I have longed for the versatility of writing anywhere I want - from the bedroom to my comfy chair, from the library to Barnes and Noble. With all of my editing in the wee morning hours, I wanted to do it outside of the three-foot-space that is our computer desk. I wanted to take a laptop to places that inspire me, where I could journal, process on paper, try out some of the fiction rolling around in my head, and blog to my heart's content.
Plus, I just think they're fun. The mere sound of the clicking keyboard launches my mind into scenes from You've Got Mail, and I want to write... just to write. Because that's what writers do.
I have wanted. I have coveted. I have wished upon shooting stars.
But the timing wasn't right. There was always something else to buy, invest in, save toward.
Last week, seemingly out of the blue, Robb said to me, "You know, I've decided that we need to invest in a laptop for you this summer. You need one for many reasons, and it's time for us to make that happen. But I have one condition."
I was expecting him to lay down some boundaries for spending, either of money or time - since I am fully capable of spending more than he would like on various things. But I listened and waited for him to continue.
My husband, who loves me and knows my heart, said:
"You have got to get serious about your writing career. You have books that are just waiting to get to a publisher, and you need to get going on this. If we buy you a laptop, you have to promise to set goals and get serious about your life as a writer. No more excuses."
Um, okay. I can do that.
So here I sit, just as I planned to, writing and writing.
He says he wants me to report my progress on a weekly basis. That's a deal.
How I love that man.