I love the way a book looks with its full pages, so I will continue to write even if it's merely to populate the embossed Italian pages of my purple journal - of which I still wish was green.
Resolution - Re Solution; does this mean that you've already tried and failed? Is this the REvised solution for the original plan of attack that just didn't work?
I've decided to start this journal on my journey to write a book. Now that I've made this commitment, it's already falling apart. Don't get me wrong, I've had "journals" before but they never seem to stick...I mean, I never seem to stick with them. (I'm already trying to lay blame elsewhere.) This time is different. I've decided not to let myself give up. Maybe that's what is scaring me now.
I went to buy my journal but for some reason every aspect of the purchase became taxing. I became consumed with the size, the colour of the cover, the pages; should they be lined or blank? Then, after narrowing my choice to a small purple notebook with blank pages, I began to second guess. Should I have purchased the green one instead? They both have Italian embossed pages - for North Americans, "made in Italy" is a definite selling feature. Next thing I know, I'm in the car driving away from the trendy bookstore and suddenly realize that I don't own a pen that I'm comfortable enough to write with. Quickly, I'm sabotaging my "re”solution.
And what do I write about? Nothing I can think of is good enough or worthy enough to enter the important pages of my brand new soul mate. It's literally a miracle that I've progressed to this stage.
I'm just going to write anything I think of, even if I want to scratch it out. And, I'm going to write in pen. After much internal debate on what medium to use, I've decided that ink seems the most permanent and can, perhaps, prove my commitment this time. I'm going to try not to reread each entry or think too hard before pen hits paper, however, I do tend to "edit" most things I write as I go. I'm already starting to annoy myself.
The most intimidating thing for a wannabe writer is going into a bookstore. It makes you feel anxious, defeated and hopeless along with the absolute excitement it is to be around something you adore. All of those books and authors...and ideas. You begin to feel as though any attempt to write will be faltered and will pale in comparison to all of that literature. How can anyone come up with an original thought if all of those pages are filled with characters and ideals and adventures and advice? Is it actually possible to come up with something fresh? Obviously everyone is different, has different tastes and preferences, but it's shocking to think you must compete with all of those who have already completed their task or "re"solution to write. The other terrifying thought is what to write. It seems I either have five hundred unrelated ideas or none at all. I want to write children's books, teen novels, poetry, large and flattering bounds of prose, or nothing at all. Nothing at all always seems to outweigh the multitude of ideas; that is until now. I'm writing something. It's not what I want to call my written legacy but I'm writing right now. It's a bunch of nonsense that may not aid me on my road to accomplishment but I'm finally doing it! And I love the way a book looks with its full pages, so I will continue to write even if it's merely to populate the embossed Italian pages of my purple journal - of which I still wish was green.