I have stacks of both used and blank journals. Some are in various stages of use, and I always have at least 3 separate journals going for different projects. One for a log, one for dreams, one for poetry, and well, you get the idea. My journals go on and on.
Today I was spurred on by a spontaneous rediscovery of that mistress of journals and honesty, that master of language, Anais Nin. There is a small and very brief record of my recent adventures with the ideas of journaling here. It was a nonsensical, playful distraction for one night of insomnia, but shall go no further than that. (If you're worried you'll have to check it for updates, thank you, but it won't be necessary.)
*waits*
So you read that? Great!
On to my new project. I need space on my bookshelves. I would like an old, beat-up looking journal. I want a thick, hardbacked, evil thing, so ... THE DESTRUCTION OF BOOKS IS IMMINENT. I am a book-lover, and just in case you are too, I won't even mention which poor volume met its fate under the acrylic brush you see above. All I can say is this: those poor Russians!
And while on the topic of projects, I finally got to register for that drawing class today. I will soon be up to my elbows in pencils as well as journals! For me, the happy hero of this story is the paper involved.
If you can't create something new, see an old thing in a new way. And then draw it. Or write it. Or be it.
Ha! "Paper whore!" I love it to peices! I feel the same way, always collecting interesting bits, both big and small.
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