Scary things happening on the couch...

Well, it’s happened at last: ‘She Who Must Be Indulged’ has finally read one of my books. FYI: I’ve been writing for YEARS and years now (Cold Granite being the fifth book to ooze from the old steam-powered subconscious), and never has my good lady wife risked reading my stuff. Just in case she didn’t like it. Which I can understand, not an easy thing to read through a loved one’s book, turn around with a smile, maybe place a soft hand on the cheek and say, “What a heap of old p**p!” Or worse yet – lie about it and then be doomed to read book after book of unmitigated p***le.

But… apparently she liked the book, even the ‘icky’ bits. Or at least says she did. Which may well doom her to a life of the old p***le. Very loyal.

I have to wonder: does everyone go through this with their spouse? Or is it just me? Is everyone else writing their book(s) while being attacked by a slavering partner desperate for a glimpse of the finished manuscript (other than the cat – about which more later).