Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Secret Of The Old Attic
One of my writing journals has a cover of a Nancy Drew book on it, with one inscription on the first page -- "This seems like a strange place to look for a clue, but that's what I've been told to do." I have several writing journals which I love collecting and find myself treating some of them like the "good" china. It's too nice to write inside of it, I think. As opposed to what? A book of blank pages is a book of blank pages. Maybe it's the fear of starting something I won't finish. Ever felt that way? Or some of them exist seemingly as an enumeration of my only failings -- budget journal, exercise journal (I gave this one up), reading journal. It's tough to see things in black and white.
So why write, which is essentially keeping records. Well, it's a strange place to look for a clue, but that's what it's best for. Clues as to my mental state, my dream state, my desires. Yes, I try the whole Buddhist desire nothing route, and yes, I fail. I'm a vat of desires, regret, waste, and also some recently acquired Gummy Tummies, an evil gummy bear variation which has liquid in the bear's stomach. Quite tasty, not good for anyone probably. But who cares? So much of what I do is not good for anyone. That's the function writing serves -- John Updike said that writing his pages served as a place for all the toxins of the day. You feel somehow lighter, cleaner, less burdened. As for clues, I'm still looking, but as some people say, the journey is the thing.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time." Edith Wharton
Novel suggestion: The Leisure Seeker Michael Zadoorian
Benedictions and Maledictions