This is how my story goes. My sister is married to my second ex-husband, Reggie, and a bigger blowhard of nonsense and fantasy never lived large on a publisher's advance. Seven figures for seven titles. All he's written so far, as far as I can tell is the titles.

I have more treasures than money in the bank — a handsome hotty of a husband, 3 adopted children, and a sweet little girl who beat the minute hand on my female doomsday clock followed by surprise surprise! twins who arrived before the works rusted shut, or not, I'm still rolling the dice with Mother Nature.

I'm taking a breather, today, just me, the babies, my daughter, and Nan, my housekeeper, holding down the fort while the others play. Sean, my husband, is off befuddling old ladies with his charm as he convinces them that waving weights around is the new way to banish Father Time by renewing your youthful spirit and scaring him away. Sissy, Anne, and Bobby are renewing their sibling bond with a long midweek stay at my beach house, giving it a quick inspection and cleaning before the new tenants arrive.

I used to be the Queen of Romance. Writing, that is. And as soon as I organize my thoughts and stop having distractions, it's surely not dreaded writer's block I'm going to take the crown back.