My husband has been working me for days at a time. We’re a real team. Know how there are those images from the days of olde when there’s a cart heaped with heavy goods, so there are two horses hitched up the harness?
That’s how we start out.
We usually end the journey with me plugging my ears and singing “lalalalala” while I try and miserably fail to work. It’s the 15-Minute Question. Every 15 minutes, there’s a question. It usually goes like this, “Does this make sense? (Insert absurdly long and borderline nonsensical maybe-sentence, maybe-fragment here, to make this line actual feel as long as it sounds, I’ll just type in the longest nonsense word I know: supercalifragilisticexpealidocious. Oh wait, that didn’t take up nearly as much time as it should have. Fudgesticks. hmmm)”
And I’m sitting here, blinking, coming back from wondering what noise a dragon may make to express a ‘no duh’ attitude, and there’s this huge part of my brain going, “What? Does it have a subject and a verb? What’s with Mary Poppins? And did you mention chocolate? …oh, wait, you said something about urinating to create weather? Wait, what?”
And then comes the clarification (one must admit, a human urinating would create rain from an ant’s perspective) and sifting every word into its proper category: adjective, subjective complement, direct object, where did the verb go again? Then comes the verdict and the fix, and the reasoning behind the fix, because I’m hoping to train my husband to do more self-edits, and I’m free! …what was I doing, again? So I spend time remembering, and then here comes another 15-Minute Question. Rinse and repeat.
But now those papers are all handed in! Huzzah! And I’m typing yet again, playing catch-up with the last five days of successfully not murdering my beloved.
I’m actually beginning to wonder if he proposed because he realized I made a decent academic editor and he could save a lot of cash by marrying one instead of going to a company who would pull out their hair upon seeing his introductions.