I was ten years old when I started keeping a diary. Back then, the sentences I scrawled in pink ink and unpracticed cursive attempted to mimic the corny vernacular patterns of the boy-crazing young girls I'd seen portrayed in teen dramas and sitcoms (à la Clarissa Explains It All). Keeping a diary coalesced naturally with wearing high-heeled jelly sandals and hair scrunchies and founding a babysitters' club with my friends; they all served to establish and reinforce a certain image that I aspired to: the shining ideal of the well rounded, positive minded, fashion savvy preteen.
Over time, the person composing the entries in my diary began to sound less and less like a Judy Bloom character; still, it was several years before my writing began to take on a voice of its own. On through high school, the pages of my journal remain filled exclusively with my gushings and pinings over boys who liked me or didn't like me; however, no matter how stupid the subject matter, the style evidences definite improvement.
This blog is kind of like that. No, I don't discuss boys or experiment too wildly beyond my established writing style (I save both those things for my private journal!); but I do write a lot of crap. Stuff I don't necessarily feel proud of. But that's okay. Through this process, my approach to journaling and writing in general continues to evolve, and I'm learning.
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