Don’t know what it is about football. I can’t get into the game and believe me, I’ve tried. My husband loves it so much, he wishes his family shared in the experience. Poor dude–none of us enjoy the game, not even our son.
But it does make the PERFECT background noise for writing. (Okay, husband’s occasional shout is disconcerting, but for the most part…)
Normally, he likes to take care of house or yard things on the weekends and this past one was no different. He replaced the garbage disposal, worked on the dishwasher, changed out heat and air system filters, worked on the garage… he stays busy. Think he had a few things planned for me too, but um, no. (Okay, I actually did spend most of Saturday and part of Sunday helping, grocery shopping, we had company over, etc.)
But you see, the muse had me by the throat throughout.
And she squeezed. A lot. Damn, she can be ruthless. (Which I secretly like.) But no matter what I was doing, the characters were stomping about, having conversations, poking…making me forget items at the grocery store. (Mainly things hubby wanted. Oops!)
If the story is that alive, I know to take advantage. So, I did. I chose a few tasks–mostly ones I WANTED to be finished–heh heh–but shhh–then, I sat in the midst of football, shouting and repairs and cleared five thousand words yesterday.
Oh yeah, baby, I owned these characters yesterday.
He thinks I didn’t notice his occasional smirk. Thinks I don’t know he finds my hunched over, fingers flying, dialogue murmuring self amusing. But I do. And I get it. I’d probably think I was a freak too if I were a non-writer. (Yeah, make sense of that one.) But the hubby is one of them. A non-writer. Or as I like to call them… Those Who Cannot Understand.
Case in point, I’ve already made it clear today is a work day. I have 3k more to hit and a bunch of contest entries to judge and guess who just called to let me know he was coming home to show me something.
Should I feel bad about locking the door to my work area????