My grief has kept me from living so many parts of my life, I can’t even count them all.
It’s been hard, truly, extremely hard, for me to return to reading, and even harder, outside of this blog, to return to writing.
I am desperate to write. I want to, all the time.
But I can’t. I can’t bring myself to work on fiction because it feels like a betrayal of my self.
Not myself, but my self, the self-part of me that is in mourning for my mother still.
That will be in mourning for my mother always.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 
I empathize with your sorrow, and I am sorry for your loss.
❤ thank you.
I have probably told you this before, but you have to give yourself permission NOT to write sometimes.
Writing takes all of us – our hearts and our souls, not just our minds. Your heart and soul have been bruised. They need time to heal. Let them. Focus on living your life – on loving your husband, playing with your dogs, cleaning your house, planning that fabulous cruise you want to go on, fixing an awesome Thanksgiving dinner. Focus on the other side of your career for now, on the highly creative act of being a teacher and a scholar. I believe that when the time is right, you’ll feel more than a desire to write. You’ll be unable to stop yourself from sitting down at the computer and creating again. ❤
❤ Thank you, so so much xoxo