Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Barely writing

I approached this year with grand plans - writing would feature heavily in my daily life and I started the year well. I really did.

Except.

Life has other ideas. Armed with a brand new diary / journal. The first week I filled it with hobonichi style pictures / words but quickly realised it wasn't working for me. I yearned for page after page of words.

Except.

























I became terrified of the blank page & imminent failure so I neglected to do any writing. Page after page remained unblemished by my pen. I consoled my failed self with notions of it only cost me $5. After 10 days of stagnation I picked up that journal and I started writing. I wrote of how it very nearly ended up in the bin and while that may seem like something completely left field-obscure to read; I wrote it because this book I started reading again resonated with me.

My first entry I wrote "In this $4.99 foxy journal. A place to explore the darkest places of my mind and draw them upon the page in a rainbow of words. Just words. No more no less." I don't censor my grammar (this is so freeing) and I am exploring a deeper level of writing (not darkest as in something "bad" I meant darkest as in those corners of my mind that are never fully explored!)  "Yet today as I stood in those bunkers viewing the guns (models) lurking beneath the concrete overhangs; as cool, moist air rolled about my ankles in the partly underground tunnels - I heard voices. Words. People. Telling me their stories and I stood fascinated" {Side note: I did NOT hear voices per say, more I stopped long enough to appreciate the people of the past and let my imagination run wild} 
Even Jack and Emmy have found a place to lie their history down - two main characters from the novel I started writing back in November. This excerpt does not belong in the story, however it was  a small exercise to explore their history and help them to come alive a little in my mind. It was the first piece I have written for them since November and that mad rush to 50,000 words! I would love to say I am writing in my foxy journal every single day - alas I am not! Having a little outlet to be creative without the words needing purpose (be it for a story, my personal journal, future blog posts) is a most wonderful thing indeed.   




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