I talk to my husband about my writing. I see him as a co-conspirator to writing the novels I write. When I can’t come up with an idea for a new novel, I bounce ideas off of him. I don’t usually like his ideas, because he’s big on history and I don’t think in terms of history. But the conversation knocks my own ideas loose, and then I have an idea for a new novel. We came up with the latest idea, a comedy about what happens when a tradwife influencer and her corporate shill husband come across the ecocollective Barn Swallows Dance, where the unexplainable is waiting to be revealed, much to the discomfort of its residents.
He asks questions that make me consider plot. Sometimes his suggestions are silly — “You could have the Nephilim cats do a fly-by or something.” Actually, that’s a plot point I am considering in the latest novel. This novel is a comedy, and Richard is very good at silly details. On the other hand, much of the time he understands my characters enough that he anticipates what they will do. “Would Luke do this?” is a common question of his, and oh, yes, Luke would do that.
We’ve tried to co-write a book, but we don’t succeed with that. He has written in my universe, and I even used one of his main characters as a main character in a later book. But we never get past the idea stage when we write together. I think it’s because I have control issues in my own universe, which is understandable.
We’ll probably discuss the book on the way down to Weston, where we will be taking a short writing retreat. And it will be better for having been discussed.
Words Like Me 