We might live like never before

Don't stop writing she said. Don't stop. It hadn't occurred to him actually. He was writing all the time, even when he was not in front of his typewriter or had a pen in his hand. When he was walking on the beach or dining at his favorite hot dog stand he was writing about the salt in the air and the faint musk of women's perfume that he could have sworn came from the hot dog vendor.

But not all his thoughts eventually made it to that blank sheet of paper in his typewriter. As a matter of fact, most of them disappeared soon after they were born. It wasn't really that he was lacking ideas, he had too many. He had so many that he constantly thought that the next one would be better than the one before. Sometimes they were, sometimes they were not. But in this constant flow of ideas in his head the best ones got lost in the current without ever getting recognized.

Little did he know that the draft of the article he wrote two weeks ago and ended up in his trash can would have been published in a national magazine that spring if he hadn't felt that the 'spark' was gone after only an hour. But she believed in him. She always had and in spite of that they had had their differences over the years he knew that she would always be there for him. If she only knew...

[never] to be continued...