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i wonder if i really had nothing to complain about whether i'd actually have anything to write at all.

like, if my children were all gone and i was content and had the afternoon free, could i actually pull anything out of the bag?
i mean there is not a novel in me that is for sure. i cannot even begin to think about a subject matter or way to write if if there was a subject matter...
i am always impressed with anyone who can sustain interest in their story for long enough to weave fabricated intricate falsehoods about unreal characters.
i would like to know how.
but even pursuing that interest exhausts my imagination.

my pursuit in writing it seems would surely be a way to placate my unquiet mind...to breathe out the incessant ongoings of whatever goes on between my ears.

in fact as well as coming across 700 000 pounds minimum through some fortunate event, i would also love to be able to write a world that actually captured my imagination and chased me on and on till i finished it.

i visited my sister's grave today with my son and daughter, her son, my sister in law and my mum. the last few days have brought grief especially in moments when i am suddenly alone with no children and i realise what has happened and it all runs through my mind, and i try to make sense of it. i try to remember the last time i was with her and i try to grasp memories. it is to strange to find a loved one removed from you.
the resting place for her body was beautiful, some big yellow fake but gorgeous flowers were in a vase and a small rose flourished near the cross bearing her name...another rose was in a pot which we planted into the earth. there were some beautiful wild looking plants of pale pinky red amongst green and red geraniums. another sister had been and put stones around the edge, and my sister in law brought incense- rose garden- that we lit and watched the fragrant smoke billow around her beautiful photo. i bought a candle with a beautiful sister poem on it, which stayed alight even as we left.
in the flower shop there, the kind lady sold us some pink carnations and some pansies and other flowers, then meeting my little nephew, she gave him a mummy vase and a beautiful bouquet of pink roses.