I guess he reads this blog.
We were sitting in our usual spots. That would be our living room couches, which are arranged in an L shape. Me on the end of the loveseat that's closest to the end of the sofa where Mr. T sits. Our laptops logo-to-logo on the wide arms.
I looked up from my screen because Mr. T was peering over the top of the Dells at me. "I was going to post a comment on your author blog." He grinned. The corners of his mouth trembled and his eyes flashed.
What's so funny? "Oh yeah? What?" What could my computer-geek-video-game-playing-non-reader husband possibly have to say about writing?
"Yeah," he said in his deep, raspy voice. "I was going to comment and say that if you spent more time working on your book and less time blogging, then you wouldn't have to have a blog about how to be an author. You'd be done with your book." His cheeks were rosy and his eyes, normally in the shadow of his Croatian brow, were sparkling like twinkly lights.
I rolled mine. "Whatever."
I hate it when he's right.