I can attest to the idea that you don’t appreciate something until you have lost it. Earlier this week, I cut the tip of my right ring finger off in a kitchen accident. It was a minor, albeit bloody, injury. Nevertheless, I can’t type very well with a huge pressure bandage on my finger. Simple tasks like washing the dishes and putting my seat belt are impossible. What a pain!
My finger has got me thinking a little differently about my characters. Not only is Kitty angry with her husband but she also misses his presence in her life like she would miss a lost appendage. Over the last few days (with the inability to actually write about the Haskells) I’ve been thinking about what that means. How much of a marriage is simple familiarity of having the person there beside you at the dinner table, in the bed, on the couch? THis warrants more thought.