In our house, there’s a ritual when it’s time to write. I bring a pillow to the kitchen to cushion my chair by the wall plug, pull out the laptop, and start loading my novel. My amazing fiancée simultaneously makes me a chai tea latte at the stove and lights my candle ( currently tea and lemon scented ). There’s music and easy chatter between her and I as I try to work through character arcs, plot holes, and the everyday process of creating logical sentences.
I’ve heard a lot of people tell me that writing is an art for introverts and that I should be writing with the door shut, but I’ll gladly argue that the woman by my side is an incredible addition to the raging voices within my skull. She points out simple flaws in my story lines, or tells me which of my characters have fallen in the love long before I’ve written anything towards their relationship. Some days she’s a dress specialist, others an employee of a fast food restaurant, but on my favorite days, she’s the one holding my hand as I walk her through the insanity of my own mind.
For us, writing, while it may be by my trembling fingertips, is a team effort. It’s the scent of earl gray tea brewing in the background as we banter over lives yet to be enjoyed. Chai in hand, laptop on green, I can do this only with her and the handful of curious friends I have who patiently wait for me to finally accomplish something in this chosen career.