The poor Man. When I told him I wanted to write a novel, he was enthusiastic. (OK, enthusiastic and misguided. He thought it was a great idea because J.K. Rowling and that Twilight woman make boatloads. Sigh.)
Anyhow, I warned him that I’d be at the computer more.
I said that I might spend the hours after dinner with my story.
I might have left out the part where I randomly tune out of conversations while pursuing ides.
I think I forgot to explain what revisions are.
I absolutely didn’t tell him he’d be a widower.
My bad.
What do you give up to write?
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