“You know, that’d be a great place to hide a dead body.”
How would you expect most spouses to respond to a statement like that? With excitement? Enthusiasm? Suggestions of alternative locations along with ways to hide the evidence?
Let me introduce you to the Ludwigs. (But first, I wanted to let you know, Amazon has slashed my latest release to 65% off, offering the print version for under $6! Find out more HERE and read the latest review HERE.)
Living with one writer is hard/crazy/insane/challenging/strange enough. What happens when two writers get married–and start, um, plotting where one can hide dead bodies in pu? Today my sweet friend and one of my brainstorming gal-pals Stephanie Ludwig shares just how crazy things can get.
Two Writers Got Married… (insert maniacal laugh)
by Stephanie Queen Ludwig
I’ll never forget the time my husband and I wandered through an old newspaper warehouse, rooms stuffed with old computers, boxes, newspapers and files, an antique printing press with ink blocks, even an old pair of men’s shoes. It was a chore to just move from one end to the other. Dirty sunlight filtered in through grimy windows, wind whistled through cracks in the crumbling brick. Mouse droppings were everywhere.
Later, I remarked to my husband, “you know, that would be a great place to hide a body.”
Without missing a beat (or wondering whether he had inadvertently married a serial killer), he said, “I agree. The police would never find it unless they knew where to look. It could be in there for decades.”
Yeah, that’s a pretty typical conversation in my house. But before you start thinking hubs and I are some sort of mass murderers, there’s one thing you need to understand: we’re writers.
[Insert trumpet fanfare]
My husband and I met in a creative writing class in college. He was the handsome guy with the winning smile, with a knack for creating memorable characters and a way with words that I envied. And apparently I was the cute blonde with big blue eyes that had a natural talent for writing entertaining stories.
We got to be friends, and I asked him to be a part of a student film I was making for another class. It was a meet-cute written by God’s hand. We’ve been together for 12 years, and we’re both working on novels with the goal of publication.
So what’s it like being married to a writer?
It means a less-than-perfectly clean house. It means saving money on Post-It notes because we can just write them in the dust on the furniture (I kid…kind of). It means investments in computers, laptops, backup drives, good wifi, comfortable earbuds. It means dinner isn’t always on time, or composed of naturally grown ingredients with exotic names like “quinoa” and “no preservatives.” It means frequent trips to the bookstore, and coffee. It means sleeping in until 11 on a Saturday because your spouse was up writing until 4 a.m. It means planning a vacation getaway around visiting Powell’s City of Books in Portland (true story).
It means hiring movers to haul your 30+ boxes of books, and buying more bookcases to accommodate your growing library. It means having Christmas lists that are 95% books. It might mean a yard that looks more like an American Pickers stop than a spread in Better Homes & Garden (OK, that one’s a huge exaggeration).
It means lovely evenings of reading “together,” which means him on one end of the couch, and me on the other, each with a different book. Or one of us in the study, typing away like mad, while the other is in the living room, staring blankly at a white screen, thoughts churning away in their head.
Being married to a fellow writer means he doesn’t look at me weird when I ponder the “what ifs?” of a situation. He tells me about conversations he overheard out of context, and we devise a whole plot around it. We read an obituary in the paper, and want to write a story based on that life. Or read the crime beat and realize that truth is stranger than fiction. Being married to a writer means trips to the museum where we read every single placard, or vacations to places we want to use as a story setting. It means spending a memorable evening in an old cemetery, collecting potential names and epitaphs (this has happened more than once!).
Most of all, it means having someone who understands me better than anyone else, and not just because he’s my best friend.
But because he gets what it means to be a writer.
And if he doesn’t like it, I have a few ideas of where to hide his body…
Stephanie Queen Ludwig is an award-winning writer who has completed one young adult novel and is currently working on her first cozy murder mystery. A former newspaper reporter turned public relations professional for the Omaha Symphony, Stephanie spends an inordinate amount of her time thinking of clever ways to kill people and thinking of punny and awful titles for future symphonic murder mysteries. She has written thousands of articles, and has a basement full of newspapers to prove it.
Stephanie makes her home in the Omaha area with her husband John, and an ornery Boston terrier named Bazinga who is always trying to get in her mama’s lap while she’s writing.