What a daze. What a loverly daze. Another snow today. Not the blizzard angry Thor thunder-snow sort, just a stay in and drink tea in jammies with books day. And, if you’re like me, you couldn’t resist some Smiths and writing in your journal. And if you are like me, well, where have you been? And if you’re not, that’s OK too.
Man, is there anything important or useful that can be done on a day such as this? I can’t imagine what or why you’d want to. I was impressed that I cleaned a bit and wrote a bit. Showered.
The journal writing was good. I can be even more personal, random and meaningless there than anywhere. And yet, that’s where I come from. As far as writing is concerned. My first journal was a Tinkerbell notebook from the 1st grade. I always wanted to write. I always wanted and kept a journal. Look in my Mom’s basement. Look in my wooden chest. A whole life in little bound books. (*Get those back from Mom.)
And it’s not that my journals are going to rival Samuel Pepys’ or Thoreau’s. But they represent an actual thing I have accomplished. But more importantly, that’s where my voice comes from. I can wriggle through every crease in my mind, process it all, write through the thousands of voices I take in and come out sounding something like myself. And that’s gotta be something. For a writer.
Honestly, voice is key. If you can nail you, you can nail anyone. What more is my voice than a grand amalgam of every voice and influence I’ve ever taken in since I was born? That’s a lot of voices. All of those people, characters, movies, books, the poems and songs, the interwebs. All condensed and focused through the lens of me.
And while, yes, I might fall into your “journal keeping” stereotype. It’s a thing I’d suggest all writers do. It’s the easiest, least pressure way to just write a little, every day every day every day. And journals don’t all have to be the mole-skin or Red Book of Westmarch type of journal. Go to the dollar store. Use a legal pad. Start a new notebook on your computer, on your phone. Just write. It’s not precious or for posterity. It’s for you.
Have a cup of tea. Play your favorite music. Scribble lines in the margins. Keep your favorite quotes in the pages. Write down something you just heard in a movie or on that TV show. Just put some writing on some paper or pixels. You’ll feel better I swear. Even if better means you just want to wallow. Wallow away. No one’s there to judge.
And if you are like me, then remember, I may wear black on the outside ’cause black is how I feel on the inside, but I have a heck of a time doing it. You know, just being me. Go be you, and choose any color you like.
February 16th, 2016 at 1:17 am
tHANKS for sharing! Our mutual friend ,Kathy Shafer, is a writer. SHe is brilliantly smart and funny, like you which is why I suggested her as a fb friend for you. Sometime the 3 of us will have to meet for coffee…
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February 16th, 2016 at 1:54 am
Definitely. I’d love to read her writing!
February 16th, 2016 at 1:15 am
Oh, Iove the Smiths, staying in my jammies for days in the winter and wearing black. I used to journal all of the time when I was younger. The “best” one–filled when I was age 16–I tossed in the fireplace, afraid that someone would find it and read it and I was not willing to share. I so wish I had it back today. My grandmother kept one virtually every day of her life. I fabulous thing. Keep on keeping on!
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February 16th, 2016 at 1:53 am
That’s why they had the kind with the locks on them! Do you still have your grandmother’s journals? That would be wonderful.