Writing my thoughts down.
In my bid for both literary greatness and a satisfying night of shut-eye, I have decided my erratically leaking thoughts are in need of some daily catching.
Hemingway kept a diary, Stanley Kubrick and Guillermo Del Toro have manoeuvred their way through some of my most cherished films via notebooks of scribbles, and Sylvia Plath waged war on many a mental monster through the pages of her journal. So I’ve decided it’s time to start scribbling down a daily thought or two.
My first main issue was which notebook to choose, because, let’s face it, we all know I’m partial to a little overt affection when it comes to stationery, so much so that my office could suffice as the local stationery shop. But in honour of National Stationery Week, I am willing myself to make a choice.
I opted for this pride and joy firstly because it says ‘journal’ on the spine, and I’m not so much a rebel that I’m keen to ignore what this book was intended for, but also because its title takes the pressure off.
From henceforth everything I write in my journal shall be entitled ‘fucking brilliant’. Even if it’s not.
Thank you to the Daily prompt for spurring my churning brain.