all of them except the height. You don't marry someone tall. Sorry.

But his strengths will more than make up for it. He will see in you what you will still be struggling to see in yourself years down the road. And you are still very in love three children and eight years of marriage later.

So don't fret so much over the boy who broke your heart. No, he is not your future husband. No, you don't really love him. Yes, you will be happily married one day. And no, the cares and stresses you are experiencing now are not the most dire problems you will ever experience.

Don't worry so much about what other people think, please. The girls with Abercrombie & Fitch plastered to their perfect bodies don't know crap about what makes a girl special.

But you do. You know your divine heritage, and that you are a special, beautiful daughter of God. You know this. So please remember it, and let it fill you with confidence. Enjoy yourself and stop worry about the little things!

Oh...and pay better attention in math. We both know it's not our strong suit, but that doesn't mean you don't have to try.

And, confused, self-conscious girl: you will find your passion someday. You might not find it until later in life, after you've had your first child, but be aware of it. Recognize that your love for literature, English, poetry, and art stems from your destined purpose to write.

Yes, you are a writer. And it will be hard for you to call yourself that sometimes, because feeling inadequate is what you're best at, but you are a writer. Even without a degree, awards, or published work. Finally, you will find something you're good at, something that makes you feel special and passionate.

And thanks in partial to something called "blogging," you will be able to let your voice be heard. You will be able to pour your heart out and say what you really mean. You will find just who you are.

You have a lot to look forward to. Soak up every memorable moment in your life. Soak up the love that comes your way, and learn what you can from the hatred. You will be proud of who you become. You will realize one day that you wouldn't trade a thing in your life. And you will find yourself thanking God everyday for the path He's put you on and the people He's blessed you with in your life.

The things your future self is most proud of:

• The beautiful creations that are your children
• A happy, healthy family life
• You've written three novels
• You gave childbirth naturally (with no pain medication) to two of your children and now feel like you can accomplish anything as a woman

Lastly, love yourself. I can't say it enough. Love yourself even when all you can do is hate yourself, because you will need all the practice you can get for later in life, when you realize you never really did. So throw me a bone, sixteen-year-old me, and just love yourself.

Love,
Slightly-less-self-conscious, twenty-eight-year-old me

*Post inspired by the Lightning and the Lightning Bug Flicker of Inspiration prompt, "A Letter to You."

Write a letter to yourself at age sixteen. What might you tell your sixteen year-old self? Would you warn yourself not to make a certain mistake? Would you ask yourself to treasure being young? Would you tell yourself how much you've changed?