Keeping a Journal



I have kept a journal for most of my adult life. Journal is adult for diary. Yes, I kept a diary when I was a kid. Some days the diary entries were a single sentence or even a few words but when moving to the adult version of baring my soul to myself, whole pages could be filled up each day. I started out writing in beautiful leather bound accounting ledgers but those are impossible to find any more so ended up going with the easy to access spiral bound notebook the past few years. Easier to toss in the garbage when reviewing their content down the road.

I like to write. I’m talking the physical handwriting with a smooth ballpoint pen and paper. I started out writing all my novels by hand. Eventually I saw the wisdom in skipping the hand-written stage and sitting down at the laptop to directly write out the draft and then go back in and edit (or as I like to call editing, filling in the gaps and cutting the riff-raff) since it saves so much time. Writing everything out by hand and then typing it into the computer definitely takes more time.

I like the aesthetics of the handwritten word. I like the motion of the pen gliding across the paper. I like the look of the handwriting. The pace helps my mind sort out what I am trying to say. Especially with a journal that is a calming process.

 Now everything is digital and even a writer’s journal can be done on-line. Little snippets in the life of a writer give an insight to what makes me tick, I guess. Although, I have often thought that if anyone else could ever step into my mind and see what goes on inside there they would run away screaming, overwhelmed with the fizz and snap of multi-directional tiers that my thoughts travel. I can start out thinking about a hangnail and end up contemplating the possibility of dogs in space within about 7 jumps in a few seconds.

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