****************Yesterday's Winner is NIKKI!!!! Nikki send your info to email@example.com****************************************************
Major congrats to Marley on the release of her first book in the Ghost Huntress series. Make sure to leave a comment today for your chance to win your own copy!
Okay, so how cool would it be to invite any ghost you wanted to a dinner party? I've given this a lot of thought and here's who would be haunting my party.
First off, this isn't going to be your typical hanging around the house in your holey sweats kind of shindig. This is going to be fancy. Just because your guests of honor are dead doesn't mean you don't still have to try and impress them. And because my sense of style seems to equal jeans and T-shirts I buy at Target, I'm gonna need some help. Who better to help me dress for my party than Jackie O? She'd whip me into shape in no time.
I sashay (Jackie gets mad when I talk like that)into a fabulous ballroom where all of my guests are waiting on me. Everyone looks divine and completely undead. Sharing a stage and singing a duet are Patsy Cline and Buddy Holly. Crazzyy! Everyone waves at me and I hardly know where to begin.
It isn't hard to decide to head immediately for the dead hottie table. River Phoenix, Brandon Lee, James Dean, and JFK Jr. practically get into a fight trying to pull my chair out for me. They tell me how pretty I am and how they wish they were alive so that they could take me out. I try to ignore Jackie but she's burning holes through me from across the room. I guess I might have forgotten to mention that her son was one of the hotties I was getting dolled up for. Like most pretty boys, they run out of conversation pretty quickly. They all kiss my cheek and I head toward roaring laughter.
I saunter over and take a seat in between John Candy and Chris Farley. They make me laugh so hard that I nearly pee in my pants. Jackie starts again with the looks. I guess I'm acting very unladylike. Next time I'm definitely requesting a stylist with less attitude. My face actually starts to hurt because these guys are so funny. I think I might never leave when someone whispers in my ear, "I don't have all night. Do you want some writing tips or not?"
I turn to see Michael Crichton, Agatha Christie, and E.B. White behind me, tapping their feet impatiently. I reluctantly excuse myself from John and Chris and follow my new critique partners to a quiet corner of the ballroom. I pull a manuscript I've been working on out of my glittery evening bag. I nervously hand a copy of the picture book I've been working on to each of them. After thirty of the longest seconds of my life Michael speaks up first.
Michael: "It's not bad, but maybe the dog could contract some mysterious illness that changes him into a T-Rex."
Me: "That's kind of been done already, Michael."
Michael: "By who?"
Me: "Um, you."
Agatha: "Ms. Hale, your manuscript lacks red herrings. It took me mere seconds to realize who the villian was."
Me: "Um, it's a picture book not a mystery."
E.B.: "Your idea is brilliant, but your rhymes really suck."
Me: "I'm out of here."
It's been a pretty fun night and I figure the ghosts are about ready to turn in for the night. I turn to go when I hear a familar voice call my name. I turn back around and run toward the voice. I don't even care that Jackie is yelling that ladies don't run in heels. When I get to the voice I can hardly believe my eyes. It's my grandpa who passed away when I was twelve years old. When I was young I used to spend my summers with my dad in Colorado. When I got back I was dying (bad choice of words) to tear up the town on my beloved ten-speed and make up for lost time with my friends. The biggest regret of my life happened one summer after I got back when I stopped by to say hi to my grandparents. I was twelve and I had hot wheels. My grandpa wanted me to stay and visit and watch All my Children with him (he loved that show!). I remember peeking around the corner to the living room and telling him that I just couldn't stay today but some other day I would. Unfortunately we lost him that very night to a heart attack.
My grandpa wraps me in his arms and we spend the rest of the night catching up on All my Kids.
(This is Jackie Gleason, not my grandpa, but the resemblance is uncanny.)
Leave a comment telling me what ghost you'd invite over to win a copy of Marley's new book!