Samhain Publishing

It inevitably happens: I’m sitting at my computer, struggling through the first draft of a new story, and he walks by. He stops, looks over my shoulder, reads a few lines, and asks, “Are you writing about me?”

Ah, my sweet husband. My sweet, down-to-earth, beer-loving, TV-watching husband. He always wants to know about my latest story, and my latest hero. Has he inspired this one? Am I writing about our sex life?

I nod and smile, then say “Of course.”

The truth is, though, most of my heroes are fictional. They’re inspired by a hottie in a film, maybe, or a guy I read about in a random news article, or a snippet from a song that won’t leave my mind. They are the bad boys I lusted after in school, or the sensitive artists who floated along the periphery of my life in college. They are cowboys, daredevils, orphans with secrets. They eat whatever they want and never gain a pound. Their hair never grows too long, and they never snore in bed. They are sensitive, fearless, clever, and ageless.

I lose myself in my writing, and the words come faster. My hero takes shape. He has a name, and a history. I spend more and more time at the keyboard, fine-tuning him. He becomes the Everyman that my heroine will have no choice but to fall for.

Then I come home from a long day to find dinner waiting for me. I sleep in during a snowstorm while my hubby plows the driveway. My stash of dark chocolate is replenished. I have flowers on my piano.

And I realize that yes, I am writing about my husband. Maybe not his six-pack abs. Maybe not his bottomless bank account, or his MacGyver-like ability to break out of a prison cell using only a paperclip and some duct tape.

But his generosity, his compassion, his depth of love for me? Yeah, that’s in there. Every girl should be lucky enough to find that, in fiction or in reality.

So who’s your hero? Are you as lucky as I am?