A writer’s journal is it’s own work of art. And just like other art pieces, it is only truly understood by the artist. A glance through a writer’s journal would leave one in a splitting headache and pondering deep life thoughts. It is like a neatly stacked pile of papers color-coded and numbered, that has been tossed carelessly into the whirlwind that is a writer’s mind. It is cluttered, muddled, and chaotic. But it is a beautiful creation made by the writer’s own hand.
Often times the pages are stained with rings of brown coffee from late nights of the pen bleeding over the once white pages. Other times, little puckered spots are dotted on a page reminding the writer of the passion or emotions felt while writing that piece. Dog-eared pages are scattered throughout because the writer knows there is some piece of gold hissing in that particular entry.
The cover of a his journal is slightly dirty with ink stains from pens that broke and bled. There is not one ink color that is the same because a writer must be ready to write with anything at any moment. The once crisp binding is flattened from thumbing through the past pages reminiscing on old writings. Scribble marks, random notes, quotes are to the journal what paint strokes are to a canvas; absolutely necessary. Loose pegs float out if held wrong.
A true writer’s journal is spontaneously fun and two pages over, depressingly sad. What makes a writer? Someone who carries their entire heart and soul with them in an ink-stained, dog-eared, coffee-ringed, tear-soaked, torn paged book.
A writer’s journal is a rough draft, twice removed, of his life. It is a story that is filmed through the eyes, edited by the brain, and featured through the heart. A raw, un-censored screen play at it’s climax and low points. A writer’s journal provides posts like these.
This is my journal……..