Why I write

Business Baby Steps

Although this blog post is not about business it does give insight as to why i write. Enjoy.

(Background image from: http://www.freeimages.com/photo/1320742)

I tugged on my mom’s shirt and tried to pull her in the direction of all the brightly coloured pens that were perfectly lined up in jars. That is where it all started for me, in that little stationary shop in the middle of a small town in Tanzania.

As I reached the shelves where the pens were stacked my eyes grew larger, there were so many of them! I picked up one from each jar, one at a time and felt them. I could feel a growing sense of excitement wash all over me. It was not often that my mother took me to stationary shops; she knew that once I was in there it took me a long time to tear myself away from the pretty…

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A doodle of my favourite things

On the shelf

I BLOG BECAUSE…

Abbie's Babble

A big part of the reason I started this blog was to find my voice. My authentic voice. To work out, in the midst of this life, which has gone through some pretty monumental shift in the last few years, who I really am.

You may ask ‘how could a blog help?‘ which is a fair question. I know it is probably not for everyone but for me, it’s therapy. I’ve written in journals since I was a teenager, I love to write, it’s possibly even something I’m quite good at, and when I write,

things. just. make. sense.

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My Typewriter

Paris and Prose

I own a typewriter.  People call it hipster, people call it dorky, people call it nostalgic; I call it finding my inspiration.  It’s a 1940s Royal Deluxe Portable typewriter, in amazing shape, and just a fantastic piece of technology.

Now you may be thinking: Jacob, what the hell are you doing?  We have word-processors now and computers to do all of this on.  Think of all the pages you’ll have to redo because of the typewriter.

Well, nay-sayers, too bad.

My favorite authors like Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ford Madox Ford, TS Eliot, all used a typewriter and they wrote (in my opinion) the best literature that this world has ever seen.  So, with my typewriter, it allows me to channel them, to understand how they worked, and to feel the inspiration at my fingertips as the clack clack clack of my typewriter echoes in the room…

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A small thought on notebooks.

Erika Joy Wells

There is something about the first time writing in a new notebook.

Maybe it’s the scratch of a familiar pen on an unfamiliar page. Maybe it’s the crisp emptiness of a notebook that hasn’t been lived with, loved, and filled with memories yet.

Whatever it is, it’s fleeting and lovely.

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Empty Pages

In a SNAP

A pretty new journal, its crisp pages ready for words and ideas, is the promise of possibility.

It is a book that has yet to be written, a story that has yet to be shared.

There is no tension or drama; there is only hope.

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Open the Bottle of Dreams ..!

A Love Affair With Words

Life To Be Continued

I don’t remember falling in love with words. It just happened.

Writing has always been my coping mechanism, starting with journals when I was eight years old. Maybe it’s my OCD tenancies and I like to see something solid on paper to make sense of it. Maybe I’m better at writing my thoughts than I am at voicing them. Maybe I’ve never tried anything else – but then again, I’ve never needed to.

Writing may not always make the most sense to others, or be the most reasonable solution, but words comfort me. They come easily when I am alone with a computer, whereas they don’t when I have to form them with my mouth.

It could have something to do with having the time to think out what I want to express, rather than embracing my lovely talent for word-vomiting. Maybe I like people to know where I come from,the reasoning…

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Altered Notebooks

Autumn Journal

As a lifelong journaler (yes, that’s a real word in my mind) and diary keeper I have had a fascination with notebooks, paper, pens, diaries, composition books and just about every other type of bound paper that I could write in for as long as I can remember. There are journals and notebooks that have stuck with me throughout my life, either because they were so wonderfully made or textured, or because of what they represented at a particular time in my life.

There was a composition book purchased in Mexico on a Potter’s Clay trip in high school that became a shared prayer journal, and a blue, raw silk covered large journal I bought at Roku, a wonderful store on State Street in Santa Barbara when I was a teen. It felt so luxurious, both because of the silk and because of the size of the pages. I had…

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