Lucy Mitchell published a very helpful post on her ‘Blonde Write More’ blog. The post is mainly helpful to a writer’s better half and I think she gets a few points that not only made me smile but nodding enthusiastically. See for yourself. Thanks so much, Lucy!
It’s not easy being married to a writer. We are strange creatures.
Here are some useful tips on how to survive being married to a writer:
1. Accept the fact that you will spend a lot of your marriage talking about people, events and locations that don’t actually exist.
2. When your writer wakes you in the small hours with an amazing new idea for their next story you need to wake up, switch on the light and let them talk it through. Moaning about what time it is, how tired you are and what you have on at work is not going to help your writer. This is a big moment for them, it’s the birth of something wonderful. Your support is needed 24-7.
3. Marital relations and their writing ‘ups and downs’ will become interlinked. When their writing is going well you can expect good times, kisses and smiles. When their writing is not going so well you can expect tension, tears and tantrums.
Today I found this really wonderful, heartwarming story about Doris Day and Mary Hartmann – written By Darlene Craviotto. I was weeping when I read the blog post and I thought I needed to share Darlene’s Memory. I’m sure, it leaves you with a smile – and tears in your eyes, just like me.
Doris Day died yesterday and that’s why I’m writing this post.
I wasn’t a friend, or a member of her family; just like everybody else, I knew her from the movies. I used to be a tour guide at Universal Studios, and I got to meet a lot of big movie stars there, from Lucille Ball (who hated it when the tour guides leaned on her Rolls Royce to talk with her) to Paul Newman (whose piercing blue eyes locked with mine one day at the studio commissary, and my knees have been weak ever since). I never had a chance to meet Doris Day on the Universal lot. But one rainy night in Hollywood she was a good friend to me and a beautiful Golden Retriever named, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.”
It was long ago, when I was a member of a struggling group of actors who worked all day at the tours at Universal, so we could work all night (for free) performing plays at a little theater on Hollywood Boulevard. Seven nights a week, one block down from the Weird Museum, above a toy store and Fredericks of Hollywood Sexy Lingerie, overlooking the stars of Ann Margret, Gene Barry, and James Cagney, we practiced our craft and shared the Hollywood dream.