An ode (that’s technically a limerick) to my husband, in honor of his patient creativity in helping me re-plot my novel this weekend:
There once was a man whose writer wife had
Written a book whose problems drove her mad
She asked him plot questions
Nagged for edits, suggestions
With a sigh, he gave advice ironclad*
*Though this wife is a professionally-trained writer, I’d never dare to claim any standing as a poet. (I think that’s pretty evident, based on my performance above.) But given my kraken-esque appetite for relentlessly forcing book questions on my husband (and the other dear people in my life), it only seems right to give them an (un)poetic shout-out every now and again.
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