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Living with a writer ain’t easy. Most of the time when I’m sitting at the dinner table, I’m not really there. I’m in make-believe land discovering something new about my characters or asking my brain, which is a blank slate, the directions around the latest road block in my story. We get cranky when things don’t go our way and suddenly run out of a room in the middle of a conversation to jot down an idea or a turn of phrase.

Writers who love their spouses speak of them as if they’re demi-gods because frankly it takes superhuman powers of patience to put with up one of us. Stephen King made his wife, Tabitha stand up during his speech for the National Book Award and accept her share of the kudos. When they were still living in a trailer, she rescued the manuscript of Carrie from the trash. When Stephen King was the biggest thing in publishing, she then rescued him out of the abyss of drug and alcohol addiction.

If Una Jeffers, the wife of Robinson Jeffers, didn’t hear his pen scratching, she would thump the ceiling with the top of her broom handle. He built a tower for her that overlooks Carmel beach and held her in his arms when she died.

The late Stan Rice inspired his wife to create Lestat. Nora Roberts’ husband willingly leaves the house so she can write in complete seclusion. Suzanne Brockman’s husband brought coffee and doughnuts to her and her readers at RWA New York.

My husband has read every single screenplay and book that I’ve written. When I handed him the manuscript of Hot Tamara, the poor man cried. He looked at me and said, “You did it, babe. This is it.”

Ryan is still at my side, bugging the crap out of me when he senses that I’m slacking off. He gives me his honest opinion even though I always break my promise not to get mad at him. He gets angry for me when I get a critical review or a rejection. Yesterday, he told me it was a matter of “when” not “if” I’d become a best-seller. I shouldn’t have been surprised because on our first date, he told me he wanted to be the first person to get a signed copy of my first published book.

To him and all the spouses who are crazy enough to marry and stay married to writers, I dedicate this song.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJOzdLwvTHA&rel=1]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwc5YSAc-7g&rel=1]

This song pretty much sums up what I’ve been feeling since Monday afternoon. For us writers and artists, there comes a time when you have to stand your ground on a project that has come from the deepest, most personal corner of your soul. Even when the gate keepers tell you to put it aside and work on something else and you’ve done that on other projects, there is a moment that calls on all of your faith and hope. It’s scary as hell and I may very well fall flat on my face but this is that time for me.

So with that, I’m going back to work.

I thought I’d commented on last day’s blog (Madonna In the Slums) but it didn’t take.

I wanted to thank you guys for commenting. Our discourse helped me understand where my conflicted feelings were coming from. When I hear about the atrocities in Darfur and the AIDS epidemic in Africa, there this overwhelming dread and sickness that feels like its going to bury me alive. In my present circumstances, I can’t run off to these countries to help, nor do I trust that the monies donated to international aid organizations are going to the people who need it the most. So when I hear about Madonna jetting off with nannies and children in tow to stay at an exclusive resort and then walk the streets surrounded by personal security while the people shower her in rose and marigold petals …

Oh wait, there I go again! Quick aside: I’m man enough to admit that I’m a judgmental wench. But I’m one with a heart.

Anyway, after reading your comments and facing the source of my frustration, I decided not only to get back to work but to do something locally. I contacted the high schools in my area and in nearby Santa Ana to inquire if I could go in and talk to their students about following their dreams. I’m not giving nourishment to an AIDS baby – although I did that to many such babies at when I volunteered in the Neo Natal ICU at Daniel Freeman and LA County hospitals – I want to give kids in my community some hope. When I look back on my junior and high school years, I remember the former students who would come in and talk to the class. They came from the same neighborhood that I did and hearing how they got into Harvard or were interning at the White House made me think that my dreams, at that time, weren’t so impossible.

We are all connected, certainly. So if my simple story of moderate success can inspire someone close to home, then I hope the effect will ripple out into the rest of the world.

Best,
Mary

Am I the only one who feel conflicted about celebrities doing this sort of thing?

Madonna, Ritchie visit slums of Mumbai

My first reaction is always, “that’s cool, she’s dragging the press to a place that needs help.” My second is always: what about the slums in the U.S.? My third: are celebrities genuinely interested in change, or do they want the world to see them in their beneficent glory?

I remember when Angelina Jolie did an interview from Africa when she was pregnant with her daughter. They made it out to seem like Angelina was using her celebrity to shed light on a third-world country in crisis when she could’ve been ensconced in her luxurious Malibu residence. And yet, she and Brad were holed up in a five-star resort in a country where they essentially ended freedom of the press for their own privacy.

I wonder if celebrities think about the poor struggling to survive in the U.S.? Do they not know that there are poor families and slums in the shadow of Hollywood and Beverly Hills? When I was at USC, all you had to was drive a few blocks south east and you’d see families with children living in primitive conditions, if not on the street. There were kids who didn’t go to school or get health care or a meal before they went to sleep. And not all of those kids had parents who were druggies.

Now I’m not one of those uber patriotic types. But I think we have to clean up our own backyard before we go solve everyone else’s problems.

Or is it just me who feels that way?

On New Years Day, I went to Starbucks and ordered a peppermint mocha. When the barrista asked if I wanted whipped cream I said, “No thanks I’m a diet.”

He turned and said, “Why are you high school girls always on diets?”

It took but a moment for it to sink in. Today I turned 34!