So, I'm sitting at my desk and wondering why I can't find the inspiration necessary to write any meaningful stories. In the last three years, my life has changed so dramatically that one would think that there'd be inspiration lying somewhere. Moving from an apartment to a rented house to our own home, getting married, settling into a neighbourhood that is near and dear to both our hearts, our children going to our alma maters (both elementary and secondary), enduring a body-wrenching pregnancy and c-setion and now going back to work in my former high school....that's a lot to digest. So, maybe it's not that I lack inspiration, but that my life is filled with too much stimulus, too much contentment, too much fulfillment, that I have no aching need to write.
But, should there not still be a spark of fiction flickering in my brain somewhere? A tiny glimmer of a tale...but wait! Is there something there? Ahhh, I think, yes, I think there is something there. Maybe I've got something that would grow into something resembling a story. Is there hope? Possibly...
On mammograms & biopsies & whatnot
1 day ago