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07 December 2005 @ 10:41 pm
I've forgotten how old I was when I first read Anne Frank's diary, but it left a lasting impression on all of my subsequent attempts at a personal chronicle. I was immediately moved upon glancing at the cover, as her name is like mine, and I thereafter hoped that I might display such understanding as she once did; hoped that maybe someday, this shit that I wrote would be a worthwhile read. When I was that age, my journals were written in pink ink and described (very poorly I might add) various crushes I had and the trials I felt I endured in my short life. While Anne's writings were similar in theme up to a point, from my hand it all turned into such tripe!

Upon rereading those entries, I would either have to tear out the pages, slam the book shut, or throw it away entirely. I have numerous tomes in which I have written on one page alone; when I looked back, I found that the few lines of idiocy tainted every blank page that followed.

I have mostly given up on any attempt to have a publishable journal, though I still cling to the concept of "worthwhile." The internet has been a puzzling tool in my attempt to assure myself of worth while divesting myself of the accompanying responsibility. For a while I attempted to separate the "meaningful" from the "meaningless," and had a separate journal for writing (never touched) and one that was just chock-full of quiz results and memes (and a pain in the ass to load). Remember that, hanatenshi ...? I subsequently decided the effort of keeping the two far apart was just too much (and keeping an eye on every journal I had on every journaling site was a little dull), and focused on this one.

Still, there's a dark corner of my heart that likes to put in my username and have something "relative" to me pop up. You have no idea how fluff-filled my journal would be if the memory of Anne Frank's diary did not haunt me still. I subsequently continue to exercise some restraint in posting. (I have just noticed that the term "fluff" has been appearing in my vocabulary with increasing frequency. I wonder why.)

There is nothing like watching a cat attempt to sprint across a smooth linoleum floor, run into a cabinet head first, bounce off, and start running again, only to hit another cabinet going in the other direction. It is like pinball or ping pong, but better, since it is fuzzy, demented and cute. I am still giggling about this. I was tempted to make an entire journal entry with that memory alone, and then something in my head told me it would be a waste of paper, and even if I could pad up those few seconds with some adjectives, you really had to be there.

A new icon of whoa. Beauty may not be a virtue I possess on a regular basis, but expressivity certainly is. It is humanly possible to make the faces I used to draw, this icon stands as proof. It also reminds me that as a youngun, I considered Jim Carrey my comedic hero.
Current Mood: quixoticsmelly
aviv in whatever land she finds herself intsukiflower on December 8th, 2005 05:29 am (UTC)
america's a blinding place for nightlife
Diaries are almost by definition unpublishable. The world doesnt care about Anne Frank because she was a remarkable writer - we care because she was a decent writer in a remarkable context.
Writing is either communication, or its therapy. Communication is intresting, therapy is not. I personally am very serious about drawing this line. I find that therapy is for no one but me, and so, often illegible, mad, or boring, but cathartic. Art is for others - art requires editing, can be held to objective standards, etc.

If you're writing your diary with the intention, or implied hope, of someone reading it, then it's not therapy, its most likely bad art. Very few diaries, written with either theraputic or artistic intentions, are worth reading. i found that censoring my diaries made them bad art AND not theraputic, and so therefore useless, and so i never kept diaries, and so i never found the soclace in writing that i was looking for.

it might help you as a writer therefore to seperate your art and your therapy. once you do that, you might find yourself reaping the benefits of creating both. dont have a journal for "writing", have writing for writing, which you work on alone, edit alone, show to select others in real life, have them edit, work on it more, etc. stories, poems, etc etc. then you can have a diary for the fluff... cause thats what a diary's for.
love a
aviv in whatever land she finds herself in: arcata catsukiflower on December 8th, 2005 05:31 am (UTC)
Re: america's a blinding place for nightlife
before i get flamed, i take that back about art being objective, but replace it
with the idea that craft is both objective and neccesary for worthwhile art.
yaaaay. a
One Who Wanders: looking backabiona on December 9th, 2005 03:32 am (UTC)
Re: america's a blinding place for nightlife
Eh, nobody's going to flame ye here.

it might help you as a writer therefore to seperate your art and your therapy.

Perhaps part of the problem is that I generally consider abiona neither an attempt at art or therapy, but as a system of sorts for describing/documentation. So it probably comes off as a flawed attempt at everything.
Emily: smoothetoileeyes on December 8th, 2005 02:50 pm (UTC)
I like the new icon!!
Lokiateeq on December 8th, 2005 11:44 pm (UTC)
There's nothing wrong with crushes. They're a part of growing up.

I never kept much of my past in written form-- I didn't want the tabloids to get a hold of it when I grew up. XD