Tale of a writer’s husband


Wordless Wednesday?  Hah!  I’m not feeling so wordless today.  In fact, most days I’m so busy writing something that reality becomes background noise, like the sound of a fan when you’re sleeping.

Not that I have anything particularly brilliant to say, just that my mouth won’t stop moving in this world while my brain is in another one.   

“I’m through talking to you!” My husband yells.

After searching my memory, I find no copies of the conversation recorded on a single brain cell occupying the inside of my head.


“What were we talking about?”  I ask.

“Tomorrow’s work schedule.”

“In which dimension,” my brain rattles off.

He rolls his eyes.  “In the one where you get paid for your work!”

Orange skies…a ship forms over an alien desert.  The enemy has found us!

The fan that drones in the background called “reality” acquires the faint sound of feet stomping away.  I didn’t know he was there, after all, he had said he was through talking to me.   

As if it were a pen used for automatic writing, my body wanders toward my computer thinking about the next chapter. I’m in a place where time flows faster, furiously typing when a message blinks at me from the corner of my scream screen.

I have an email?

“What is your schedule,” My husband has typed in capital letters.

I send him a one-line message in return.  “What century is this?”

My mind wanders back to another dimension…another time…where space ships can actually fly across a galaxy.  My hero is in a fight to the death with an alien race.  He’s firing the fatal blow to a civilization of talking roach-lizards when another message blinks at the edge of my screen.

“It’s Wednesday, January 17, 2018.  Answer these questions or Earth dies.  Where are you at 8am on that day?  Where are you at 9am, and where are you at 4:00pm?”

“In the shower at 8, at work by 9.  Just finishing up at 4,” I reply quickly.


I look around at a room piled high with books and papers…

and smile. 

Who is the real hero in this story?

My husband.