I have decided that my professors are correct at least about one thing. I need to keep a journal. I need to write or draw in it with regularity. Daily would be preferable, but not realistic. I would be diligent the first few days, but then something would distract me such as forgetfulness, depression, or just plain laziness. After a few episodes of staring at a blank page, I would say, “Ah, well…” and proceed to give up.
I have many thoughts and ideas in my brain and heart that I often feel a need to record. What has been in my way is the thought that I need to be as eloquent as Virginia Woolf or Anthony Trollope. But today the reality set in that these skills just may never emerge from me (at least not consistently anyway) and that I should just forge on regardless. I should write for myself, to myself and of myself in spite of my literary shortcomings.