Journals, far too many of them. Who’s ever going to read them? They go back to 1965, skip the lost decade of the 70s, then plough on to the present as I get ever more detailed and obsessive about only Black & Red hardbacks. I buy them in packs of 5, I index each book when I finish so I can see at a glance what events it covers.
Sometimes I do Morning Pages religiously and a book is filled in 3 months, other times it hangs around for ever.
I had this brilliant idea that I would feature ‘The Random Journal’ on this blog. Pick a date, find the nearest journal entry then offer the pearls therein to the world. I tried it, and there’s an awful lot of dross and maundering self obsession.
What’s a journal for?
- If you’re in the habit of them, a journal is a great comfort – the friend who’s always listening
- It’s a very selective and partial record of events
- A way of dialoguing back with books I’m reading
- A place to put anger and self-pity instead of dumping it on others
- A place to try out parts of my own writing and reflect on it