on the front of the book it says it is the “ideal writer’s companion” by the author of the artist’s way. which strangely enough is another creative driven book i owned and did nothing with. i don’t know about the value of this book as a “writer’s companion” since i’ve not truly explored in between the covers. what I do know is that i bought it at a garage sale or thrift shop with optimism in my heart.
i hoped it would make me a better writer, a spinner of stories more compelling or would at the very least get me to a place of writing consistently. unfortunately, all i’ve done with this book is move it from place to place. the story might be in how many dwellings and on how many shelves has it has rested. it has made its way across canada three times and survived a lot of aggressive culling to remain as part of my current small collection of books. i suppose that says something of its value or strength of my latent intention.
i actually cracked the book a few days ago, out of some strange compelling curiosity. clearly a curiosity i’ve lacked for a good long time. i found that something has been spilled on the book; a creeping coffee coloured stain mars pages of the introduction, lingering into the first chapter. an ancient paper hallmark bookmark tucked between the pages shouts the chance to win $100,000. clearly i didn’t win. it’s from 1998. that tells you how long i’ve had the book. it had to be the impetus for the original idea of starting this blog, which i maintained rather faithfully for a good long while with varying degrees of personal success. like any number of projects i’ve taken on and dropped.
i am going to write as directed from this book, chapter by chapter, and see where it takes me. i’ll have infinitely more posts than i have for a long while. that should set me on my way or shut me up. one or the other.
d.