Recently, I've been doing a bit of sleuthing through my own personal files. The edge of this spy mission is lost a bit, as no one's going to catch me red-handed except for myself, but we do what we can to pimp up the daily routine, yes?
I'm going to stop commenting on these if you start replacing "I" with "we." This isn't first grade!
Alright, sorry: I LIKE TO ADD SPICE TO MY LIFE. Better?
Much.
Anyway, for one reason or another, I've been reading through my old journals. Like most people, I was an awkward, introverted tweenager and a borderline idiotic, introverted teenager. I know, shocking, a writer who's an introvert. What's new on today's headlines?
But here's what I had plum forgotten: even whilst in the midst of growing up from a weed to a wildflower (still working on it), my writing skills were in the process of being honed (refined, perfected) and even if my fantasy-fiction novels were only so-so, what with their ninety-nine pages written painstakingly in pen (words from the wise, don't fall asleep in bed with a pen that leaks), my journaling skills weren't half bad.
In fact, I learned a little bit from re-reading my old thoughts.
I was reminded how long my love of books and words has been a part of me. I was reminded how much hope I had for the future. I was reminded how small my world was, but how big I made it, via those scrawny notebooks with ink-stains and cross-outs and spelling errors.
Here's a bit from February third of many years ago:
"As soon as I am done, I am diving back into the delightful world of Charles Dickens and Trenton Lee Stewart [I told you he was a favorite]. Howard Pyle and Jules Verne. J. K. Rowling. Wordsworth and Sharron Creech...Ethel Cook Eliot and Charles Lutwidge Dogson! Ah, my old companions. How many times a day have I longed to leap into your swirling sentences, your mercerizing words!"
So as you can see, I was a bit of a word-flirt. I liked to be ridiculous and dramatic...on the inside.
But then there are some really interesting things to read. Things about the books I was writing (one of which is a book that I have reinvented and am in the process of completing!), and watching me figure out how to balance imagination with real-life (sometimes I fell into the deep end; that's where you came in, Johnny).
Hm? What?
So I've decided to take some time to share a few of my journal entries with you. That's what's next in line for this darling little blog of mine. It's mostly for myself (they really are good reminders of the younger, dream-besotted Carley Anne that I owe a great deal of debt for being to hopelessly dream-besotted), but you'll get a kick out of them too, I'm sure.
After all, who doesn't just love reading other people's journals? With permission, of course.
Of course.
Until next time, readers! Write well.
"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."
- Psalm 46:1-3
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