THERE ARE NO WORDS

Have you ever been writing and discovered there wasn't a word in existence able to describe how your character feels? Reacts? Thinks?

That's just how I feel today. LOST in a sea of emotions and my coveted Oxford Dictionary/Thesaurus has no answers for me.

20-something years ago I met a person who would change my life. I know the word 'met' gives the impression that I'd never seen him before or that I ran into him in some freakishly fateful way. Maybe the latter, but technically I knew him. Went to high school with him and....wasn't all that fond of him.


He was the rebel-like, don't-give-a-crap upperclassman who supposedly had a crush on me. That in itself annoyed the @#$% out of me. But worse, he never spoke. I swear I thought he was deaf, dumb, and mute. I just didn't get it. His band of brothers pestered me constantly to go out with him. DUMB. He wouldn't talk to me. Each time I'd walk up to their group, he'd either clam up completely or withdraw from the circle. 


But what I hadn't known was that our roads were already intimately twined. A fact I'd learn shortly after I made that depressing decision to stay home and care for my mom instead of pursuing my dancing career. 


Gloomy, dreary, and down-right ugly (don't think I'd showered for a month), my best friend got sick of my mourning and dragged me to a party. I did not want to go. AT ALL. So when we got there, I hankered down in a teeny corner, hoping the night would pass quickly. Didn't want to talk to a soul. All these friends were home from college break and I hadn't gone to New York like I had said. I was a failure.


Suddenly, this rebel dude I remembered noticed me from across the room. He got up from his poker game--which I discovered later was coveted, and NO ONE disturbed the boys' poker game--and sat beside me. AND SPOKE. I remember thinking 'Have I had anything to drink?' He slowly coerced me out of my corner, and we chatted all night. 


I could keep going with the story (trust me, there's a ton more to tell), but I won't.


When I committed myself two years ago to this career--because each of us pursuing publication is on the cusp of it, you know--I knew my other duties would suffer. The first year was rough. I was taking two writing classes, writing myself, studying constantly all while doing my normal functions as stay-at-home-mom for four children and caring for ailing parents. 


But year #2 has been different. My incredibly terrific husband has picked up much of the slack for me. He's even developed his OWN way. (Wives and mommies out there know what I mean. Our way isn't necessarily the correct way, but it's how each of us do it.) 


He gets up in the morning and makes me coffee, so I can take an hour to write, blog, and check my email. Then he gets the kids up. I eventually stop working, and creep out of my office to help a bit and get myself ready--to whatever extent that is. He's made lunches, packed bags, loaded or emptied the dishwasher, thrown in a load of wash, dickered with the sophomore about after school stuff, and gotten ready himself. Some mornings he's had to run to the grocery store because I was so busy in the office the day before I'd forgotten to get school snacks and drinks...or even bread.


He never complains. 


I stand in AWE. I could not be writing without him. I am so grateful. And when my debut novel is out in print, you'll read my dedication. It will be to him.


And yes, I married the rebel-like dude.


So today I want to wish him a Happy 40th Birthday. Can't believe so many years have gone by. I guess the school rebel and the prom queen are really growing up, huh babe?......Nah. Never.


Who in your life has made your writing possible? Who are your greatest helpers and inspirations?