It takes a special person to live with a writer.One who doesn’t mind waking up in the middle of the night to find his wife scribbling away like a woman possessed.I am forever writing, encouraged by this special man, so understanding.
The Dear One who keeps nudging me when he spots the signs of my madness, the one who makes sure I have time to liberate my mind, knowing and understanding that no peace will be found in that crazy head of mine until I have written down as much as I can.
Perhaps it helps that he’s an artist and an insomniac, he has the same sensitivity and therefore the patience to bear with me.We understand each other.
It doesn’t really surprise me that many writers end up lonely or reclusive.
Unless of course, they’re lucky enough to find a special person like I have.