It's Hell to Live With a Writer . . . or Is It?

TV-One has been airing a re-broadcast of Roots: The Next Generations all week. (They also showed the original Roots miniseries a few months ago, marking its 30th anniversary.) This afternoon, I set the TV to the continuing story of the Haley family while I was working around the house. I was particularly touched by the episode that depicted the ill-fated first marriage of Alex Haley. His wife put up with a quite a bit before finally admitting defeat and leaving him.

Of course, both parties were painted as sympathetic. Alex Haley was shown as losing a mother he dearly loved when he was a young boy, to what I'm guessing was uterine cancer. He had difficulty adapting to his father’s remarriage, a situation not helped by his father’s annoying references to his stepmother as “your mother,” plus the father’s domineering personality. His first wife, Nan, was portrayed as a bright and enthusiastic young wife genuinely in love with her husband, who felt like she and their children were being pushed to the background while Alex pursued a writing career until, one Christmas when he typed through the night and into the next day at the Coast Guard offices, completely missing the holiday, when she took the children and left him. (That’s the TV version . . . I’m sure the real end of the marriage wasn’t nearly as dramatic.) But the biggest message was in this episode was by far that it is hell to live with a writer.

I don't think I'd agree with that. I have vivid memories of my first date with my husband. I was newly separated, 33 years old and had no idea what I was going to do with my life . . . other than I wanted to write. Anyway, I was working on a project (the computer went to me in the divorce) while I waited for him to come and pick me up.

That project eventually was rejected. So was the one after that. I began to feel like I’d never realize my dream of being a published novelist. My husband was with me the entire time; we became practically inseperable after that first date and married after my divorce came through. He would kiss away my tears and assure me that my day would come, then he’d go get my favorite Thai mixed rice and spring rolls from take-out, and I’d be laughing before the night was out. Now, he hasn’t read a word of my writing, ever (remarkably, neither has my mother, my other favorite person), but he was right. I guess he figured I’d have to be completely hapless if I didn’t make any progress after trying so hard.

Yes, writing is a solitary profession. I get most of my work done early in the morning, before my husband gets up, because I do enjoy the quiet . . . to a certain degree. I tried the writing full time thing last year, and it was too much quiet and too much solitude. I don’t believe that writers are meant to be alone, and I certainly don’t believe that writers neglect their spouses and children. I don’t even believe that the divorce rate among writers is as great as that in other professions (like the Navy or the police force.)

I guess it all comes down to balance. And I know my husband would agree.