Recently, I learned a trick for falling asleep when conditions are not ideal for rest. (I promise this has relevancy for writing, stick with me.) Starting with closed eyes, relax the eyes. Feel them deepening into your sockets. Then let go of any tension in your face. Move on to another part of the body.…
Being a writer is a stressful profession not only for the author, but for family members too, so here’s a little tribute to the men in our lives.
THE WRITER’S WIDOWER
Quickly repeat these words ten times. Writer’s widower…writer’s widower…writer’s widower… Okay, now, that the fun is over, what in the heck am I talking about?
My definition of writer’s widower: A husband whose wife is a writer. The word “husband” can be substituted with spouse or significant other, or the phrase could read ‘A wife whose husband is a writer’, but since the majority of romance writers are female, this article is about women authors and their men.
Most men don’t marry a woman expecting her to warp into a romance writer. They marry for things like steady sex, family, and companionship, but when their wives become writers, those things fly out the window for long periods of time.
When writing, authors tend to block out every interruption. We tape skull and crossbones, or enter at your own risk notices on our doors, or hang do not disturb signs on the handles. We ignore the blare of the TV, kids arguing with one another, a plate crashing to the floor—unless they’re happening in our characters’ lives.
We stock our writing area with essentials like chocolate, coffee, and wine so we don’t have to get out of our chairs except to run, and I mean run, to the bathroom. We stare at the wall, the ceiling, and the blinking cursor on a blank page as minutes tick by. Time does not exist. Nor does sleep, nourishment, or fashion.
We’re not in our world—we’re in the world of our characters—in their time and place, their home, job, and family. We mimic our characters’ feelings and emotions. We cease being ourselves and become missing in action, and our husbands become widowers.
I thank God every day for my husband. During my writer’s trance, he dons the hat of housekeeper, laundress, cook, and bottle washer. And when I feel he’s reached his limit of no companionship, I give him a little sex.
I don’t want him to totally be a writer’s widower!
How does your husband support your writing or deal with being a writer’s widower?
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