Imagine. If Hemingway had had a husband, we'd never have had The Sun Also Rises or A Farewell to Arms or The Old Man and the Sea. Wives of writers, famous or not, run interference for their mates. Allow their partners the time to do what they have to do--write. They don't interrupt several times a day just to give their spouse a smooch. They don't carry in the cat "just to visit" or bring in the mail or share an interesting text they just received or an article in the paper they just read or a question on Jeopardy they thought was worthy of distracting the writer from writing. Women get it. No sane wife would ever interrupt her writer husband with anything less than "The house is on fire!" And it damned well better be.
So why then does a husband feel it's perfectly acceptable to interrupt his writer wife's creative process? What drives this behavior? Attention. The husband wants to be acknowledged. "Look at me. I'm here!" No kidding. A quick kiss on the cheek and all your concentration, all your searching for the exact descriptive word, gone. That dialogue you've been looping in your head all morning, lost, because the cat "wanted to say Hello." And your male protagonist, who must survive to make your story work, suddenly gets murdered because you had to kill somebody and this way you won't go to prison.
Fortunately, Hemingway had no husband, no gender-privileged companion to barge in just at the moment the writer hit on the perfect title for his latest work. Otherwise, we'd be reading The Single Old Man and the Sea, and the focus of Death in the Afternoon would not be bullfighting.