Writing has never been optional for me, really.

Not to say I haven’t gone with long dry spells. Nor that I have never turned away from the page in disgust or apathy. But I find writing to be so essential to the core of me that when I am not-writing, my soul and spirit wither. I feel myself contracting. My friends and family know there is something wrong.

It’s not all good. I write a lot of crap. I write things knowing they are maudlin and sentimental while they are dropping from my fingers. I write heinous lines, stilted dialogue, flat characters, predictable verse. It doesn’t matter. Even manure feeds the lilies and roses.

You know how it is.

People comment that they feel ridiculous journaling. I have to admit, it’s not for everyone. I think it’s harder for guys; after all, only Pepys kept a diary. Then there are the dry runs….

I’d ask anyone who wants to journal but feels a lack of will to look at Journal to the Self by Kathleen Adams. Not only does she offer many techniques to tackle the terrible blank page, she speaks directly to men’s issues in journaling.

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