I might have been born with a silver pen in my hand. There are few memories of a time when I could not write. As an only child, I had the complete and adoring attention of both parents. Daddy was an accountant. He taught numbers to me with a frayed old set of flash cards used by my Grandma to teach him. My Mom used another worn set of flash cards to teach the alphabet, then small words with picture prompts. Before ever stepping into the halls of a school, I already had a head start on reading, writing and arithmetic. For my 10th birthday, my parents gave me my first diary. It is powder blue plastic with a lock and my very own key! I was thrilled! I still have it and it is fun to read my girlish thoughts. Looking back, it amuses me to think about my childish scrawl as I wrote "Dear Diary".
The best part about my first diary was THE LOCK. The thought delighted me that I could lock my thoughts away from the world where nobody could read them except me. I must confess that I did not write in it every day, nor was I a daily writer ever in my life.
When journals became the thing to use, instead of opening my diary to the guilt of empty pages with pre-printed dates, I opened to the next blank page. No empty pages of dates gone by - no guilt. I liked that I felt free of the structured diary concept. I just date it myself and begin to write. I wrote until the book was full, then started another journal regardless of the date or time of the year. I find structure binding. The old diaries were binding to me. The journals became a type of freedom.
I have a box of journals from over a lifetime -- every word saved except for one really hard time in my life. That one is missing several pages that are gone forever. So painful was it that I never wanted to read those words again nor for anyone else to read - ever. I have never been sorry for destroying those pages. If only I could do the same for one small part of my mind.
Why have I written this? Because I was thinking earlier today about how funny it is that the 10 year old me all the way up and through 40 years thereafter, was so intent on keeping her thoughts private and now, here I am, writing them on the world wide web.
Oh the irony!
LOL! I've been a journal writer since I was twelve and came to blogging a few years ago. For me they are very different because when I journal my writing tends to be much more emotionally based than when I blog. I love blogging and have learned a lot from this process!
ReplyDeleteMy journal also is my place to say it right out. I would not dare write my innermost thoughts online. I agree with you that the two are very different things.
ReplyDeleteI think I will love blogging too. I am enjoying myself very much.
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