I've been reading the biography of Janice Holt Giles, whose book The Believers is among the favored few I posted last week. I'm fascinated by her life. She didn't publish her first novel until she was 41 years old.
This is what her husband, 10 years her junior, had to say:
(this made me smile)
"I know now that I shall spend the rest of my life with the people in Jan's books. They are part of the family, and I don't think I would like not having them around. In fact, I strongly suspect I would find life with the average housewife (which I thought I was getting) pretty dull and uninteresting. I've got used to dusty floors, books scattered everywhere, meals at odd hours and a cloud-walking helpmate. I'm even getting used to being pointed out as Janice Giles' husband. After all, it isn't everyone who can live successfully with a writer. Besides, when she's writing I have an awful lot of time to go fishing!"
Cloud-walking helpmate. I've never heard myself described so well. And by a man who isn't my own husband. But Rusty would agree.
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