Talk About My Favorite Authors: Maria Murnane says it's "Perfect on Paper!"

Well today I have a special guest blogger for you who is a newly published author talking about her first published novel. Maria Murnane is going to be talking a bit about her book Perfect on Paper and give you a peek at the book too.

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Hi Phoebe, thanks so much for inviting me to write a guest post for your blog. I appreciate it! I thought it would be fun to post a snippet of Perfect on Paper that will give your readers a sense of its style and tone—and for my sense of humor—without giving any critical plot details away! The book is a romantic comedy about a woman named Waverly Bryson who is trying to get back on her feet after her fiancé calls off their wedding. In this scene she is back at the dreaded “singles table” at the first wedding she attends after her breakup.

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We all introduced ourselves and slid into the standard wedding small-talk: “So how do you know the bride?” “Oh really? Then do you know (insert name here)?” “So how do you know the groom?” “Oh really? Then do you know (insert name here)?” “So where are you from?” “You are? Then do you know (insert name here)?” “So where did you go to school?” “You did? Then do you know (insert name here)?” “So have you ever noticed how small talk inevitably morphs into the name game?” I said to no one in particular. One thing that was a little awkward about our table, and the other 3500 in the room, was the flowers, which were beautiful and everywhere. And everywhere included the centerpiece at each table, which was a huge globe of flowers that was about two feet in diameter and blocked my view of the people directly across the table, and theirs of me. Given that clearly no expense had been spared to make the wedding perfect, I have no idea how this rather important detail had somehow been overlooked. Anyhow, back to the edible details. The entrées were spectacular: a choice of lobster, chicken or sirloin, plus jasmine rice and a grilled vegetable medley lightly topped with a sweet cinnamon glaze, and the most delicious, thickest bread I had ever tasted. I ate everything on my plate. And the flowing wine was a nice social lubricant for our table of virtual strangers. Despite the visual impairment, we managed to engage the entire group in a hearty conversation that flowed from sports and books to movies and celebrity scandals. Then things shifted gears, and the fun began. Hank Fishman, a stocky, balding coworker of Dale’s, raised his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen of table 53, I propose a slight change of subject to spice this party up.” “What did you have in mind?” A curly-haired blonde named Dawn leaned around the centerpiece to make eye contact with him. Hank t

ook a sip of his wine and set it down on the table. “Well, since we’ve broached the general subject of dating, I suggest we delve into the more entertaining topic of dating disqualifiers. Shallow, plain and simple.” He smiled. “Disqualifiers?” I said, leaning my head a foot to the right. “Yep, things that will exclude any possible date from consideration, and the more superficial the better.” “That sounds quite interesting.” Christopher Henson, a salt-and pepper haired friend of Cynthia’s, rubbed his hands together. “Who’s first?” “I’ll take one for the team,” Hank said. “And for you ladies in the group, I’m quite aware that I’m short and bald, two attributes that often top the female disqualifier list. I take no offense at that, but for the sake of originality, let’s please try to come up with something new, okay?” I raised my wine glass. “Hank, I’m in love with the self-deprecation. It’s a shame we can’t hook up though, because short and bald are two of my disqualifiers.” “Ahhh, you’re killing me.” He pretended to stab himself in the heart. “And by the way ladies, I also have a bit of a carpet growing on my back, so let’s keep back hair off the list to keep me from throwing myself off the roof tonight.” He clapped his hands. “Now let’s get this game started.” We all looked at him. Or around at him. “For me,” he said. “I must admit that my top disqualifier would have to be the cheerleader. I don’t care how smokin’ you are. If I find out you once had pom poms in your locker, you’re out on your ass.” A small applause erupted from the group. Hank bowed his head. “And my apologies to any of you ladies who might have been cheerleaders, but it doesn’t matter because you probably wouldn’t hook up with a short, bald guy with a hairy back anyway.” He picked up his glass and raised it to the table. “Who’s next?” Christopher said. “Should we just go clockwise around the table?” “Sure,” Hank said, and we all looked at the blonde to his left. Her name was Lisa. “Then it’s me, and it’s easy,” she said. She lifted three fingers in the air. “Three words: personalized license plates.” She sipped her wine and put it on the table. “Ooh, excellent choice.” I pointed at her and nodded. The list grew as we continued around the table, and by the end I was dabbing my eyes with my napkin. Added to Hank’s cheerleader and Lisa’s personalized license plates, we had: Matt: Laura Ashley bedspreads or any type of waterbed Dawn: Jorts (jean shorts) Kevin: Former debutantes or beauty pageant contestants Amanda: Any guy who weighs less than she does Greg: Ivy leaguers who unnecessarily drop their alma mater into the conversation Eileen: Tevas with socks Me: Tie between black Levi’s and bumper stickers We all agreed the best disqualifier of the table belonged to Christopher, who cracked us up with stuffed animals in the back window of her car. Upon further discussion we decided that guys with pinky rings, gold chains or mullets are automatic disqualifiers, as were girls with photos of their cats in their wallets. Others that were close but didn’t make the A list included guys with beer guts, unibrows or mustaches, and girls with man hands, chipped fingernail polish or an annoying laugh. Damn, we were one shallow table. Hank motioned for a nearby waiter, who with blazing speed refilled all our wine glasses. Then Hank raised his in the air. “Table 53, you are one hell of a bunch. Here’s to the God damned singles table!” “To the God damned singles table!” We all raised our glasses and cheered, turning several nearby heads. “Could we perpetuate the stereotype of the typical drunk singles table any more?” Dawn said. I laughed. Despite my best intentions of staying sober, I had failed miserably. I sucked. “Hell, we misfits deserve to have fun too, right?” I said. “You go girl,” Hank said.

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Thanks again, Phoebe. There is more information about me and Perfect on Paper at my website and I hope your readers will give the book a try!

1 comment:

thewriterslifeMonday, January 12, 2009 at 12:05:00 PM EST
A book to die for. Thanks for the guest post! Phoebe, I love your blog!

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