“To this day, my citadel protecting me from the immobilizing fear of conceptual nothingness is a journal, or a logbook, even a motley sheaf of notes of crudely organized notions, often just loose phrases, ramblings, trial paragraphs, jotted inklings, the best of which have only a lone value—a potential to hatch.”
– William Least Heat-Moon, Writing Blue Highways
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“About this journal: My basic intention is to write down, at the end of each day, what happened — what I did, thought, felt, and so forth — so I can read it, years from now, and remember what it was like. I think it’s best if I don’t concern myself overly with style. I’ll only get frustrated and quit. The second pitfall to avoid is using this journal as a kind of valve to let off steam — for example, writing 20 pages one night about how depressed I am. I’ve kept that kind of journal before. Rereading it, I invariably get disgusted and throw the notebook away. If I’m depressed, I’ll just say so and leave it at that. Basically, I want to write what I’ll want to read later. I’ll probably get better at that with practice. In short, I’m not very concerned with quantity or quality; I just want a reasonable entry for every day of my life, starting now.”
– Jordan Mechner, The Making of Karateka
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Writing every day is a protection against passivity.
The world daily demands energy, sucking our attention and resolution.
My journal is a levee against the threat of other people’s thoughts and ideas.
If I have this space to write I can better determine who I should or shouldn’t listen to.
Because the most important voice is myself. If I don’t know what I think and feel, what chance do I have against the flood tide of stranger’s voices.
I create a paper armour. Only powerful if it has been blackened by my pen. The page, a simple, benign substance, rendered impenetrable only if my words express what I think and feel right now.
Conversations With Quotations 