Guest Post: Peta Jo on her novel Wedding Etiquette for Ferals

This guest post was kindly provided by Peta Johansen

I me my future husband at a wedding in 2004. The bride was bent on fixing me up with her fiance's mate and was quite distressed when I asked about the other guy instead'it was her brother.

Seven years later, were now married with two children, and Ive written a book about those misadventures people call weddings. The first five chapters alone won the Queensland Arts Council's New Regional Writer Scholarship and I was invited to stay at Varuna Writer's House where I finished it off and even began a sequel. But after some years chasing publishers and agents (one who told me the arena of women's fiction was a changing beast and most wouldn't risk new authors in that genre), I decided to self-publish. It's been a learning curve to say the least but I'm grateful I had the chance to publish the book how I wanted, and using my graphic designer husband's awesome cover design in the process. This book really is a labour of love.

Sneak Peak: Wedding Etiquette for Ferals by Peta Jo

CHAPTER ONE

'In taking leave of a group of strangers ' it makes no difference whether you have been introduced to them or merely included in their conversation ' you bow 'good-bye' to any who happen to be looking at you, but you do not attempt to attract the attention of those who are unaware that you are turning away.' ' Emily Post, 1922.

FRAGMENTS of Lydia's evening came filtering through like starbursts. She had met her friend Kathleen for drinks after work to decompress. What had started out as a momentous day in her fledgling career became another exhausting attempt to get along with her supervisor.

But Kathleen had her own news. Big news. She was drinking a mocktail, she had pointed out ever-so innocently, and this meant two things: one, she was pregnant, and two, all that irritating, carefree vivacity of hers would evaporate into a self-absorbed, baby-talking zombie, the likes of which Lydia had nothing in common, let alone time to indulge.

Lying still, Lydia was at least relieved to recall that she'd had the decency to congratulate Kathleen before drinking herself into a legless, self-pitying stupor.

As the cognitive wheels turned, Lydia realised just how many glasses of alcohol had met her lips last night.

She remembered sculling a drink in cahoots with a bar-fly stranger, insisting he drink with her in the absence of Kathleen's voracity. Wine had sloshed beside her laughing mouth, down her chin and over the most expensive item from her wardrobe, a DKNY set. 'Recalling her disregard for the large, wet stain it had left, Lydia knew she'd been a mess last night' and had she really been wearing an Akubra?!

Larger shards of memory pierced Lydia's slumber. She stirred and frowned at herself. Shrouding lights reflecting off a shot-glass and a burning sensation deep in her chest. She couldn't remember Kathleen being there, couldn't remember anybody's actual face, though she was certainly surrounded by a group of people.

Another panel of clarity, revealing flannel, a heavy scent of pine aftershave and beer brought Lydia to the fore.

Beard rash on her face and the recollection of being hauled off the dance floor dared Lydia to open her eyes once and for all.

Hesitantly, she took in a roof with beige paint coming off in large bubbles. This was not her bedroom.

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