“The end. I just finished. It was excellent. I really liked it.”
My husband isn’t a huge reader. Sometimes, he will spend the weekend with his nose in a Harlan Coben thriller he picked up at the airport, but the combination of reading business reports for a living and his increasingly short attention span for entertainment means fewer and fewer books capture his curiosity. So, I’ve never pushed him to read my work. But, I’ve said since I finished STILLWATER he can read it whenever he wants and, of everything I’ve written, it’s the one story that would be in his reading wheelhouse. “If you don’t like this, you won’t like anything I write.”
Last week, he asked me to send him the MS so he could read it on the plane home from Delaware. That night, when he told me he was 92 pages in and liked it a lot, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Before you ask, I’ll say it: my husband isn’t the type who would continue to read it if he didn’t like it. Nor would he tell me it was good if he didn’t think it was. That was part of my reason for not pushing him to read it. I didn’t want to put him in the position to tell me he didn’t like it. I think that would have been tougher on him to say than on me to hear. Part of me didn’t expect him to like it because he is such a tough customer. But, he spend the entire weekend with his nose in the iPad. Reading my book. Let me just say that again.
My husband spent the weekend reading my book.
I’m seriously getting choked up thinking about it and not just because he liked it. I was always a little afraid I would never be able to share this big part of my life with him. Now, I have a new reader and critic who will give me a different perspective. Poor guy. He doesn’t realize what he’s in for.
Last night, I was playing that effing Candy Crush game when he said, out of the blue, “The End,” and gave me the best review I’ll ever receive.