When we met he was a screenwriter, and the first year of marriage had his writing as well. Directing was his true passion, but writing was the stepping stone that would take him there.
Those first years I watched my husband create characters and story lines. He changed with each script, morphing into a vehicle for the characters.
I know what real writing looks like, and I know I’m not a real writer.
Still when my husband starts a new project he will go to the stationary store and buy a leather bound notebook. Almost always it is black with sturdy pages. He reverts into his creative self, only now he has production to think of at the same moment. He is a gifted man.
I’m writing a book. There, I said it out loud. I’m writing a book, and I have everyone in place to support me. Emotionally, creatively, grammatically and fiscally, I’ve got a team.
I stood in CVS at ten o’clock, the day after X-Mas looking for a leather bound notebook. The aisles were ravaged by the holidays, and the stationary section was completely removed.
I bought a journal, with flowers on it. The pages are heavy and sturdy, and now it’s my job to fill them.