June 6th, 2006

writing: within this journal

Some days I just don't feel like writing.

Some days I just don't feel like writing. Not because I don't have anything to write about, but because I have so much to write about and don't know where to start, or because I don't feel like baring my heart to the whole world (or perhaps a select part of the world), or because I just can't bear to put pen to paper (or in this case, finger to keyboard), or for other reasons that I can't think of right now.

Today I think it's a combination of the three.

I've been reading old Dr. Nbooks lately (as we all know so well), and I've found old entries that I wrote when I was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Some of these entries are so well-crafted, and they make me think, "Why can't I write like this anymore?" It has nothing to do with the ability. I know I can still write at that level, even beyond that level, as some of my recent writings have shown. The difference is whether I do or not, whether I actually put in the time or effort to write about such topics that show my new writing levels.

Sometimes I stop and think, though. "No, this won't work," I tell myself. "What'll I think when I read this years from now? Do I really want to confess this to myself or to the world?" Some things sound better from me to me. Others are addressed to one person and taste better when told just to that person. Yet others sound even more powerful addressed to that person on a public piece of writing. So often I think these through that these statements lose their impact before being addressed. Saddening, yes?

I haven't written in Dr. Nbook today. I wrote it in every day for the past several days. I don't really have an excuse except that I was online most of the day. I even have three pens on my desk: a blue pen, a black pen, and an orange-brown pen. The blue and black pens are okay, ink-wise; both of them are medium-point, which don't destroy my handwriting. The orange-brown, however, is another story. It's thick-point. If you've seen my handwriting [look in my LJ galleries if you haven't], you can tell that thick ink is evil to it. I can live with medium-point ink; fine-point ink (super-fine is ideal) is better.

Why do I mention this? I'm trying to get back in the groove of writing more often again. It does look like I've done a good job on the outside, but deep inside, I know something's missing. I've completed two paper journals in the past year. Something really is missing if I'm not writing that much, especially if so much is happening.
  • Current Music
    Chopin: Prelude in D flat major, Op. 28 No. 15 "Raindrops"
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