I have tried journaling so. many. times. I have had diaries since before I could write (I believe I thought writing worked somewhat like a phonograph and my future self would be able to decipher the words that were spoken whilst drawing squiggly lines). Many of them were started at times when I was bored, many more at times I thought I would have tons to record. I'm not sure why, but it never seemed to work. Recording events was not my strong point. I could never work them into a story I would go back to and read. Fast forward to today when I keep a bajillion journals and write in them constantly. The catch? I still can't write about day-to-day stuff. But...
* I started with a book journal and found myself reading more, and more diversely, and being able to talk about the things I was reading significantly better than before;
* I've had a quote diary and noticed that I could trace my thoughts through the things I jotted down and find new meanings in stuff I thought I'd figured out;
* I have the random moleskine I still stick stuff in and get out whenever I need something to do to get my mind off things; it calms me down and it's slowly turned into a place to keep tiny little mementos and to let my 5 year old self loose (glitter, sequins, stickers, and crayons and no worries about how it's going to look);
* I've started what I think is called a reflection journal to keep track of the things I learn and read for uni; I'm still figuring out how to organize and write it, but so far I'd say this is by far the most useful thing I've done;
* finally, there's the let it all out journal; now, no one is ever going to read anything I write in any of these, yet I found it excruciatingly hard in the beginning to write in this one; guess admitting feelings and worries even to myself ain't a strong point of mine either, yet it soothes the soul, ya know :3
Having all these places for the random 'sparks of genius' (except not) left me deficient in one particular point, though - the everyday stuff. I'd like to remember that time I read in the garden, the thunderstorm that made eddies in the street, even the day (well, days, to be honest) I spent inside not really doing anything. It *might* just prompt me to do more things - one must mix with action after all. Which brings me to dun-dun-duuuun the reason I'm starting a summer log.
I've done the whole Arthur-summer-list spiel more times than I care to count. Lists don't tend to work for me. But if I can take a couple of pictures throughout each day, I figured I'd at least have something nice to ogle at instead of wondering if I did anything worthwhile this summer. So, lo and behold!
The 6th of August was one of those days I mentioned I spend around the house. I managed to print and organize the nineteenth century poems I'll be reading for uni this year (hence the Tennyson reference earlier on) and I made myself a new reading journal because I've been bad at keeping track of my recent reading. Then I took my eyes off my laptop screen at precisely the right time to see the light the sunset cast on the blocks of flats across the street. It made them pretty. Well... less unappealing, anyway. There was another one of those thunderstorms that really gets the thunder part right. It's still going on, in fact, so I'm probably not going to have any trouble falling asleep tonight :)
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