You Married a Writer. What Now?!

So.

You married a writer.

Oops.

I mean: congrats. You did the right thing. I assume love was on the table, plus it’s a nice thing to be in love with a perpetual daydreamer. I mean, the dishes won’t get done, and you can forget about laundry EVER being folded unless you do it, but hey. Dreams. They matter.

Here’s the thing about marrying a writer: we’re pretty typecast as introverts, obsessed with hiding our Google search histories and nurture unhealthy obsessions on the whether or not the oxford comma has a place into today’s writing (um, yes.) That typecast is usually spot on, but in a lot of cases its not, so take this with a grain of salt. Unless I just described your partner. In which case: continue on to find tips my husband and I have navigated to make our marriage functional and joyful.

• Don’t interrupt a writing writer. Its so.freakin’.hard. to get into a mental headspace quiet, but loud enough to foster creativity and actually hear your characters living; don’t strip your partner of that time invested.
• Offer ice cream (or treat of choice) when an agent or publisher says no. Writing is more no than yes, for every single person in the industry. It sucks. No one likes it. Be a comfort.
• Laundry. Just know it’s your lot in life. We mean to help. I swear it. But…it just doesn’t happen.
• Romance is hitting the bookstore on your way home at the end of a date. The thrill I get opening a book store sends chills down my arms. No joke. The smell of dusty worn paper, or crisp cut paper, there is nothing better, truly.
• Never complain the number of books in the house. Yes, many of us could start our own library. Yes, the tower of book next to the bed side lamp blocks the light, and likely the sunshine, but whatever. Having a book to reach to is as necessary as breathing.
• Don’t talk through movies or television shows. Your partner is likely enjoying it at face value AND also dissecting character development, and pacing, and setting, and why it’s working (or not).
• Be open with mundane details. When they ask you to describe something (your coffee, a new beer you’re trying, your first day of kindergarten – what you remember of it anyway), they’re taking mental notes to apply elsewhere, at some point.
• Wear a sleeping mask and/or earplugs. Falling asleep with the bedside lamp on or listening to fingers tapping computer keys. Just the way it is. Consider adjusting that book pile next to the lamp to aid in a darker room.
• Prepare for people to say dumb things. When in social gatherings, if you feel like someone is about to ask your partner if they’re “the next JK Rowling”, distract someone. Anyone. Light a curtain on fire. Just grab his/her hand and sprint away.
• Finally: time. Give it to them. They’ll come back to you, weary and likely a little sleepy, but so refreshed (or drained, but refreshed) that it will make the entire Star Wars trilogy you just spent Saturday afternoon watching by yourself worth it.

Don’t be intimidated. Yes, writers take bits and pieces from their lives and weave it into their work – it’s what the point of writing is: telling stories grounded in truth. Take it as a compliment. You’re your partner’s truth. Revel in it.

And do the laundry.