It took me three tries before I finally settled on a journal to use for this year. I also had to come to terms with the fact that I've become a journal snob. As a writer I can be very picky about pens and paper, keyboards, word processing programs, etc., and, like a connoisseur of fine wine, my tastes and preferences have become fine-tuned and distinguished. (So, I keep telling myself.)
My first attempt at a journal for this year—a thin paperback with a circular rainbow design that I found at a gift shop near my house in late December. I don't like lines in my journals, but I thought I'd make an exception, since the outside design and the pages within seemed to inspire me at the time.
As I started writing on January 1, the lines, which weren't very dark, felt like prison bars. I was trapped into making my words a certain size, forcing my sentences to march across the page in a straight line, no curling or dipping allowed, Forget any doodling or drawing pictures in the margins!
|A small subset of my journal collection.|
My latest is the green one in front.
I was a little desperate when the second day of January came and I was not satisfied. I made a special trip to the Barnes and Noble where they have a whole wall of journals. Of course, most of them had lines, but there were some sketchbooks as well.
Finally, I found a handmade journal from Nepal with thirsty textured pages. With the right gel pen, (such as a Uniball or Pilot), writing becomes like wielding a chisel, each stroke cutting through the paper, making words and letters more permanent on the page.
So, far this last choice has been the best, but it won't last long. It's a smallish book, good for travel, but I'm almost half way through it. I expect to have at least one more journal by the time late spring comes around. Who knows? Maybe, now that I'm on a roll, I'll go back to the first journal and be able to deal with the confinement of the ruled lines. Then again, maybe not.