Waves of silky garnet, the swish and sweep of fabric designed for a dancer… It cost as much as ten regular dresses. It was a queen’s gown, a victor’s laurel wreath. I vowed that this was the dress I’d wear at my future book signing, God willing.
I didn’t have an agent, publisher, or even a batch of query letters. But I’d dreamed of a stunning red dress for years.
I promised myself as I slid inside it, “This is how exquisite and beautiful I’ll feel when I can hold my own book in my hands.” I’d have to wait a long time and endure a dusty, lonely path before this hope blossomed. I bought the dress.
Here’s where it gets funny (and I mean the weird kind):
In the Moonlight and Oranges confession-of-love scene, Kestrin sees Lorona as a passionate woman who hides her emotions, “like an exquisite red dress stuffed into an old oak chest.”
Then, when my designer showed his initial idea for a book cover, the heroine wore an elegant, ruby-red dress. He hadn’t read the book. He didn’t know about the special gown in my closet.
Was a red dress such a part of me that it spilled out when I wrote? Did I unleash something wonderful when I let myself splurge on this object of delight? I like to think so.
Have you ever dressed or prepared for something you’d only hoped would happen? What did you do that made your dreams drift closer?