by Allison Renner
My wife used to talk to me while I wrote, before she understood that my pen moving meant my ears weren’t listening. Once she caught on, she would sit in the armchair in the living room, staring into the open door of the study, eyes boring holes into my back. When I peeked, under the guise of stretching, she was busily knitting, but I know, I definitely know, that she was watching me. She learned not to ask me what I was writing, that I couldn’t share a story until it was told. She’s catching on quick, I convinced myself, taking a break to mix a drink. When I returned to my desk, I found her standing over the typewriter, touching the words I had just written.
Allison Renner is a wannabe-writer who tries to be really funny in her blog.