Friday, April 1

So you want to be a writer?

Twenty-five is a bit old to start finally thinking about college.  Still, here I am almost 26 and writing an admissions essay.  The essay started off with a righteous bang!  Humor, voice and direction.  3 paragraphs of gold, and then....  I forgot where I was going.  The story started to turn into a list, rushing through as much information as possible to set up for the point of the story.  I was distracted by "getting to the point" so much so that I forgot what the hell the point was.  A story is a journey, not a race to the finish.  I thought I'd share some of my gold that turned into some long run on sentences and a lot of overdetailed filler.  These paragraphs would loan themselves much better to another story.

The story is set on the day of my wedding, I hope someone enjoys this little nugget!

 The afternoon turned into a perfect evening, the ceremony was in the Brooklyn Bridge Park with the sun setting on the Manhattan Skyline, right into our eyes. The subways were roaring over the Manhattan bridge, and booty clapping gold lame clad dancers took a break from their music video to allow my wedding ceremony to begin.  With my grandfather on my arm we walked through the large group jumbled on the park grass.  I shook with nervousness and excitement, I wanted to smile and look at everyone but the ground seemed to help me not cry and ruin all that makeup I had so generously applied.  Joe waited for me next to his best man and brother.  He looked full of the same emotions that I was, with an added dose of nerves.  We held hands and looked into each others eyes as our old and impossible pastor droned on and on, breaking every time a subway crossed the Manhattan Bridge Tracks.  I told him "Just keep going," but he was a stubborn old goat.  The ceremony ended after 6 pauses with an awesome kiss and as husband and wife, Joe and I lead the wedding party  to the reception.

  Joe and I hid in a closet and shared a beer while we were announced to our guests. Afterwards Pastor Old Fart made a big ado about signing our marriage license. For what seemed like a lifetime we signed documents,our witnesses signed documents.  If you're an alcoholic with kegs of beer on ice and 3 hours of time left to party, you can understand the tick tock of the clock that was echoing through my head.  After the marital paperwork, it was on.  The karaoke machine was proving to be slightly shitty and our first dance was to a song that was impossible to dance to.  Between cutting cake and cutting a rug I attempted to converse with as many people as possible, thanking them for their attendance.  I pressured them to please sing a karaoke song, as my Maid of Honor and her husband were just starting up their Meatloaf duet.  My brother-in-law, a touring musician, blessed the crowd with his loveable rendition of "Crazy Train" by Black Sabbath.  With a pair of scissors in hand he wailed into the microphone while simultaneously cutting loose and stabbing at balloons forcing the wedding patrons to take a step (or ten) back from his performance.

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