writing things has always been my thing (see what I did there with the word ‘things’? casual repetitive awesomeness, uh duh). sometimes it happens everyday and sometimes I hate every word that hits the paper. some days it’s everything my life revolves around and some days I am under covers watching Grey’s Anatomy on hulu because everything else is too scary. this is the life right?
the most consistent aspect of my writing is where I put the words. with the exception of this blog/the internet, I start all of it in a composition notebook. there is nowhere else to lay it all out. nothing else makes sense. i really need the lines, too. otherwise my thoughts seem so unmanageable.
girlfriends, friends, family members and all those in between have gifted me with journals, diaries, fancy unlined books and even sketch pads. they want to provide a place for my thoughts, show me that they know how important writing is to me and to let it be known that they know how to give a thoughtful gift. (i see you and i love you).
truth: i still have those books and most of them are empty.
it’s hard to connect to a book that hasn’t picked me or one that looks way too pretty for my scrawly print handwriting. i can’t write in a book that has intricate floral patterns, shakespearean quotes or any sort of level of expectation of greatness.
it’s not that composition notebooks allow me to have low expectations. it’s that they’re books filled with I don’t give a fuck. compact, sturdy, bound together with a black edge and unassuming. i bee-line for them. i pay homage to the local 99 cent store because they have this secret stash of crazy composition notebooks for under $2. ching ching right in my price range.
i picked up two yesterday in the rain, slicker hood scrunched up around my head and a wet five dollar bill in my pocket.
they will be filled with madness, jittery sketches, poems that have no end or structure, articles that need a place to begin, numbers i won’t remember and all of the things i won’t admit to anywhere else.
Also, a Poet friend of mine, Tamara Grysel Saliva, collects notebooks from awesome people like you and donates them to kids who wanna write. Help out her cause here and pay it forward, ya’ll.
where does your writing start?