I bought a journal with some of the money I got for Christmas.  A red one, hand bound in Italian leather.  It's beautiful.  So is the fountain pen I bought to write in it with.  I figured that a journal like that shouldn't be written in with a plain old Bic ballpoint; it deserved something much better than that.  So, I went and bought an old-fashioned fountain pen and I just love the way it feels in my hand and the way my writing looks when I use it.

I'm trying to write my journal with the intention of someone reading it one day.  I'm trying to mix up prose and sometimes brutal honesty and have found that rather than the two being like water and oil as I had thought, they actually make for some interesting and rather moving (even though I say so myself) writing. 

The last journal I had I wrote in for myself and found it to be a not very exciting adventure.  It was honest, yes, but it wasn't fun to read and it sure as heck wasn't fun to write.  In fact, I think that the reason it failed (meaning I gave it up after a few months) was because I wasn't having fun writing it.  This journal, though, might be different.  I'm finding that the challenge of making it interesting to read is actually making me want to write in it - and write in it well.   I think that's what the art of journalling is all about; it's making writing fun and interesting as well as theraputic. 

With the advent of blogging and the desk/laptop computer, many people have taken their blogs online - myself included.  However, there are some things that I don't WANT other people to know about - at least not yet.  Yes, I have secrets; I think that everyone does to some extent - and one day other people will know what they are, but for now they're limited to my mind and my pen and ink journal. 

My pen and ink journal.  I love the way that sounds.