In my long writing life (I am almost 58 years old after all), I have written poems on paper-pads, typewriters, bound journals, laptops, desktops, typewriters yet again… but now I am largely back to bound journals.
My preferred journal at this point in life is an inexpensive one I get Walgreens. A few times a year they have them on sale. If you buy one at regular price you get another at 50% off. I recently purchased two new journals and put them up on the shelf where they have been waiting patiently for me to finish my current one.
Last night I took a new journal off the shelf and got it ready. Setting up index pages and a page for the much-modified, Bullet-Journal key system I use.
Since I also feel compelled for some reason to customize a generic journal to make it my own, I also “blinged-it-up.” Pictures of favorite poets, writers, artists, and a few inspiring quotes, and it was ready for me to use this morning.
A new journal is a hopeful thing. Full of possibilities and potentialities. Like a new year or a new day.
A full journal is a satisfying thing. It is a physical reminder that, if nothing else, at the very least I tried. And in the end, that is what matters.