Dear Susan,
I hope you’re well.
I’m getting in touch from ABC Marketing on behalf of author Mo Fanning to submit a feature for consideration for My Weekly.
The piece is a warm, first-person reflection on why weddings so often prompt us to present the polished version of our lives, even when the truth is a little messier. It looks at the tiny white lies we tell on big days, and why a little honesty can sometimes be the kindest thing.
It’s written very much with My Weekly readers in mind: relatable, reflective and uplifting, with a light touch. The feature also ties naturally into Mo’s forthcoming novel, Lisa Doyle Is Absolutely Fine, published by Spring Street Books on 18 June, though the article stands alone as a general-interest read rather than a promotional extract.
I’ve pasted the piece below. If it feels like a fit for the issue, I’d be delighted to send it over as a Word document, along with any other materials you may be able to use, or have Mo make any edits needed to suit your house style or length requirements.
With best wishes,
Adrian Bedford (on behalf of Mo Fanning)
ABC Book Marketing
Editorially led publicity and visibility for independent fiction authors
abcbookmarketing.com
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Why weddings make us tell little white lies
There’s a moment at almost every wedding when the music softens, the open bar has loosened your tongue, and someone you’ve not seen in years sidles up, with a warm smile and asks an innocent-enough question.
‘So, how are you?’
It’s not a trick question. And yet, somehow, in that moment, it feels like it might be.
The natural instinct is to smile and insist we’re fine. ‘Couldn’t be better’.
And often, if we’re honest, it’s not quite true.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Weddings have a way of making us take stock of our lives. Perhaps because they’re days to remember. With old friends. Who remind us of who we were at twenty, at thirty, at the last family gathering, at the last big celebration. Then, almost without realising it, we overthink things.
Am I where I thought I would be by now?
Do I seem happy enough?
Have I done enough, loved enough, become enough?
It doesn’t matter how old you are, either. When we’re young enough to touch our toes without cheating, the questions tend to be about jobs, partners, houses and children. Later on, they change shape. People ask about retirement, grandchildren, health, or whether you’re able to get on top of which bin goes out when. The details shift, but the feeling underneath is often the same. We wonder how our lives look from the outside.
Weddings can amplify that feeling, because they are, by their nature, hopeful occasions. Everyone is dressed up. Everyone is celebrating love, family, possibility and the future. There’s something beautiful about that, of course. But it can also leave us feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.
Even on the happiest days, very few lives are neat.
The friend with the lovely smile may be worrying about money. The cousin who seems so settled may be quietly lonely. The neighbour telling terrible jokes may be carrying a secret sadness. Most of us are living with something. A disappointment. A doubt. A change we never asked for. A private ache we’re not ready to explore.
So we smooth the edges.
We say work is busy when what we mean is that it’s running us ragged. We say everything’s tickety-boo when really we’re not sure what comes next. We tell everyone who asks that we’re fine… because it feels easier, kinder, and more in keeping with such a joyful day.
These little white lies make sense. Weddings aren’t confessional booths. They’re not the place to share every sorrow, every fear, and every private reckoning. Sometimes ‘I’m fine’ simply means, ‘This isn’t the moment’. Sometimes it means, ‘I want to enjoy today too’.
And yet, I think there’s another side to it.
For all the tuille and gloss, and lovely flowers, and polished shoes, weddings are also gatherings of people who know life isn’t perfect. That’s part of what makes the promises at the centre of them feel so moving. Love isn’t built for ideal lives. It’s built for real ones. Messy ones. Tender ones. Unexpected ones.
That is why, every so often, the most memorable moment at a wedding isn’t the first dance or the speeches, but a small, honest exchange. Someone admits they’ve had a tough year. Someone laughs and says they still don’t know what they’re doing with their life. Someone quietly confesses they thought everyone else had it sorted, and is relieved to discover otherwise.
Those moments can be a gift.
They remind us that most people aren’t looking for perfection when they ask how we are. Very often, they’re looking for connection. Hoping for something real. Not necessarily all of it, but perhaps a little of it.
I’m not suggesting we pour out our hearts to every distant acquaintance over the petits fours. But I do think there’s something lovely in allowing in just a little more honesty. Not the whole story, necessarily. Just one true thing.
‘It’s been a busy year, actually.’
‘I’m still figuring things out.’
‘Mostly good, but I’ve had my moments.’
‘I’m all right. For now, anyway.’
Sometimes that’s enough to change the conversation entirely.
And perhaps that’s one of the quiet gifts of weddings. Beneath the outfits and photographs and carefully arranged tables, they remind us that everyone’s hoping for love, for ease, for belonging. For a life that feels good enough for now. We tip up at the church looking fabulous, but most of us are hiding a handful of loose threads.
So the next time someone asks how you are at a wedding, you don’t have to tell them everything. But perhaps they don’t need to hear the polished version either.
A little honesty can feel like a kindness.
Not just to them. To you as well.
Mo Fanning’s novel Lisa Doyle Is Absolutely Fine is published on 18 June.