You would think, that since I am so focused on moments and little details, that the idea for my journal would have come easier.
But it took me three months.
This beautiful custom journal that my husband had made for me for my fortieth birthday has waited for words for three months.
I made my first entry today, finally. It occurred to me that instead of rewriting my poems and stories (I already have books for those), and instead of using it as a journal (have that, too), I would use it to describe random moments.
And, since the moments are random, so to will be the order.
For my first entry, I opened to the middle of the book and began to write.
(I even got brave and wrote in pen.)
This is where my stories and poems live.
I create them on the computer, but I keep them in a notebook. In black ink, I hand-write each one, then place the journal on my shelf with all my other books.
This way, I can’t lose them with a computer breakdown or a lost USB. They are organized and (sort of) published. This way, I make them a part of my book collection and I give them value.
I love to write. And I love books.
This way, I get both.
Sometimes, it is the words on a page that give me pause.
I love to learn from books, to gather ideas from books. At the moment, I am reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. I am slowly beginning to think of myself as a writer, aiming to have published work. But here is always that tiny inner voice, that is cause for hesitation.
This book makes me believe that I can, that I am.
It is the definition of inspiration.
I am grateful for this. For having a blog again and waking each morning to writing.
It is helping me to notice the small moments that make me happy. It is something to look forward to. It is also a way to use some of the thousands of photos I have on my hard drive!
But besides that, the writing itself is a gift. To rearrange words, express thoughts, and write a few sentences to share with the world: For this, I am thankful.