Me: I’m having trouble with this part [in my book] and I need some advice.
Husband: OK (Starts to read what is on my computer screen behind me)
Me: No! Don’t read what is on the screen. Everything on the screen has already been cut out and is from an old draft where events don’t even happen in the same order. Ignore what is on the screen, it is not in the story anymore and let me tell you about the problem I’m having.
Husband: OK
(I then detail the problem I am having with my story. He does not appear to be giving me his full attention. I finally ask)
Me: So what do you think of that idea? Do you think it sounds good?
Husband: Well, what is on the screen there is terrible, you should cut all of that out.

He was serious, not trying to be funny. At this point I shrieked “I already told you that I cut that out and not to read it!!!” and highlighted all of that text in the color of poop to remind him that it was crap that had already been cut out. He then became incredibly facinated that my version of Word had the ability to highlight things in poop color while his could only do bright yellow and I lost him into the magical distracted place that men’s minds go when poop is even tangentially involved.

As a husband? A wonderful person.

As a writing critique partner, though, he’s freaking useless.

There are so many quote board entries I cannot put because they are talking about other people. It is downright sad.

The runner up:

Me: It’s interesting to see how many people I knew from school who were really shallow ended up married to rather fat guys. Do you suppose this means they finally learned to accept a person’s inner beauty?
Steve: (in a half asleep stupor) Nah, it means that they married their hot guys and they got fat. *A really long pause ensues here where I have moved on to other thoughts. Suddenly out of the blue Steve says in a dreamy half-asleep voice* . . .  you know. Like Frederline. He got fat.”

But the amazing winner is, of course, my mother:

Me: So is Watchman worth renting?
Mom: Let me put it this way. His penis isn’t big enough to make it worth sitting through the whole movie for.

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.” -Kurt Vonnegut

In The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, flying is described as throwing yourself at the ground and missing. Isn’t that what writing basically is? Making a ridiculous leap, which is, essentially, something very stupid to do, and, by some miracle, making something other people might want to read?

We don’t know how to fly, any of us, before we start. The only way to learn is to just make that jump.