Last year I read a really cool article about being a writer, and a guy bought all these composition books and filled them day after day, month after month, with ideas and pictures and idea-starters. And from that, he launched a super successful writing career. So I thought, “gee, I’m going to do that, too.” And I went right out to Office Depot and, lucky me, they were selling these composition books for, like, .50 cents each. I liked everything about this idea …(a) I’d have some place to write lots of stuff. I could graduate from my spiral bound notebooks which kinda fall apart, and are currently full of writing-class homework, stand-up bits, jokes, clippings from newspapers …really, all sorts of random stuff. So random in fact, I may burn them one day to avoid post mortem embarrassment when someone opens them up someday (like my kids), reads the, and then they all will have to come to grips that their old man was borderline insane.
What I’m saying is, I need to really make sure my journals and diaries reflect the person I want to be remembered as, and not the random, bizarre person I might actually be.
Oh, the other reasons …(b) writing in composition books has a very cool “Dead Poets Society” type vibe that made the idea seem pretty cool. If I could write only in leather bound journals using an ink quill and feather quill pen, I would. Trust me. It’s like …well …imagine keeping a diary on a series of sheets of loose leaf paper all stapled together. That would suck and the Feng Shui would be all wrong. Put those papers in a three ring binder. Better. But use a composition book, and keep careful track of margins and style and …well …now you’ve got something historians can marvel over.
And the last part …(c) having a stack of composition books all full of prose and quotes and stories, full from cover to cover, stacked 20, 30 or 50 high – that’s just damn impressive. “Oh, hey, Don …what are those.” “Oh, those? Those are just my random thoughts and observations and some unfinished stories I’ve been writing over the past 4o years.” (Note: I’m having this imaginary conversation when I’m in my 60s, and I’m also an accomplished author and columnist at that point. Otherwise, my journals are no better than the ramblings of the Unibomber).
So, there you have it. One year later …another new year resolution unfulfilled. Guess how many pages I’ve filled in the four pictured composition books? Guess. Nope, lower. Lower still. Yep. 12 hole pages.
What will it take me to follow through and fill those?
