Why did I keep getting married??
One night it was to persons unknown, and my bridal suite was inside an auto mechanic shop. They called me and my grooms over a tinny-sounding loudspeaker when it was time to walk down the aisle. Another night it was to an ex-boyfriend on the diamond of a baseball stadium (Turner Field, which used to be our Atlanta Olympic Stadium). Everyone we knew was in the stands, cheering as if one of the Braves had hit a homer. The night after that, it was to some unknown woman with a REALLY hairy chin, and not only was she deliriously happy to be marrying me, she was also best friends with Justin Timberlake, who flew in to perform at our reception. (My parents were boycotting the wedding for some reason, and at the last minute I got the hell out of there fast before my attendants could get my gown on me, because I knew in the pit of my stomach something was way WRONG. Though Justin was great.)
THEN (a few nights later), it was to Dr. Phil, who had turned half of his TV show studio into a theme park with roller coasters and the works, and who, grinning ear to ear, presented me with this humongous rock in a Tiffany box. My mom, standing next to me, gave me a look that said, "Girl, I will pound you into the ground here and now if you don't take that ring." I just stood there staring until I woke up hollaring. Dr. Phil?? Whut? Where was Robin?
I had to figure out what in the name of Heinlein was going on. Either that or find a way to never sleep again. (This is about writing, I swear. Bear with me.)
Hypothesis #1: Inundated with Wedding Bliss. Though I am nowhere near getting hitched and have no desire to do so just now, my beloved cousin Tammy was getting married to her longtime love on July 19 and I was the Maid of Honor. Huge wedding. Huge families. LOTS of preparations (fittings, putting together party favors, programs, etc.) and events (rehearsals, bridal showers, meet-and-greet dinners, etc.). By wedding day, I was tired and as mentally exhausted as a rabbit in heat. As you can see below, after finally getting dressed in the Bride's Room (and corsetted to boot), I promptly fell across a chair, leaned against a wall, and got in a good snooze before the bride arrived.
Hypothesis #2: Two Characters in Continuous Marriage Angst. In a strong fantasy subplot, I have two beloved characters who cannot marry unless he wants to lose his head on a chopping block. (An old and much-used idea, but that's a challenge that makes me tick--taking plots writers no longer touch and making a reader enjoy the hell out of them anyway. Because I can.) After using distance, rank, her mother, his commander, an abduction, a curse, and a world war to keep this man and woman apart, they've survived all the danger and come to the realization that THEY NO LONGER GIVE A DAMN. Either of them could have been killed at any given moment through all that mess, and for what? An antiquated law that activists are trying to get abolished anyway. So after my own longheld angst about what would work best for the characters and the story itself as a whole, I deigned to marry them, and they, I, and the novel are very happy. (Of course in the next installment of said story, all hell's going to break loose because of it and suffering will abound. Heheh! I cannot wait.) But I worked toward this marriage for a long time, and I can say I am amazingly content.
I suppose I'll never know which hypothesis caused all that havoc in my dreams (or perhaps it was both, together?), but it had to be one of them, because when the Sandman comes now, I'm my good ol' single self again. Praise Asimov.
Sometimes dreams can be the answer to your prayers (even the ones that make you think you've ingested street drugs).
So don't be afraid to listen.
THEN (a few nights later), it was to Dr. Phil, who had turned half of his TV show studio into a theme park with roller coasters and the works, and who, grinning ear to ear, presented me with this humongous rock in a Tiffany box. My mom, standing next to me, gave me a look that said, "Girl, I will pound you into the ground here and now if you don't take that ring." I just stood there staring until I woke up hollaring. Dr. Phil?? Whut? Where was Robin?
I had to figure out what in the name of Heinlein was going on. Either that or find a way to never sleep again. (This is about writing, I swear. Bear with me.)
Hypothesis #1: Inundated with Wedding Bliss. Though I am nowhere near getting hitched and have no desire to do so just now, my beloved cousin Tammy was getting married to her longtime love on July 19 and I was the Maid of Honor. Huge wedding. Huge families. LOTS of preparations (fittings, putting together party favors, programs, etc.) and events (rehearsals, bridal showers, meet-and-greet dinners, etc.). By wedding day, I was tired and as mentally exhausted as a rabbit in heat. As you can see below, after finally getting dressed in the Bride's Room (and corsetted to boot), I promptly fell across a chair, leaned against a wall, and got in a good snooze before the bride arrived.
Hypothesis #2: Two Characters in Continuous Marriage Angst. In a strong fantasy subplot, I have two beloved characters who cannot marry unless he wants to lose his head on a chopping block. (An old and much-used idea, but that's a challenge that makes me tick--taking plots writers no longer touch and making a reader enjoy the hell out of them anyway. Because I can.) After using distance, rank, her mother, his commander, an abduction, a curse, and a world war to keep this man and woman apart, they've survived all the danger and come to the realization that THEY NO LONGER GIVE A DAMN. Either of them could have been killed at any given moment through all that mess, and for what? An antiquated law that activists are trying to get abolished anyway. So after my own longheld angst about what would work best for the characters and the story itself as a whole, I deigned to marry them, and they, I, and the novel are very happy. (Of course in the next installment of said story, all hell's going to break loose because of it and suffering will abound. Heheh! I cannot wait.) But I worked toward this marriage for a long time, and I can say I am amazingly content.
I suppose I'll never know which hypothesis caused all that havoc in my dreams (or perhaps it was both, together?), but it had to be one of them, because when the Sandman comes now, I'm my good ol' single self again. Praise Asimov.
Sometimes dreams can be the answer to your prayers (even the ones that make you think you've ingested street drugs).
So don't be afraid to listen.