When my children were younger, I wrote them an original story about four children. The children in the story were loosely based on them (okay, a lot based on them) and delighted their budding imaginations.
Spring forward years later and my young people are now young adults. Much has happened in this springing forward time. The children have lost their father to a sudden heart attack, and me my husband and closest friend.
In that time, I also became a blogger and newspaper columnist in an attempt to retain much of the personality quirks my husband loved about me. Writing became a place to pretend I had not died along with him and to remain recognisable to him should he have the ability in some afterlife to be looking down (or up) at me.