December 6, 2011 § 7 Comments
At last, to catch up with a workable holiday theme, to bring a little of this, a little of that to the holiday buffet of favorite things!
Herein, a journal. It’s a tiny little gipper, brought to me by dear friend Linda of Haute Loire, when she took a cooking tour in Tuscany. This is actually a little journal, about 4×5″ and with a long thin leather strap to wrap it all ’round. Nope, this one remains untouched to date. And it doesn’t play well on the shelf (due to its leather string.) But it’s the real ‘ting, all lovely paper inside begging beggging begging for some written words – no matter what they are, to dress it up and make in sing (which it would likely do with a marvelous Italian accent!)
Why so compelled to journal?
It’s an old art, if not an ancient one. The history of the practice will zip you right back to 10th century Japan (ah, those ladies of the royal court…who wrote).
Journaling endures. Not just because people have time on their hands (like the Bennett sisters) but are, moreover, driven by a need to record things, about the world, about themselves, about what they see and don’t see…about fiction.
It’s notable in the two different journaling classes I attend that the attendees are always asking what they should write in a journal, in fact, what IS a journal? Others don’t say anything. They might read what they’ve written…or not. They might ask questions and have done no writing. They might come clutching a notebook of some sort and hope for….other people to talk with about writing? I don’t know. I go to for inspiration. I am fascinated by the teachers and their very disparate approaches. I am fascinated by those who attend. And such stories come out!
Sometimes I write while I’m there. (This is allowed and accepted.)
I would say a journal, frightening or not in its blank blanc-ness, is the ultimate gift, to be explored, to draw the adventures out and onto the page for the writer to then re-enjoy.
The gift that keeps on giving.