My poor husband. In this whole becoming-a-writer process, he suffers. He suffers more than my young children who I bribe to listen to my stories with books to follow that actually have pictures. He suffers more than my mom who is forced to find out all of my childhood wrong-doings, the hard way. Yes folks, he suffers the most because he is the first one I pitch my itty-bitty ideas to. He is the first one to read each new draft. He really does try his best to help me with his critiques. I realize this. But people, the man is in a serious bind! He is living with someone I like to call my "off-my-rocker-self". She comes out when new ideas are generated and insecurity gets the best of her. I am deeply ashamed to say that basically he finds himself in some deep, up to the elbows, doo doo no matter what he says. If he says I have to keep working on a certain part of a story, my "off-my-rocker-self" says, "What, you don't like it? What's wrong with it? Well, what should I say instead? What do you mean? That doesn't make any sense! You don't know what I am trying to say! Just forget it." If he says it's great, or even worse, perfect, my "off-my-rocker-self" gets frustrated and goes on a rant on how he isn't being honest with her. "Well, there has to be something wrong with it! It can't be perfect! You don't need to lie. I won't be mad." (That one's my favorite). No matter what, each time we decide it would be better if he just didn't read anything of mine ever again, in our whole, entire lives. Not even a birthday card or a grocery list...well, maybe a grocery list. In the end though, the fact of the matter is that my story always ends up being better than it was before because of how he pushes me and what he recommends. That is what keeps me coming back...the poor guy.
P.S. Disclaimer to husband: Don't ever tell me I am being my "off-my-rocker-self" or you will be in deep doo doo. Only I can say it. Thanks. Love you.