Sunday Blog 182 – 27th April 2025
In the interests of getting ready for my next writing retreat and editing sprint in Bali next week, I’ve been dipping back into relevant journals. Much like the girl in the image, I’ve noticed my instinct as a writer is to water ski over the top of emotions, without lingering on anything painful.
When that happens, I turn back to my journals. They are sporadic. Sometimes there are pages and pages written on one day, or other times just one paragraph. Then nothing for weeks and months. I use my journals to work through the latest unholy mess I’ve gotten myself into. Or more likely, the same mess that shows up again and again because, well, I have the same habits.
Memoir and journals feed each other, so I tell myself as I pore back through the years. After re-discovering myself on the journal pages up until 2006 (I what? wanted to take golf lessons? Who is that stranger?) I found a gap between 2006 and 2009. I told myself I didn’t mind, it was for the best, but whooped with joy when I finally located the missing journal!
I had to go down to South Beach to celebrate. There, six jet skis were roaring about the bay, zipping through the water and over anything that looked remotely like depth and complication, whooping and calling out to each other, slicing the water like butter.