Monday, March 9, 2015

Journaling


Some people don't often think to keep journals. Or, maybe, they're intrigued by the idea but never pursue any actual journaling for themselves, as they find the task too daunting or have no idea where to start. I admit I still have trouble keeping up with any sort of journal or diary, due to my perfectionist nature. If it doesn't look right, I tend to put it aside and hope it goes away forever.

Recently I've picked my old, unfinished journal back up and decided to have a go at it again. I bought this moleskine probably five years ago, started to use it as a sketchbook, then let it collect dust in a drawer for a few years. I finally brushed it off and decided to use it for sketches again, but also clippings, findings, tickets, odd thoughts, pictures, anything! And it's been teaching me how to not be so nitpicky about what I create. 


And, more than that, I love the feeling of completing something. I'm more than halfway through with filling this journal up, and I'm holding off on buying a new one until this one is done. 

I have trouble keeping up with things and have a sort of "routine," I suppose. I also don't believe I've ever finished a journal or sketchbook in my life! And yet, I get such satisfaction when I see photos of filled up journals and diaries, mounds of completed sketchbooks, and I longingly wish for a pile of my own. But, that won't happen unless I do it.


It's also a great place for me to try and get back into writing and drawing regularly. I've severely neglected both through the years I've been at college (despite my being an English major, which is the only writing practice I get any more). I long to do some writing for myself again, and to draw and actually feel proud of what I produced instead of cringe at the jagged lines.

It's also very, very relaxing. 

Do any of you keep journals or diaries or sketchbooks? Do you ever feel inspired to?




Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Fabulous Beasts


I have lived in this vast city for two months now. My home still does not feel like a home yet, something I am working on every day. I have not yet begun to truly explore, partly because I am afraid. Everything feels so new to me still; moving out for the first time, and so far away, has impacted me more greatly than I ever expected it to.

I have yet to find beauty here. The old brick surrounding me feels ugly and tired. It doesn't feel welcoming. When it does, I know I will be happier, but right now I am overwhelmed by the loneliness of these buildings. There is razor wire outside of my bedroom window. Rust trails descend from beneath them - clearly they haven't been bothered in quite some time. I can't access the back of our home, so it feels like a patch of destroyed earth.

I sit inside avoiding the black snow, reading the books I was able to take. Fabulous Beasts is full of creatures from every pocket of the world, creatures I could never dream of. I enjoy trying to imagine what a fuath would look like, and poring over the several pages dedicated to dragons. The illustrations feel old-world and the book smells like home. Real home.

I'm getting better every day.