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“What are you doing honey?”
“I’ve got to get this done, it’s due in the morning,” I said in a hurry, hoping she would just drop it and let me get back to work.
“But I’m tired, it’s almost midnight, that light is in my eyes, and the pounding of your keyboard is keeping me awake.”
O.k., so she wasn’t going to let it drop.
“Well, what else am I going to do? I haven’t had a chance to work on this until now, and you know that my deadline is 9 o’clock in the morning. I’ve got to get this done.”
If only our place wasn’t so cramped. If we had the room, we wouldn’t have to have this weekly conversation.
“You know how important this is to me. I get a lot out of this process. If I could do this another day, another place, another way, I would.”
“But this isn’t even a paying gig. Is it really life or death, especially since it's usually so late before you finish?”
“You know I have to hone my skills. This is the only way, and I’ll bet I’m not the only one. A lot of other people are probably in the same boat.”
“You mean their hobby annoys their spouses, too?” she said with a slight chuckle in her voice, now fully awake and obviously not really that mad at me any more.
“Well,” I said slowly, ready for the “fight.” Besides, making up is kinda fun. “I do use you as a source of my inspiration. Do you find that annoying, too?”
“Only when you don’t change the names in the story and make me look a little less than perfect to your online friends.”
A little less than perfect? Most of my pieces are non-fiction. “When have I ever done that?”
“You haven’t,” she said, laughing at my discomfort. I wonder how many other FaithWriters.com challengers have to put up with this kind of abuse.
All right, I think I’m done with this game. Maybe I should just turn out the light and go to sleep. I could miss a week of the challenge. What would that hurt?
“Yeah right, yopu're just like all the others. They couldn’t stand missing a week, either.”
Wait a minute, I didn’t even say that out loud. Am I that transparent?
“Honey, you’ve told me enough about the people on the message boards. You’re as neurotic as they are. That Challenge-thing has gotten inside your head. And, although you don’t post on the message boards as much as some people – are some of them really in the thousands of posts? – you writers are all alike.”
“We are, are we?” I’ve lost this battle.
“You want feedback, pout when you don’t get it, wonder if anybody is really reading your stuff, stay up all night to try and beat the deadline, fret about how you’re going to chop one hundred words from your submission to get under the word count limit, and wonder if Deb can really be as nice as she seems.”
“Wow, are you good.”
Now I really wanted to go to sleep.
“One more thing, hon.”
What now, I thought. I don’t think I can take any more of this. “What is it?”
"Has there been any thought of a support group for spouses of FaithWriters.com’ers? We could use the help.” She was laughing now.
“I don’t know, but that probably could be a profitable site. Now leave me alone. I’ve got a deadline to meet.”
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