Whenever I hit the last 2-3 months of a book, I crawl right inside of it, to the detriment of my sleep, health, and family. This is not some writer thing…I know plenty of farmers who go to the same place during planting and harvest time. It was one matter to indulge in this behavior when it was bachelor me. Now I have a family. And although I do most of my writing in a room above the garage just across the yard, I’m still essentially absent. And when I do emerge, my mind doesn’t always come with me.
My wife gets this. Doesn’t mean she’d choose it. And doesn’t mean she should have to put up with it. And she has backbone enough to let me know when it’s time to haul my brain out of the office…or wherever else I might have it stuck.
But every day she has a word of encouragement.
Better than I deserve, son, better than I deserve.
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