My husband has always been ultra supportive of my writing, always pitching in with the kids so that I have time to write. He’s read all my books before they were published even though they’re not exactly the genre he’s interested in.
Well, Hard Hat is coming out in less than two months and he hasn’t read it yet. We’ve been so busy lately. Four kids on no sleep is hard work. If there’s a choice between going to bed early or staying up to read a book, I don’t blame him for choosing the former over the latter. Nonetheless, he is determined to read the book before it hits the shelves, just so he can say that he did. In his words, “What’s the point of being married to a famous author if you don’t get to read the book first?” So to achieve his goal, he’s been reading a little of my novel every day on the train on the way to work. For the last couple of weeks when he gets home he’s had something to say about the particular chapter he’s up to, which is really nice for me. Writers love getting feedback particularly from one whose opinion they value so much. One night he came home rather cross. You see, he’d just finished reading chapter 3, in which my hero does something a little out there to my heroine. As my book is set on a real construction site that I actually did work on ten years ago my husband’s first comment was, “Did anything like this ever happen to you because what he did was just outrageous!” I quickly assured him that said hero’s behaviour was purely fictional and completely plucked from my imagination rather than my experience. “Well, good.” He grunted, still none too pleased. After watching him stomp around the kitchen for a bit, I asked, “Why are you in such a bad mood?” Then he looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know. Just feel a bit silly because I was sitting there on the train seething all the way home with jealousy of an imaginary character in your book! ”
I think it was probably one of the best compliments I’ve had for this book. Not only did I write a scene that really pushed someone’s buttons but I proved that despite the fact that I’ve forgotten what women use make up for, my hair hasn’t been washed in a week and my belly has not yet shrunk back to it’s original pre-pregnancy size, I still “got it.”
Hee hee hee.