When you’re writers, he and she, you tend to share this mutual, whispered understanding. We retreat to our darkened writing corners for no less than 5 hours at a time on any given weekend day (90 minutes on weekdays), and when again we meet, we clasp fingers and share stories over dinner – stories of the things we found and brought back from our journeys, to be typed into text editors and shared with the world. He is writing several books at the moment, fiction and non-fiction, one almost ready for publication.
I write for this blog, for you. As I sit in our darkened theater, in silence broken only by the steady breath of dachshunds and the song in my headphones, I can’t imagine not having married a writer. It’s a symmetry I find this perfect comfort in, and without it, I might not so easily be able to share this tale with all of you.
To speak nothing of his unending and devotional belief in me and my ability to do anything I set about to achieve.
And his free IT services.