My Husband....

On the heels of my identity crisis, I have been stewing about this whole writing thing. It's what I want to do, because it's what I am. I don't want to work at Wal-Mart or Doofus, Doorknob and Dunce Inc., doing mindless work that means nothing to me. So full speed ahead with the writing gig.

But....can I really write a whole friggen book? Can I really sit down each day from x am to x pm and write, ignoring dirty dishes and laundry? Can I keep myself motivated? Can I write on demand? If so...what the hell am I going to write about? What is my hook? Where is my plot? All these thoughts have been whirling around in my head and I have been distracted and distant as I try to sort through the details of becoming a legitimate, and paid, writer.

So the other day, husband, who is aware of my discontent and who has been trying really hard to support and encourage said....

"So..when are you going to get serious with this writing thing? You have what it takes you know."

I expressed all my fears and doubts to him. He listened patiently, and surpressed the urge to offer pat solutions, which is what sometimes happens when women and men approach the same issue from gender biased angles. We've had many discussion that ended up with him declaring in frustration..."I'm just trying to HELP!" and me yelling..."I don't WANT you to help, I just want you to LISTEN!"

So he did.

And when I summed it all up by saying..."I just don't know if I have the focus or the discipline to write a real book."

He looked me right in the eye and said....

"Baby. You already ARE."

And there it was. My husband saw what I couldn't. My female propensity for complicating matters had rendered me blind to the fact that I have, little by little, been writing a book about my life here in the South. And I think, maybe, people would even like to read it.

Thank you, honey. Me love you long time.