Yesterday, I attempted to stretch my writing boundaries and produce something that was believable, but not exactly me. I blame it on the midnight snack, bad nightmare and the article that suggested one “shake things up!”
Today, I wanted to resort back to my comfort zone…a place Steven King suggests a writer remain. To paraphrase “…write what you know and be honest; be believable…”
I hope I have stayed closer to the truth of who I am and the direction I find myself going, and I hope you enjoy this take and can forget the last. 🙂
They told me seeing a tortoise on your wedding day would bring good luck.
I didn’t much put any faith in superstition, yet there were things still to be believed; some sense of the deeper wisdom associated with those beliefs. Grandma understood this, as I was still learning to. Perhaps that is why she gave me the beautiful, carved tortoise shell I wore around my neck.
Involuntarily, my hand reached up to grab the ornate, jade-green stone. It’s what I did every time I thought of her. She would be quite happy to know that I found strength and happiness through all of her teachings and through the love of the man who stood next to me; and that today of all days, I wore her gift to me as something that embodied all of the love I felt for her and she for me.
Her presence here today was palpable.
“Will you Allister, take this woman…”
Suddenly aware of where I was, I lowered my hand from my neck and reached for the strong, protective hand of the man I loved. He and everything about our relationship personified the attributes of the symbol I now wore: Protection, endurance, stability, longevity…
His gaze said it all but he spoke the words anyway.
Beside him, his best man grunted almost unperceivably. Padriac shoved his hand into the deep pocket of his dark blazer and handled the soft fur of the rabbit’s foot he carried. He said a quiet prayer that would shock the person who called him best man and friend, and probably every person who sat riveted by the obvious show of love that the bride and groom exchanged.
“Ceilia…” he only whispered.
On the other side of the altar, a pretty woman with a deep frown thumbed the claw that protruded from the snow-white fur buried in the fullness of her bouquet. If this was a dagger, she would know just whose heart to plunge it in. She eyed the islet-laced bodice of the gown her best friend wore. Even she had to admit how stunning her mouse-like friend looked.
Still…this was to be her moment, her life with Allister! Not Ceilia’s. The Lilies she held started to tremble. Instead, she was forced to stand up here and act like this was all fine.
In all the shaking, the fur-lined foot she had stashed shook loose and fell to the floor beside the satin pumps Ceilia wore. Ceilia hadn’t noticed, but Allister had. His look grew dangerous as he turned to stare at his new bride’s friend. He said nothing as he stepped towards his wife and slipped the ruby ring on her out-stretched finger. Under the strength of his frame, he could feel the delicate bones of the rabbit’s foot crush.
“Ceilia, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor and cherish, to have and to hold from this day forward?”
And as the new groom and bride shared an affectionate, yet subdued kiss, the best man and the maid of honor shared a look and in unison mumbled “Stupid rabbit!”
**Stephen King-On Writing; A Memoir of the Craft
Thank you for writing such a brilliant book and for sharing your wisdom.
Unpublished work (c) S.L. Davis 2015