I have many, MANY journals… well, many UNIFINISHED journals. They’re sitting in my front room so they’re not exactly hidden under the bed. I used to care if anybody read them, but I don’t anymore. I suppose that years of peer critiques in English and tech writing classes has eradicated worrying about my writing not being good enough.
Or maybe now I am GOOD ENOUGH.
Nope. Must be why I’m fairly addicted to writing–because it’s hard.
Back to the journals: I don’t write in them anymore. I picked up the poetry journal in February and wrote in it, for the first time since November 2007. One of the thougts I wrote down:
you taught me how to smile
with my eyes
but the timing of the
lesson was all wrong
So is it good or bad poetry if you don’t really remember where the thought came from or where it’s going? Really, though, I want to know WHAT HAPPENED to my journal writing? Once upon a time, I was prolific.
A friend said that I blog now instead.
I don’t agree.
Blogging doesn’t even compare to my journal writing. I rarely share internal thoughts/struggles here. I can’t doodle. I don’t sketch maps of Virginia where I thought I’d base a historical novel. I rarely mention dating (protecting the innocent). No poetry. No spiritual experiences. And no strange, scribbled notes written when I was on Ambien. See? My blog doesn’t compare to the ol’ journals.
Here are my best guesses about what happened to my desire to scrawl thoughts in one of many different bound journals:
- All of the internal thoughts and struggles have faded away because now that I’m an adult with a mortgage/bills/titanium toe, life is EASY
- I gave up on my historical novel after I’d written 50 pages.
- I’m all out of poetry.
- When I can’t sleep at nights, I now get on Facebook (sigh).
- I have a TV with high def cable (sigh again).
- I have less time to dwell on my life (emphasis on dwell).
- I’ve lost all of my pens.
- I forgot how to write.
- I can’t read my handwriting so why record anything?
- I need to TRY and sleep at night so I’m not allowed to write in them.
Okay so after thinking so much about my journals, it makes me miss them. Every now and then, one of the entries would really be a gem. I should write again in search of those gems. No more Facebook. Gasp.
End of rambling.