So I have ANOTHER link for you. This one was Freshly Pressed on WordPress (so she already has a ton of traffic) but it’s such an awesome idea that I’m totally stealing it and, in exchange, linking.
Like Andrea, I started keeping a diary when I was a mere pocket child. It was pink and purple (Hello kitty, maybe? Unicorns?) and had an itty bitty lock on the side. The whole thing was palm-sized and the pages were pink. I think I started writing in it when I was seven. I know it was given to me as a way to handle my own stress and creativity as I was prone to worry and constantly dodging my own imagined catastrophes. I know. You’re totally surprised.
First my mother tried giving me a tiny box of trouble dolls. Did you ever have those? Now that I think about it, passing your troubles on to tiny effigies and stuffing them under your pillow sounds a little worrisome. That said, I don’t think I actually ever whispered anything to them. I did take them out and wondered what sorts of games they were getting up to at night and whether or not THAT was why my hair was always so tangled in the morning. I know. You’re totally surprised.
So the diary was step two (or maybe 2,000) in my mother’s arsenal of sanity saving devices. I don’t think I filled the pages completely, being entirely too skeptical about the point of writing without an audience. But I did write some, in big bubbly handwriting, and apparently my skepticism wasn’t enough to stop me from continuing. By the time I was in my twenties, I’d filled a book a year. In rough years, more. Now they are stuffed into a childhood box (perhaps the perfect place for them) and I’ve ignored them outright since putting them there. Ignored but not forgotten: do you know, if asked about the first thing I’d save in a fire (excluding my wife and kid), it would be those journals?
I didn’t have plans for them until I read this the post above. I think re-reading is brilliant idea for catching a glimpse into the mindset of a child. RR is her own self and my experiences (and worries) will not be hers. However, I’ll take any peek into that world I can get and, if it doesn’t apply, at least it’s good fiction.