The Writing Life

The last child sleeps blissfully in bed. Quiet settles around the house, and I release a deep sigh. The day’s just about over, but right now is the sweet spot, when creativity meets opportunity. After pouring a glass of wine, I settle into my favorite corner of my red couch, pull up the laptop and get lost in my world of words.

Out of the corner of my vision, my husband passes by. In the zone, I don’t stop to look up. The next thing I know, a shadow looms over me blocking the ambient light, and impossible to ignore: “Are you made at me?” he asks.

“No,” I say, continuing to write.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Hands off the keyboard, I meet his gaze: “I’m writing.”

The same scenario repeats on a regular basis, over our 10 years of marriage. They say that when there’s a will, there’s a way. When it comes to writing, my “way” is often late at night, when the house goes to sleep. Yet, he still takes this unconscious slight personally.

More than a few years ago, I bought him the book Living with a Writer by Dale Salwak, hoping that reading about other people’s relationships with writers would help him understand my habits and behavior. I’ve read, laughing, more of the book than he has.

As I write this blog, my 3-year-old leans against my left arm and every so often, I have to ask her to scoot over and give me a bit more room. The situation reminds me, sadly, of the scene in the animated film “Coraline,” when the parents tell the child, “Not now, I’m writing.”

In just a few more graphs, though, I’ll turn off the computer and we’ll go play in the back yard, until the next moment of opportunity comes.

So, writing friends, tell me that I’m not the only one who drifts off into another space, another dimension, where the characters and dialogue dance through the mind, and when I have a chance, I feel absolutely compelled to capture that moment in words.

And, no: I am not mad at you.