Dear Diary

Today I found an old journal of mine from a couple of years ago. I hadn’t written in a journal for years; the last known recording was in a fluffy pink diary when I was about fifteen, full of teenage angst and heartbroken that Stephen Reid was going to Cinderella Rockerfellas without me.

I’d started journalling again after a writers class in NYC. Someone had raved about Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way , in particular her use of ‘Morning Pages’. And so, I gave it a go. I set my alarm a little earlier, grabbed my notebook and pen, ready and waiting on my nightstand, and started to write. Three pages. Without even a cup of coffee.

What drivel sprung from my pen! I didn’t care: dreams were recorded, battles were fought, mantras were made (and broken). My morning pages became part of my morning ritual for a while until it became a bit woeful and full of self-pity. I got it on the page then I stopped.

I didn’t want to be woeful, I wanted to be creative. So I changed my ritual and started to write about all sorts of stuff, whether it was people I’d met, food that I ate, places I’d visited even what I’d watched on telly. Anything and everything I’d record because it would spark an idea or two for my next writing assignment.

Towards the end of this particular journal, I had recorded my first notes for Writing Skills. It seems like a long time ago…however amongst all those pages are snippets and musings that I can work with creatively.

I’ve forgotten how good it is to keep a personal journal. It’s surprising, embarrassing, engrossing…modern life at its best (or worst) depending on the mood.

That’s why I like writing my OCA journal, it reminds me why I am here, the progress I’m making and what I want to achieve.

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