Here's what life is like being married to a writer...
We went on a bike ride yesterday. It was hot and I don't do the heat. But I'm really good at pushing through and pushing myself these days so I insist. We hit our normal 8 mile mark and this one decides she can go farther. How much farther? Well, let's just go to the lake, around the lake and back. That's an extra four miles. Keep in mind I haven't been on a bike for three weeks. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. It was the scale doing the thinking for me.
So I realize about halfway around the lake that I can't do this. Options? Only one. Push through. Because it's halfway so there isn't any cutting it short at this point. To distract myself, I start picturing my current WIP. I'm working through a few problems, picturing more scenes, doing what we writers do best (shout out to Meredith who works through things on her runs).
The hubster? He's what you'd call an "athlete". He's done tris (athlete speak for triathlons) so 12 miles on a bike is nothing. Like a warm-up. We could get back to the car and he could run home. There's nothing he loves more than running in the heat. This means that he is enjoying his ride. Watching the ducks in the lake. Watching the ducks on the shore. Saying 'hi' to everyone we pass (at this point, I'm doing something that should resemble a smile but looks more like a grimace followed by a nod to everyone we pass).
I blurt out, "Warren is going to die!"
That got more than a few strange looks from the picnic area we had just passed.
The hubster puts his hand up and says, "Wait a minute! Don't tell me. Let me figure this out." He loves this game - I say something out of the blue that makes absolutely no sense to anyone but me because I just finished a conversation in my head that we started last week. He can usually work his way backwards to figure it out. It's fun for him and gets me laughing.
"I got nothing," he says finally.
"In my book. Warren is going to die."
"Really? Because I like him."
"Precisely why he needs to die."
During dinner, he confessed that it did make sense and would really "throw a wrench" into things.
To which I said (again), "Precisely why he needs to die."
What about you - killed any Warrens lately? Do you talk writing with your significant other?
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