Sunday, November 23, 2008

100 sheets...200 pages...all mine...

When people know you like to write, they tend to buy you journals.

Leather journals with slick pages.

Journals that just scream for important words.

I have journals from museum shops, from bookstores around the world, and from very snazzy stationery shops.

I have journals covered in green suede and journals that look like they belonged to Charles Dickens.

They are all beautiful and precious - and they all scare the heck out of me.


Which is why I always end up dusting off and admiring the beautiful journals and then scribbling my words in one of these


My good old composition book does not care if I cross out or erase. I don't have to sound smart. I don't have to be erudite. I can just write and write..... and write. and that feels right.

.



3 comments:

amy said...

Dare I guess what those comp. books will go for in, say, a hundred years from now?

poetiquejustis said...

Very likely a contribution to recycling,
How was Sea World? I will have to check your blog!

Tracy said...

Don't ask me why but I like the composition books with graph paper, but some of the journals are too pretty to touch with a pencil and never a pen...