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:
when I was eight
for pointing out that grape
made for crappy
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?