So say you are reading a mystery and the writer has dialogue between a newly married couple. The dialogue goes like this:
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you more plus one.”
“I love you a million.”
“I love you a million plus one…”
And on and on. What do you do?
You throw the book across the room. Because no one you know talks like this, not even newly married couples who are still in the first bloom of “love.”
You know how married couples talk?
“Did you take the garbage out?”
“I’ll do it later.”
“Do it now because you’ll forget.”
“I never forget.”
“And that’s why we have two weeks of garbage sitting in our backyard?”
You get the picture. I’ve been married twice and I like to believe that both times I married for love. But I never had the “I love you a million plus one” discussion. Either of my wives would have hit me with a shoe had I done so.
Why is it so hard to write dialogue that depicts a loving, stable marriage? I have a brother who’s been married for 39 years. A sister who’s been married since 1983. When I visit either of these siblings, I never hear “I love you a million plus one.” It’s always mundane stuff like, did you take the cat to the vet, or what do you want for dinner tonight.
I suspect that talking about the cat or dinner or the kids or the weird guy that lives down the block are the true “I love you a million plus one” comments in real life. If you’ve married someone and are still living in the same house, it’s pretty evident that you love them a million plus one. To say it would make your spouse suspicious.
I am presently working on a new novel, one that does not feature Minerva James. The main characters are Socrates Holmes and Pixie Rose, two law students who positively hate each other. Pixie is constantly needling Socrates (known to his friends as “Sock”) and Sock reciprocates by telling her she is an annoying and bothersome little girl.
Of course, they will end up in bed together.
Of course, Pixie will get pregnant and they will marry.
Of course, Pixie will not tell Sock she loves him, not in any way shape or form.
Instead, I envision these two bickering and sniping at each other even after the marriage. As the old Eagles song says, they have one thing in common, they are good in bed. To each other.
But hey, it’s a start. I have three books planned out, with bits and pieces of each book already written. The first book, “The Socratic Method,” is half finished (I’m at 35,500 words). It’s coming pretty quickly. I think there’s magic afoot here.
And not a million plus one in sight.
Mark Bruce, Writer 
Hello, Mark! My best friend Dan Jack lived with me for about twenty years. We were companions, not lovers, and we are not lovey-dovey types. During the last ten years or so his health declined due to prostate cancer, COPD, and a recurring urinary tract infection. During the last few months of his life (he kept telling me he thought he would die soon, but I did not believe him) every evening before I went to bed he said he loved me. He never missed saying that. In June 2021 he fell and could not get up, even with my assistance, so he told me to call 911. The ambulance arrived, the EMTs tested him and found he was suffering from atrial fibrillation, and they insisted that he go to Desert Valley Hospital with them. He finally went after protesting loudly and long. The next day I visited him at Desert Valley. He was mad at me for insisting he go to the hospital, but at the end of the visit he said “I love you” and kissed me lightly on the lips. Later that day the hospital called me to tell me his heart had stopped, but the medical team resuscitated him and put him on a ventilator. He died about two and a half weeks later (June 30th) without ever fully regaining consciousness. I just thought you could use this as an illustration of caring without romantic mushiness. Ann Marie
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First, I sorrow for the loss of your friend. In this case, it’s likely that “I love you” was something he’d been meaning to tell you for a long time. knowing his days were numbered, there was no reason to hide it anymore. But I also think about my dad’s final days. He was pretty much an absentee father during my childhood. But as his last days came (I was in my late 50s at the time) he couldn’t say “I love you” enough. To me, it sounded more like emotional blackmail–he wanted to think all was forgiven for his dilatory parenthood.
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