Today’s post wanders from the beaten path of my usual musings to a place brimming with appreciation and tenderness. It’s a space where I want to pause and honor my husband, the unsung hero behind the scenes of every story I write.
In the throes of a writing slump you’re all quite familiar with, I experienced firsthand the kind of support that authors often reserve for the pages of their books. The kind of support that my husband embodies every day.
We bought our home about 7 years ago and it’s a constant work in progress. Within it was a space initially designed to be a library. It was there I set up shop, but it was more a placeholder than a haven–a desk strewn among wooden bookshelves that never quite made sense. It wasn’t the author’s nook I yearned for, and I often left it behind, wandering from corner to corner in search of the right words.
Well, noticing my struggle for a space that felt like an extension of me—a place where my creativity could flourish—my hubby decided to do something about it.
This amazing man saw my struggles to remain focused and dedicated himself entirely to creating a space I could disappear in, spending his days and nights covered in sawdust and paint until it was done. His unwavering determination to create a place for me to thrive in was nothing short of heroic.
The result was a revelation. He transformed the ordinary into the extraordinary, turning my ideas into a reality I couldn’t have ever dreamed of. It was me–everywhere. He even took the essence of my grandmother’s old, weathered fireplace that I held so dear and gave it new life, making it the finishing touch on my new writing sanctuary.
Every detail of the new office speaks to the narrative of who I am and who we are together. This isn’t just an office; it’s a testament to the relationship I’ve been lucky enough to find myself a part of and the life we’re building. I’m often lost in the worlds I create, but it’s the world we’ve built together that truly tells the most compelling story.
So, thank you, Mr. Dunn. For the sawdust, the paint, and the tireless nights. For knowing me forward and backward, and loving me the way you do—even on the days I’m stuck in backward. For creating a space as imaginative and warm as the stories I’m attempting to pen. You are my craftsman in both woodwork and in heart and I love you more than words.