Journalling

My pens.
My pens.

It is very encouraging that I am far from alone when it comes to keeping journals.

My recent post to Google Plus unearthed a whole slew of people who love to write as much as I do. That gives me hope and makes me happy.

My journals.
My journals.

I started that post with a photo of my pens. Unfortunately you cannot post more pictures on Google Plus threads. A strange oversight by people as obsessed with cat gifs as the Gundroons.

So I had to post here with the second pic, which is of one of my archive boxes filled with my journals.

Before the great Brisbane flood of 2010/11 I might have had three hundred journals. Now I have five of these archive boxes, each holding around eight books. I am jealous of M Sinclair Stevens’ Leuchtturm acquisition, but my books tend to be whatever I can get my hands on.

In the left foreground is a current journal, topped with my reading glasses and my Parker Jotter. In those boxes is laughter, heartbreak, despair and exhultation. In the journals lost to me now are lives begun and ended, wars and murder, and all the things that make a man what he is.

This post is for Sinkers and Giselle.

Sorry the photos are so crappy. but I don’t have a camera at the moment.