Cover image by Elena Putina on Unsplash.com
Beloved,
If you know me, you definitely know that my entire life is precariously held together by my mother’s prayers, vibes and a wildly unnecessary collection of pretty notebooks. Most of these notebooks are empty and will stay that way for like ten years because I’d rather they gather dust than be desecrated by my spiraling thoughts. (Collecting notebooks and using them are two different hobbies.)
There is however, one in particular that has managed to escape this fate. It’s a gorgeous academic journal in my favourite shades of purple, gifted to me by one of my best friends because I somehow survived my master’s degree.
I would have loved to use it as a daily journal, but in case you didn’t know, academic journals though daily dated run from like August to July. And if you know me (x2) you know I want my daily journals to start from January to December to give me an illusion of normalcy.
Still, I loved this journal if it wasn’t clear enough. So instead of letting it gather dust like its brothers and sisters, I decided to start morning pages. Well I call them morning pages, only ’cause I tend to write in the morning. It’s far from the Julia Cameroon approved three page stream of consciousness that is associated with it. What I do do is prompt buddy journaling. I do it almost every day with my best friend. We generate the prompts from this link here and they range from light and fluffy topics like “Describe your perfect weekend” to maybe-I-should-book-a-therapy-session prompts like “What are some hurts you still hold on to?” (Um, wow. Thanks, prompt generator.)
Lately I’ve been somewhat consistent. It’s an almost daily practice. Some days I even tackle two prompts to fill in for all the days I do miss (especially those first few months of August til October when I just let it sit in my drawer). Most mornings, I prompt journal and daily journal at the same time – writing about how I feel or what I’m planning to do that day in yet another lovely purple journal gifted to me by yet another best friend.
It’s a small and short practice really. A lot of waxing nonsense that takes me less than thirty minutes. It’s far from any award winning writing. But at the same time, this inconsequential practice has somehow almost – and I truly mean almost – convinced me to come out of retirement as a writer.
Nobody knows, well I guess now you all do, that ever since I started this practice I’ve revisited my work in progress short story collection at least seven times. This might not sound like a lot but it is more times than I have gone through that body of work in the past three years.
I wouldn’t say I gave up on my short story collection, but the years that have gone by have dulled the sharp desire I once had to publish a book. I like to semi joke with my friends that I sold out. Life happened. I got a nice job to pay all my bills and put this writing thing as back burner.
Most days in the last couple of years, writing has just been a thought. A persistent thought but a thought regardless. However, recently on a few of the already few occasions, I’ve opened my Google Docs, I’ve found myself crossing out some lines here, adding a scene or two there and the other day I even wrote a whole poem.
I know X doesn’t always equal Y but I truly believe this rekindling to write something like I used to is stemming from the morning pages I’ve been doing. Not only do these prompts open up a cease pool of feelings and inspiration, I also try to be as creative and expansive as possible. Writing nonsense in my journal(s) is reminding me how much I love writing nonsense everywhere else.
I don’t know if it’s enough to thrust me back to where I was when I was in my prime – spewing out stories and poetry like second nature. I don’t know if I’ll finish my works in progress or start new projects altogether. But my dear God I hope something happens. I hope if I continue to journal like this, the urge to write continues to grow until it is no longer just a thought. I hope among all the other amazing reasons I do it, this practice brings me back to familiar place. I hope journaling fully takes me out of this slump that has long overstayed its welcome. Because here’s a thing I do know, beloved: Writing begets Writing. Even it happens very very slowly. Even if it’s messy. Even it is one prompt at a time.
