Samhain Publishing

I love my hubby very much. He’s a hard worker and puts up with a lot. Especially when it comes to my unpredictable moods, and my bouts with insomnia. I’d like to think of myself as complex, though I’m sure he has his own word for it.

The big rule in the house is to always be home for dinner where we sit around the table and share about our day. It’s our main connect time, though others tend to be more connected than say…myself.

My son usually starts, and with gentle (verbal threats), we coax him into sharing something about his school day. Hubby on the other hand needs no prodding to talk about his day and what went down at work. I contribute where necessary, but on the whole I tend to be private about my writing. I might share a review here, a kind email there, but they’ve learned to not ask me too many questions or I get frustrated.

There are a couple nights of the week when I do engage in lively conversation. I might even go so far as to be quick-witted and have my son and hubby howling in their seats.

Then there are THOSE nights. The nights when I don’t hear a word that hubby is saying. I watch his sexy lips move, sometimes into a smile, or into a frown. I take note of the stubble on his chin and watch how the candlelight reflects off his glasses. When he’s really animated, his hands are all over the place, and his brows move up and down. I see it all happening, but I feel more like a spectator. Those are the nights when my muse has center stage and refuses to share the spotlight. She’s talking, loudly might I add, and very insistent that I pay close attention.

Occasionally I’m successful and briefly escape the muse. I nod my head, smile, and even laugh if I notice hubby’s eyes twinkling as they always do when he makes a funny. I’ve even found a way to unknowingly make a mental note about specific names and dates while filtering out the rest. But in reality, I’ve checked out. My body is still there, but my mind is wrapped around chapter three where I’m trying to decide if it’s the right time for said hero and heroine to get it on.

From there I’m wondering who’s one top, what’s the sex toy on second, and I don’t know how many orgasms they’ll have is on third. Once those details are set, I drift my attention back to hubby with my complimentary nod and smile and then switch back to chapter eight that now needs a complete overhaul because I’ve got something much more devious planned for the wayward lovers. Apparently it’s in my muse’s contract that she can take me hostage at her convenience. Must have been the teeny tiny print at the bottom that I somehow overlooked.

In all fairness, hubby is often aware when I do this. He says my eyes glaze over, my lip twitches, and I fidget. Of course I feel bad because it isn’t easy to juggle the two most important loves in my life – my family and my writing, but he’s a good guy. He tells me not to worry about ignoring him, but to hurry up and write that bestseller so he can quit his job and be a kept man. I try and tune that out too.