I’m just going to say it: you have a to keep a journal or a diary if you call yourself a writer. You can’t count on memory. You can’t count on anyone to remember what kind of hat she wore or what you felt about Hart Crane. I know a writer who kept a day book during her thirties. On any given day, she can consult it and see if she had her period, if she had a crush, if she learned a new song, or found treasure in the form of a biker jacket with a paisley lining, You must take notes,on pads, placemats, notebooks, the inside of your palm. You must write and write and write and write. Your arms are branches, your lungs fill and empty, your eyeliner is flawless.
Do you feel me?
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You betcha. I think this might be in direct correlation to yesterday’s post – and the critical question – “what do you do with your brilliant ideas?”
I regret I don’t journal, keep a diary, or even loose pages of random thoughts. I have tried. It ain’t in me, and I can’t explain it.
Does a square of Sticky Notes count? That’s where my supposed plot issue brainstorm/possible solutions go. I have a cube of neon yellow, royal blue, and hot pink – all together and a jumble of notes 3-4 stickies down.
Like, “what does MM want?”
Strangely – a journal could be part of my plot resolution in my latest WIP.
I feel you.
What, and deny yourself the creative challenge of trying to recreate your life when you have a writing project that won’t go away and your memory is shit?
Do I feel you? I haven’t written in months, never filled in that beautiful blank baby journal with my youngest daughter’s first words and she’s 18 now (I think she said PBS). If one more person tells me to keep a food journal I’ll spit. Occasionally there’s a yellowed yellow sticky note. “Middle name Pearl.” “Woman in little black dress using a package of Oreos as a clutch.” I should write about my spouse’s text yesterday saying she’s leaving this weekend for a “little separation.” Or stick a note on my bedside table to remind myself to put on deodorant. My contacts keep folding in half, my dreams are in the toilet and I am feeling you in my bone marrow where there is probably another pesky autoimmune disease waiting to take hold.
I feel you, too.
betsy
Thanks, Betsy.
I feel you.
Sent from my iPhone
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You know it
I have very few regrets in life. Not keeping a detailed journal is one of them.
I’ve led an amazing and crazy life. Good lord. Wish I could remember half of it.
I feel you! I’ve kept a journal pretty consistently for the last few years. It was a necessity in college when I felt like the only person who would get me is me. Plus I have an overflow of thoughts and ideas that need to be put on the page. I tend to get anxious & restless when I let my thoughts build up and I love the clarity I can achieve after a good writing session. I could go on and on as evidenced by my massive stack of notebooks and journals. Thanks for the post!
Love.MM Betsy Love