This is more like a diary entry than anything else, but here goes.
I haven't been writing as I ought to. I think it's because I'm in a bayou [figuratively speaking and equivalent to a 'rut']. Seems my late husband was more of an inspiration that I thought.
When my husband was alive, all I had to do was look at him and my imagination would take off. Sometimes a murder story came to mind. Mostly because we seemed to be in a permanent stage of disagreement about everything. But once in a while a romance story would blossom and I'd write and dream it was happening for me. As weird as it sounds, I even got a alien story or two from just looking at him. Yeah, must have been on the days my humor was greatest.
He passed on in 2012, June or July [can never remember exactly which month] and since then, inspiration for writing has been nil. IN fact, since then, seems life has passed me by. I still take care of Pamela, my daughter who is in a coma, but no dreams for a life of my own. I just turned 69 and find the most awesome thing is that I AM 69. Seems such a short time ago that I married and had 6 children to fill my time to overflowing. Now, at a time when I could spend most of my free time on writing, the desire seems to have left me. I sure hope it comes back.