When I decided to start this. We were all young once, sat with a pencil and pad, poised and prepared to pour out our thoughts onto a page, a piece of paper that would reflect us. It might have been a padlocked diary, a scrap-book – dogearred and loved, a leather-bound journal, or a plain flip notebook.
For me its been everything; from perfectly pretty, beautifully bound, journals with girly decorative covers and crinkled pages, the inside pages and margins of my favourite novels, smudged and ruined with ink, or the napkins in my favourite coffee shop, tea stained and ripped by the pen and the bottom of my handbag.
I’ve written in ball point and marker, in pencil and fountain pen, in calligraphy and code, in short hand and text, but whatever its been in, or whatever style the importance wasnt the book or the means, it was the writing.
For me it’s always been about things I hear, things that make me laugh, conversations overheard. Sometimes its a picture, or an image, saved in mind. It can be a thought, a fleeting feeling or passing phase. But its a moment. A moment of clarity.
I’m sure you have them too, when you see through the fog and clouds of daily routine and see something as it is, or the essence of something. It’s a kind of purity that even now I struggle to explain fully, despite my intention.
For me, this moment was a short hour or so ago, when I read a blog about blogging. The idea of the forum, the freedom of thought, the feeling of self-expression, sharing something with someone else. And that was it, a moment of clarity, ping.
This is the forum I need, this is the platform to bring all my thoughts, feelings and midday musings together for once, rather than scattered, much like my brain in a million places.