“What’s wrong?” My wife snuggled closer in the bed as I lay on my back staring into the dark. “What’re you thinking?”
“Nothing.” She let it pass for moment, the lie. We both knew, an old opening to the conversation. “Lots of things, nothing.”
“Thinking, thinking, thinking.” She kissed me three time quick on my bare right shoulder. “What is it? Are you thinking about your blogs?”
You have a partner to share a life with who knows without being told, the little things. My wife is my partner for life and with those soft words, I felt again my good fortune but there was a remaining psychic unease, unsettledness.
A long squeeze and a murmured, “I love you.”
“There’s so much to do.” I finally admitted. I kept thinking of all the articles, all the design, the content and the style of the blogs, the contacts, the comments, all of the little things that seemed ready to swallow me without concern.
“Do you enjoy the blogs. Do you like writing them?” There it was. I wanted to say no, it was too much with too little reward. “You’re good at it.”
We both knew that she stretched the truth with that, that there is a difference between aptitude and execution. I loved her more for blurring the line at that moment because I needed that reassurance.
“I like doing it and I think I can get better.” My doubts were in the open, if still hanging in the dark room. I felt relief. My wife was okay with the hours I had been spending on trying to get organized, to find my voice. She supported me, loved me, and, for all the money and success that writers might enjoy, the love of a woman means more.