Wednesday, April 13, 2011
My first thought was “Oh, you poor thing!” My second? Well hell, girl, neither has mine. I doubt he ever will (except for a few lines over my shoulder when I’m working).
My husband is not a reader. Never has been. The only book he’s ever read (aside from technical manuals and sports periodicals) was the biography of Willie Mosconi, one of the greatest pool players to ever play the game.
Does that mean he doesn’t support the choice I’ve made to write?
No, it does not. It simply means he doesn’t read for pleasure, doesn’t “get” what I find so wonderful about books. He supports my desire to write and encourages me to do so. He bought me my first electric typewriter. He hurts with me when I receive a rejection and feeds me chocolate until I feel better. Does he do the dishes, the laundry or the grocery shopping so I have more time to write? No. No. And no, but he never quibbles when I spend time with my writer friends or spend more time with my characters than him or when I get lost in my research (he’s even helped me with my research but that’s another topic) or when I go to conferences.
He has never, not once, told me my writing was a waste of time. He’s proud of my accomplishments, tells anyone who will listen that his wife is an author and hands out my business card. He’s even sold a book or two for me.
And that, to me, is more important than him reading my work.
Happy Reading and Writing