My many books full of regular journal-writing, three pages every morning, are mouldering and won't be read again. They are filled with angst and anxiety, idealism and ideas. Most are at least ten years old. I don't need them any more - their work was done in the writing of them.
Because the first aim of such writing is to clear the mind of its griefs, I have treated the pages with salt water that is meant to run down like tears, but often doesn't cooperate -


I've been spending half an hour in the morning, re-writing these pages. It's a good way to start the day, better than turning on the computer immediately! The treated pages, buckled by the water, are opening up the book -
No comments:
Post a Comment