When I first wondered aloud if I could get a story published
in a women’s magazine, my husband was completely supportive.
Good idea! Why not? Yes, go for it!
So I did. And when the rejections arrived he was very
encouraging.
Never mind, don’t give up. Send it to someone else.
And when I received my first acceptance he seemed as pleased
as me.
Well done! I knew you could do it!
But when that first story appeared in print I was puzzled by
his non-reaction. He glanced at my name in the magazine when I pointed it out,
but he made no attempt to read the story. I was a bit disappointed but assumed
he would read it later when he had time to give it his full attention. I left
the magazine on the coffee table and waited … and waited …
The same thing happened with my next published story – and
the next. He was enthusiastic enough while I was writing and trying to get
published, but he clearly wasn’t interested in reading the finished product. I
began to suspect that he had secretly read some of my work and didn’t think it
was any good. Was he keeping quiet to spare my feelings?
The penny finally dropped one evening when he came home from
work and started telling me how he’d solved a problem with some sub-standard
concrete. (He was a materials engineer in road construction).
Gosh, that was clever of you! How fascinating!
I did listen to what he was saying, and tried to nod in the
right places, but he might just as well have been speaking double Dutch with a
bit of Chinese thrown in.
Then I understood that he had the same problem with my
writing. He knew it was important to me, so he tried to take an interest, but
he didn’t read fiction of any kind and the world of women’s magazines was
completely alien to him. If one of my stories was published that meant it was
good, didn’t it? There was nothing else he could say about it.
When he – very reluctantly – retired, I wondered what he
would find to do all day. Would he expect me to retire too, and spend all my
time with him? What on earth would we talk about?
I needn’t have worried. Although we’re both at home all day,
we still ‘go to work’ separately. And when we meet up at mealtimes and in the evenings, or agree to
take some time off to go for a walk, or to enjoy an outing together,
we find plenty to discuss. I tell him about my writing and art, and he explains
how he’s helped a friend with a computer problem and spent all morning
tinkering with his beloved sports car …
And we both pretend to be really interested, and we both
know the other person is just pretending …
But it works. Which is probably why we’ve made it through
another year.
Are you and your significant other like peas in a pod, or as
different as chalk and cheese?
