Aarrgghh!!

I love my husband. I really do. Even when he leaves the toilet seat up and I fall into the toilet when I go to the bathroom late at night. Even when he "hangs" his wet towel on my side of the bed. Even when he talks to me when I'm trying to read. I do. I love the guy.

Last night I wanted to beat him into a pulp.

Here's how it started: we were taking dinner over to some friends, where we were going to spend the evening. As we were in the process of loading up the car, Liz called. She'd had a really craptastic afternoon and needed to vent. So she vented and I sympathized, and then we started talking about the research we had each done for the book we're working on now. By this time Joe and I were in the car, and he was driving to our friends' house. I was excitedly telling Liz that our premise completely works, and telling her about the mythology surrounding a particular character we're using. She was excitedly telling me that our premise completely works, and telling me about the mythology surrounding a particular character we're using. We discussed how we can manipulate things, agreed that things are going well, and promised to meet this weekend to review what we've done so far and figure out the next writing assignment. Then I hung up the phone.

Joe started telling me how to write books. He started telling me how to sell them and how not to sell them. Then he started yelling at me because I have an idea for a completely brilliant book that I have not yet written. He wants to know why I'm wasting my time writing other things, when I have this completely brilliant book yet to write. I tried explaining to him that I am not ready to write that completely brilliant book--I've got several years of research and need to hone my craft. He ignored that and kept yelling. Finally I was so angry that I cussed him out thoroughly and told him to shut the hell up because he doesn't know what he's talking about. This is a guy who does not read fiction and does not write. When I pointed that out, he huffily told me he got A's in English in junior college. Cool. Fine. Dandy. He's not a writer. He doesn't know what he's talking about.

For the record, I have one completely brilliant book idea that is waiting on the back burner. It's related to my passion for all things Chaucer. The research alone is taking years. What Joe doesn't get is that the research I'm doing for my other books is also research for my Chaucer book. What Joe also doesn't understand is that the other books I'm writing now are helping me to become a better writer, so that when I am ready to write the Chaucer book, I will have the material gathered and the writing skills honed to do it justice.

There is another completely brilliant book idea that Liz and I will co-write. It's the same kind of thing. We need to have enough money that we can spend a few months driving the back roads of Texas, visiting all the small towns, gathering atmosphere and history. Once we have that, we believe that our character will open up enough for us to pry the story out of her and tell it.

When these books get written and published, people will know my name. They will know my sister's name. That's all beautiful.

But people are also going to know our names from the book we're writing now.

Just because we have some brilliant ideas doesn't mean that we can't have other brilliant ideas. If two stories are not yet ready to be told, why should we not spend time telling those that are ready? And I believe the book we're working on now is brilliant. It has elements that will appeal to a wide variety of people. It's rooted in Greek and Roman mythology, has some incredible characters, and is just a totally cool book.

I managed not to kill Joe last night, perhaps because my friend is also a writer. As our husbands vanished into the music room, Clover and I talked it out and I was able to look at him with equanimity once more.

Until, on the ride home, he told me that my armpits smelled like stinky garlic, admitted that he never listens to anything I say, and accused me of having farts when I didn't. Bless his heart, he can be a real turd sometimes!