Forgotten Journals

I love blank journals, especially the offbeat ones with bamboo-slide covers, leather wraparound ties, or interesting paper (except the kind with flower petals pressed inside…pretty to look at, Hell to write on).

Thing is, I have a terrible habit of abandoning journals about…oh, I’d say three entries in. As writers and serial killers know, when the urge hits, it hits, and if your chosen tools aren’t handy, any old notebook or pickaxe will do. So it goes, and I’ve silently made peace with my little neglected pile of adorable journals, but tonight I stumbled across one I completely forgot that I had forgotten: an old Blogger page.

Whoops. And it isn’t exactly ancient history, either…the last entry was January 24, 2011. There weren’t many (typical…), but I was going on about a writer’s retreat I had gone to the previous summer (which, admittedly, was a fun and productive one…it gave me the confidence to start grad school). I like what it was talking about, so this is me upcycling The Blog That Time I Forgot:

Geurilla Writing

Last summer, at a writing conference, someone had a coffee table book of postcards upon which a series of confessional messages had been written. Some were hilarious, some were horrifyingly raw and honest. Over the course of the weekend, we took inspiration from the book and posted random little snippets of writing in odd places around the lodge. I found one of mine tucked away in my writing journal:


A Baptist Confession
I got spanked at church
when I was eight
for pointing out that grape
juice and crackers
made for crappy
hors d’oeuvres


 

Thanks to Google, I remembered what the book was!  PostSecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives

I have that book now. It’s pretty awesome…I love the idea of anonymous confessions. In a sense, lyric poets–I’m looking at us as a whole–don’t we all engage in this from time to time, perhaps shielded by the safety net of the persona poem?

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