Sometimes it seems like everything I want to do or want to use as inspiration for writing ends up hurting someone I love.

Someone else was my muse.... long before I met my husband.... I thought I could bring him back as a muse to get my writing going again. But there's nothing there anymore. Too bad I didn't mention that over there when I mentioned my old muse in the first place.

I've never been as misunderstood as I have been when I write.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.