What you are about to witness is me catching up on weeks of unwritten journals entries. This whole journal-writing-thing was supposed to somehow inspire me, I suppose, and one journal entry would spiral into another and one word would become twenty and poetry would come alive in me.
Something like that.
Actually, we were just supposed to engage with the material. But to be honest the material was not exceedingly engaging. Which isn't to say I won't engage with it, but right now I just want to talk about journals.
Aren't journals usually about yourself? Like you keep a log of your day, of your life, of what you're thinking about. But when you restrict a journal, try and make it specifically about one thing, what does that do? Perhaps I didn't realize the potential of this journal and what it could be. I struggle to talk about poetry.
But then I come upon the idea that assignments like these are inevitably and unfortunately self-defeating. A friend commented to me that he enjoys writing movie reviews, but when he had to write a review of a Billy Wilder movie for class it was poorly written, careless, boring. In other words, you have to want to do something if you are ever hoping it will be done well.
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