A Personal Story

About four years ago my wife Erin called me crying from work. She hated her job. She was miserable.

I told her to quit. That she would find something else.

Erin had never really found her place in life, never really done what she wanted. I told her to find something she loves and do that. For about a year, she meandered from one thing to the next: Coffee Barista, Dog Walker, Dog Trainer. She spent some time in the world of retail. None of it ever really fit.

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but one day she started to write. She became obsessed with it. She read books on writing. She took voluminous notes. And on every long car trip it would be another title from Audible like "How to Write Like a Pro" or "How to Write a Novel that Doesn't Suck." And we would talk about plots and characters. Several times in my life I tried to write. I would bang out pages for maybe a year, then I'd quit. All I have left now are two cringe-worthy novels sitting on the top shelf of our bedroom closet.

Erin carried on. I expected her foray into novel writing to be a stepping stone to something else. Maybe something that Erin could make a living at? I mean, who makes money writing novels? It's not really a career move.

A year went by this way. It was not uncommon for Erin to spend 6 or 7 or 8 hours in her office writing. Every day. I'm not exaggerating: Every day. It was weird. It's rare to see someone that dedicated to anything. It gives me the feeling you might get from watching "Rocky" or something. Someone who lays it all on the line with very little hope of success. I think writing is an impossible thing to do. It's even more impossible to make a living at.

Time went by. The debt piled up. It's hard to make ends meet on one income. I think at one point we were up to about $12,000 in credit card debt. I tried to make furniture and sell it on Etsy. I thought about delivering pizzas. I jostled for a promotion at work. We cashed in a 401K. We had yard sales. There were no two ways about it: We were going broke.

But somehow we made it without someone coming for the keys to the house.

Another year went by. And then another. 

I've read Erin's novel probably about five times as she wrote draft after draft. It was clear from the beginning that she had something that hardly anyone has. There's some quality to it. Maybe it's a lack of self-consciousness.  

July 21st, 2017 was three years to the day since Erin started writing "Wait for the Light". It's finished now. We had a cover made for it. We sent it to an editor. It's a done deal. Erin is already about a quarter into the next book. Erin is a writer. And a good one.

When I read Erin’s novel, I think, I'm married to the person who wrote this? She doesn't even know how to replace the kitchen trash bag, but she can do this? Anyway, it's a rare thing, and I feel blessed and proud and inspired to be married to such a special person.

I just read the first the first 5,000 words of "Wait for the Light" as they appear on Kindle Scout. It's still got that indefinable thing to it.

The Novel Wait for the Light by Erin Adams available on Amazon

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