My two pieces of advice for writers are:
(1) Keep your overhead as low as possible and
(2) Never live with someone who
doesn't respect your work.—Grace Paley
There are a number of writing couples who have enviable partnerships: Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman, Jane Shore and Howard Norman, my friends Tony Eprile and Judith Schwartz. Writers living together usually have a simpatico relationship. They understand each other's sensibility and respect each other's need for solitude.
But what about when your partner, for whatever reason, feels threatened? Deliberately or not, a partner like this can kill your creativity—or the relationship. A nonwriter doesn't necessarily understand how you can be there but not there. The two of you might be having a conversation, and you're imagining a scene you're working on that takes place in a villa in Sicily, thinking about what you can do to fix it, or he's talking to you and you're trying to listen, you really want to listen, but what you truly want even more is for him to stop talking and leave you to your thoughts. You love him, but can't he see you're trying to work?
Or he casually glances at your notebook, or scenes you've typed out. After all, your materials just happen to be within reach; what's the harm? But what he reads he takes all wrong. Compound that with how he just invaded your privacy and you've got one combustible situation. This can be the undoing of a relationship, especially if it happens repeatedly. Or it can be the beginning of an understanding about what it's like to live with a writer.
During the first year or so that my husband and I lived together, Brian read an entry in my freewriting notebook. It just happened to be on the arm of the sofa. He walked by and accidentally knocked it to the floor. He said he couldn't help but notice a few words that piqued his curiosity, so he picked it up and read a page.
Now, in our house, there are tablets, notebooks, journals, and stray pieces of paper all over the place. I would never think of reading any that belonged to Brian, so I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck, especially when he started quizzing—no, interrogating—me about the time I lived in San Francisco, and was that an ex-boyfriend, the Rastafarian, in that freewriting he "accidentally" saw?
I started explaining it was fiction and that I was doing what fiction writers do—drawing a little from here, a little from there, embellishing, fabricating—but as I explained, I grew angry. He had no right to look at my notebook, no matter if it did splay open at his feet. I told him this was one of those deal breakers; there was no way I could live in a house and not trust that my notebooks were private property, even if they were left out on the table or laying open on the floor. We did what couples do: We argued our sides. Luckily, we came to an understanding.
As a writer, you need to do two things: Set boundaries and then take it easy. Living with a writer can be hard to contend with. Understand your poor partner may be worried, whether he knows it or not, that his entire being—every personality glitch and flaw—might someday be exposed.
This comes up in most writers' relationships, usually early on. My student Phil Doran, former TV writer and author of the forthcoming The Reluctant Tuscan, says, "When Nancy and I were first living together, I was working on a TV show about a group of young women. I asked Nancy what they used to tease her about when she was in school. She told me that she used to have real skinny arms, so they called her 'chicken arms.' I instantly put that in a script and when Nancy saw the show she freaked out. I asked what she was all worked up about. 'I never said it was you!' I told her. From then on, she knew she was living with a psychic vampire and she had better be careful about anything she told me."
If you've had the experience of being written about, then you know. Recently I was the subject of an essay published by a friend in the Sunday magazine of a major newspaper. I had anxiety attacks prior to the piece coming out. This was a good friend and he'd told me what was in the essay, though I hadn't read it, and I trusted him—to a point. But not until I read the printed piece did I relax.
Living with a writer is stressful for Brian. He's a private man. When he fell in love with me, I doubt he fell in love with the idea of exposure. He didn't even think about it.
"The first time my personal life appeared in a magazine article written by you," Brian told me, "I was shocked and angry and not consoled a bit by the name changes. The man being discussed obviously was and would be recognized as me. It doesn't matter if it's fiction or nonfiction; it's what's revealed that can be upsetting.
"Chances are that a spouse who reads something previously kept secret from them will get upset. But I'm less shocked every time an article is published that contains something I'm unhappy about. It's like stepping into cold water; after a while you get used to it. At least I did. I think."
Significant others accidentally confuse their partner's personal life with their work. My friend and former student Allison Johnson said her husband, William, once picked up a short story she left on her desk. It was a quirky story about a ne'er-do-well pool boy/Casanova's relationships with lonely women. After reading the story, William went to her, sadness shadowing his face, and said, "I didn't realize you were so unhappy." He thought she felt like the lonely women in the story. Allison told him she wasn't unhappy, that the story was fiction.
Sometimes the problem stems from you and your need to share your work. While this is a good impulse, don't be overeager to give your writing to your significant other to read. You may be asking for trouble.
"When you begin to write," says Kate Braverman, "your husband or your daughter or your neighbor has no more idea about what you're doing than if you were studying German or Coptic. They're not in a position to evaluate your progress."
One student says, "My husband reacts very negatively to my writing at times, takes it personally, has snooped in my files and gotten mad about things I've written. I keep things secure now and he reads nothing because I never know how he will take it. That is our solution, but it leaves him out of a big part of my life. It also led to a great deal of censoring for years and kept me from cutting loose in ways I otherwise might, and that includes journals. Pretty sad overall. We did talk about it in therapy one time, not even deeply. I don't know how he deals with it now and don't ask."
Taylor Smith says, "Richard and I just decided that the marriage will last longer if he stays out of what's a no-win situation. If he criticizes, I'm apt to respond with 'What do you know?' and if he says it's great, I burst into tears and reply, You're just saying that because you love me.' So he reads it for the first time when the galley comes out, and if anyone asks his opinion, he says it's the best book he's ever read—since my last one. What a diplomat."
Jo-Ann Mapson, who is married to painter Stewart Allison, says, "At first when I got published, Stewart was wary of what I might reveal in my writing that could be identified with him. He doesn't feel that way anymore (he says). I know some might not agree, but my life is mine. I get to write about whatever I want because I lived through it. It's not to say I run off to tell terrible secrets, or defame anyone, but to find that emotional heart in my life and use it as a tool to make real all the stuff I think up. Art and writing make for a very good marriage for us. Without him, who knows if I ever would have written."
Stewart says, "Initially I had some problems when I would read something that I thought was 'me,' or was similar to something in our life together. It is very easy to assume that the author is just a reporter, transcribing everything directly to the page. If the husband in the story is a jerk, then obviously that means she thinks I'm a jerk. Eventually I came to understand that she was cooking a stew made out of me, an article in the newspaper, an incident she remembered from childhood, and lots of her own imagination. Now I have come to enjoy seeing bits and pieces of things I know mixed in among all sorts of surprises. Authors may indeed 'write what they know,' but it's not all about you. Writers' spouses need to be very understanding. Your author is peeling the skin off of her soul every time she sits down to write. It is humbling, frustrating, and scary work, and she deserves your support. Relax and enjoy."
Over time Brian has become a good critic, and for the most part he doesn't take the work personally. But if I think something I'm working on might be difficult for him, I don't show him until I've got a final draft, or until after it's published.
Yes, you've got a right to your time, space, and privacy. Your partner and kids need to understand that when you are working, you aren't available for everything they need—short of an emergency. Your honey just isn't allowed to pick up your notebook or journal or look into your computer files because he feels insecure. Likewise, you've got to respect your partner's privacy, too, and not expose aspects of his life that he wants to keep private. And if there is something he's lived through, some secret you long to use in your writing, have it be fiction and embellish the heck out of it so that no one who knows him will ever recognize what is his. And remember that it is as rude and inappropriate for a partner to engage you with small talk, demands, etc., while you're working as it is for you to space out on them when you're not.
Let your significant other know you understand how difficult it must be living with someone like you. Then demand he never look at your writing again—unless you offer it up.
If you suspect your partner is making you feel inhibited, do this experiment. It will show you whether it's him—or you—that's inhibiting you.
Write a piece knowing full well you will absolutely show it to him afterward. Let loose and write what's on your mind and in your heart. Don't censor.
Put it aside and write version two. This one he will never see. You can even delete it before you print it out. But before you press DELETE, compare the two.
If version two is freer, more honest, and more uninhibited, decide what it will take for you to feel free to write. All it may take is his word he won't peek at your writing without your go-ahead. Or you may need a safe, an office with a locked door, or simply a password on your computer for documents you don't want him to see.
Whatever it takes, set your writing boundaries now so you will have boundless freedom to write.