I had always imagined I would write,  so many of us feel we ‘have a book in us’ that we have something to impart. Maybe knowledge ,  a story, a tale, a need to impart some sort of fantasy perhaps but actually setting things down is huge and is so daunting to make that first initial sentence that  so often nothing is ever quite good enough.

I have always been drawn to a notebook, is there anything so beautifully pure perfect and pristine as a brand new notebook, they fall into categories of sacredness, the reporters notebook, now they are easy to fill in because they have pages you can tear out… the cheap notebooks that you can tear a page out of with a spiral binding.

Even the beautiful covers don’t stop me from using them because I can get rid of anything that no longer pleases me easily. But…those notebooks that are bound…that you have to keep intact, they are special. How do you write that first word? I have a pile of such notebooks in my room, they have been gifts from friends and relatives who know my love of a place to write but would they be sad to see they are still pristine?

You see the more beautiful and special a book is to me the more important it is that the first page is filled with something worthy…and so for years they can sit on my bookcase taunting me with their beautiful creamy or stark white pages, thick and textured or thin and crisp,  plain or lined ,leather bound or with a picture or binding that calls to my heart.

I have not forgotten these notebooks, I am simply waiting for the day something is special enough to write on that first virgin page. I might use a sharp hard pencil or a smooth ballpoint, it might require real ink or even a felt tip or purple ink! But I will know when I am ready. Until recently I had loved to keep things for ‘special’ but I have been sharply reminded that tomorrow is a gift for many and we need to burn our scented candles, use our best china and spray our expensive perfume all over ourselves. So I will begin to write in my notebooks…and try not to think about what is good enough to enter the pages.

We write for so many reasons to explain and refine our ideas to others and ourselves. I do not believe myself to be a ‘writer’  I doubt my ideas and  subjects , I worry that the style is pedantic, strange and immature. A nagging voice in my head whispers I am  wasting my time. But I have found at this time of grief I am passing through writing has become  as essential to my well being as good for me as eating well or getting enough sleep.

It  builds my  sense of worth. Allows me to lose myself into another world and relieves stress. And reminds me of the parts of life that are beautiful and interesting.

Writing has made me stop hiding from the memories that hurt so much with the loss of not being able to make more and to mine my past, pulling jewels from darkness, discovering the  strength and beauty that I had and still carry in my heart.

2That is why I write – to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.” – Paulo Coelho

I hope that some of my words might possibly help others also. Those who might stumble across something I have written and find it resonates with them so they no longer feel alone and see that their thoughts and fears are others also, they are not alone.

I want to help people who have found the cruel unexpectedness of life and death to find their way through the long lonely months of life’s twists and turns. Others might not know how to speak and explain their depth of caring but might find penning a poem or letter easier or just a little gift of thought and empathy, This poem was written and  sent to a friend of mine and it is beautiful in its simplicity band depth of love expressed,

Sorrow and pain need an outlet and the act of writing be it for an audience or just a diary gives us a chance to work through things, to give voice to sorrow, which also gives us a chance to heal. It  lets us frame the terribleness of dark feelings into something definable, even if we struggle to make it manageable.

“Writing eases my suffering . . . writing is my way of reaffirming my own existence.” – Gao Xingjian

Mostly I write for fun and love. To give voice to my thoughts and feelings to share with others regardless of if they will ever actually read and to fill my time in a way that is pleasurable but makes me feel it has value.

“Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.” – Gloria Steinem

I would encourage you all to write, jot down those little anecdotes of family history, your voice can be carried through time the way a picture can but tell so much more of you. Don’t let yourself be lost…tell the world your stories or thoughts or feelings. Write poems , a diary, or simply your favourite family recipes. Your children and grandchildren will one day read and get a glimpse into your heart and soul in a way a photograph could never have done.

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