I hear it all the time – write what you feel. What else is there? That’s the only way I can work. I write what I feel and what pleases me. I admit I do look to others for approval. In the long run, it’s not going to be put on paper – particularly for other eyes to see – if I don’t feel it. We all want others to like what we do and give us the go ahead, but I really need to be comfortable in my own mind (and heart) with what I put out there.

I know I have stories in me. Some may never be told; and should never be told. Others, I may tell though I’m hearing whispers of “don’t do it!” in my ear.

I’ve been told to let go of some of the things I write about and write happy thoughts. I write about things in and around my life. It may or may not be about me and it may or may not be happy. Everything can’t be a fairy tale.

As written (and sung) by one far, far better than myself – Elton John to be exact, “Sad songs say so much.”

It was my intention that this blog be devoted to writing topics, but today I’m thinking about my husband. I guess indirectly it’s still about writing. Our relationship is the main focus of the novel I’m working on.

He died a year ago on May 9th, but the man I married died many years ago. Eight years before he died he decided he didn’t want to be married anymore and packed up and left. Told me and our children he was leaving because I didn’t want him anymore.

He was no longer the person I had fallen in love with. He had become a selfish, bitter, suspicious man who alienated himself from his friends and family. This was not the happy, gregarious, life of the party I had married. I spent so much time being angry with him I let other things in my life go. I should have let some of that anger out on paper.

In the end he was pensive and seemed remorseful. I couldn’t be angry anymore. He said he loved me and I did still love him. I also felt sorry for him. I hope he knew that when it came down to it I did all I could for him.

One of my favorite authors wrote a blog about problems she was having with writing. She didn’t want to call it a writer’s block as she’s not sure they exist. She said she just felt off balance and had a lot on her mind. She’s a successful, published author and even she had a time when she wasn’t feeling it. I can understand that. I think I’ve been feeling that way for a number of years.

When I discovered my love of writing in high school I wrote something every day. If I didn’t actually compose it, I wrote about something I may have seen or read that day. I wrote poetry; sad, forlorn pieces to the boyfriends I dreamed about. This continued until college. In college I won awards and had some pieces published. I decided I was going to be a writer.

Then, I graduated, got a job and started my life. Never started the novel I wanted to write. Stopped writing poetry; stopped keeping a journal; stopped all of my creative processes. I was prolific when I was single and all I had to worry about was getting to class on time.

Thirty years later I’m trying to get it back. My children are almost grown and into their own lives and I’ve got to get into me. The author I referred to earlier went to writer’s retreats. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury so I’ve created my own retreat. I’ve set up a writing area in my bedroom. I created music CDs with songs to inspire me to write. I sit here now with Earth Wind and Fire in the background and a little merlot in my Olivia Pope glass. Maybe it’s working? This blog is my start.