She had heard it before. I could have been a novelist. I love writing. I wish I had time to write a novel. Through over a decade of marriage, this was a recurring theme. Writing had been his dream. His passion. When he was younger and had more time, he had written endlessly. There was a closet full of his work, some of it going back to elementary school. There were countless short stories, some poetry, and more than a handful of half-written novels.