From where do the stories come?

"From where do the stories come from?" She asked her Grandfather.
"From the depths of despair. From the light of love. From the mists of mystery. From the hearts of imagination." He replied.
As she looked through the field of daisies, and into the trees beyond, she pondered the words of her Grandfather. Where does imagination come from?she thought to herself. She skipped through the flowers, hitting the stems of some as she merrily went on her way.

Let us ponder over where our imaginations come from. But consider where they have gone over the years of literary absence. The days when the words and ideas flowed and bubbled forth at an uncontrollable rate but now barely a trickle of inspiration comes to mind. Sadness overwhelms the mind and frustration takes its place as we try to bring to the surface the great stories we once held in our hands. The joyous feeling we had when we finished a literary masterpiece that filled us with pride. Where has this all gone? Has our life experience killed the creativity that once was, or have we built a fortress to protect it and lost the key? From where do the stories come?

She danced joyously through the scant forest and came to the garden of the little people. "Hello Ethel!" She said. "Good morrow M'Lady" Said Ethel. "What shall we play today?" She asked. "Shall we play hide and seek M'Lady?" Said Ethel. "Oh yes! That is exactly what I would like to play, thank you Ethel" She exclaimed in delight. "I shall count then M'Lady" Said Ethel. "Very good! Very good!" And off she ran.

Will my game of hide and seek with my imagination and creativity be a victory for me, or for my writer's block?