This post was originally posted at The Romance Studio:
I haven’t spoken much about this topic, mostly because until now I haven’t felt up to it. When you’re a writer, you’re expected to write. To eat, sleep, breathe and dream about writing. The characters are supposed to talk to you all of the time. No breaks. For some writers, this is exactly the case. I admire them. For others, it’s less demanding. They write when they can and although the characters don’t stop talking, they fit them in. Others have the infamous writer’s block. Hey, it happens.
But this post isn’t about writer’s block in it’s natural form. My form of writer’s block came out of something that happened starting almost a month ago. My grandfather, the one man who literally stood head and shoulders above everyone else, took ill. He went to the ER and was diagnosed with pneumonia. Now people survive pneumonia. Even at his age, 83, it’s possible to get survive. I didn’t think at the time it was a big deal. Like I said, people don’t have to die from pneumonia.
But life isn’t that easy. He spent more than ten days at the hospital. Tests were done and his breathing never got back to par. While they did those tests and made him take all of those breathing treatments, the doctors discovered cancer in his kidneys and in his lungs.
This is where I got scared. This was the guy whom I looked up to. He was the one who would scowl and grouse at people, but had a huge heart. If you needed something, he’d jump in and help. He literally jumped into the pool once…right before the life guard told us all not to jump in yet. He’d tell us every year he’d chased off Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny because they were breaking into the house. I’ll never forget the grin on his face when he drove his ‘old’ car away. I can’t remember exactly what kind of car it was, but the soft top (I think it was cloth, but not a convertible), but he was so happy to have it. Him zipping on the lawnmower across the lawn that seemed endless when I was a kid. Him engraving my name on my scissors so no one would steal them when I was in grade school (no one did, by the way). He drove me halfway across the state to visit my aunt, which was kind of a sort of farce because I was really going to see my then boyfriend (now DH). He helped me move to my first dorm and helped hike my crap up the seemingly hundreds of steps because the elevator wasn’t available for use.
All of these memories came back. I couldn’t imagine my life without him there. Without him chewing us all out because we hadn’t gotten to the reunion, Christmas dinner, Easter dinner, get together…etc. on time. Smelling the smoke from his pipe while he chewed out the football games or while watching western movies and arguing with the gunslingers.
I didn’t want to lose my grandpa. But cancer is a bitch. I’m sorry. It is. I’m not entirely sure how long he had it before the nodules were detected, but only two weeks after being put into the hospital, the doctors informed my grandmother that there wasn’t anything left to do but to send him home with hospice. April 8th, very early in the morning, he passed.
I’m still upset about this. I won’t lie. He was and still is my grandpa. I knew him as Grandpa, whereas my cousins all called him Pawpaw. I went to the funeral and cried during the stories. I wanted to get up and tell mine, but I didn’t have the strength? Stamina? I don’t know, but I couldn’t do it.
Now this post is supposed to be about writing. It is. I don’t know about other writers, but for me, it’s been hard to focus on the characters. They’re there. Trust me, they’re talking. I just don’t have the desire right now to work on their stories. Is it my period of mourning? I think so. I’ve plodded away on a super short and outlined a longer work. But to sit down and just write…I don’t have it in me right now. I’m sure it’ll happen again. I’m the type of person that once I get whatever it is in my head out of my head, then I can move forward. I just haven’t gotten this out yet. I haven’t understood what happened and accepted it. I will. The stories are there and they’ll come. Just give me time. I promise.
Here’s a little bit about one of my previous releases. I hope you find enjoyment in my story, Merging Their Roar.
Merging Their Roar
Sanctuary, Book 8
By Megan Slayer
M/M, M/M/M, Ménage, Anal Sex, Oral Sex
The right piece for their perfect triad seems to be the one man who doesn’t seem to fit at all.
Eli and Silas have done pretty much everything twins can do together within reason. They share lovers and are inseparable. Now, the lions want free. They want someone to be with both of them and can understand the dual sides to their collective nature. But the twins are scarred by their past. Eli uses his people skills to please and get by, while Silas takes the quieter, introverted and angry approach. Can these two find a perfect complement? Does that person even exist?
Owen Cantrell believes he’s not only worthy of the shifters, but he’s their missing piece. He’s human and hasn’t been around shifters, but he’s not afraid. What could go wrong?
When these three get together, there are plenty of sparks, but things can’t be perfect forever. The way Eli, Silas and Owen deal with their problems and everything thrown their way will prove if they aren’t meant to be or if they can go the distance.
Note: Merging Their Roar is part of the Sanctuary series. Each book features different characters and can be enjoyed as a standalone story.
Available anywhere ebooks are sold, for only $2.99