Reading old journals this morning in search of clarity…finding something else. It’s like reading a ghost of myself.
In April 2017 I took a personal essay class and we wrote 6-word memoirs as an exercise and shared them aloud. I think I chose to share #4 – which takes the cake.
The memoirs below; successful in that they still hold up; still very much preoccupied with modes of longing.
- Receives compliment: questions, overthinks, runs away.
- It’s okay, he says, you grew up with hurt.
- Small town soul, can’t leave city.
- I just want you to laugh.
- Searching for home, anywhere else.
Do you ever read old journals? Do you journal at all? Why/why not? As a writer I feel I have to record everything, but as I continue to meet writers in my community I find less and less people are interested in keeping them. Journaling- to me- feels so habitual I couldn’t see myself giving it up. And they make lovely closet stacks. 🙂