I couldn't write anything in my novel for a week after the memorial.
I told myself I had to give it a try this weekend and I forced myself to start tapping away again on Friday. I'm over 35,000 words (totally unedited-first draft) and happy with what I got down this weekend. Somehow writing seems frivolous right now. It just seems so unimportant in the bigger scheme of things, but I am forcing myself to continue because for me this has become a sort of life line, something to hold onto, a goal for the future, a plan, a way of possibly supporting myself, and empowering myself and taking care of myself.
A friend said "Wouldn't be great if your novel took off? Went viral?" I said That's my goal.