Some of you will be aware that I am doing a creative writing course. It covers writing both non-fiction and fiction, runs for four years although if you can produce the work faster and complete the course sooner that’s fine too. I’m, loving it, I’ve always enjoyed writing, letters and kept journals over the years, rightly or wrongly I don’t have any of them anymore. Possibly had I known, I would be doing this course I would have kept them……. Hindsight and all that jazz! I may have been able to pull something from them for my writing, but my reason for throwing them away, was the personal anguish I felt when I read them.
They were journals, as opposed to diaries. I wrote when something was bothering me, which was in most cases and I wrote on the rare occasion when something good happened. After I moved out of my Ex’s house all my things were boxed up, not that I had a great deal and most of what I did have either went back to my children, my mother or charity shops. Mostly arts and crafts bits, that I had collected over the years, but I kept my journals and my books, except my books from childhood, I left those, thinking it would be a good thing for my children to have, so they could learn to also read English, 34 year old books, which have disappeared, in other words been thrown away. A total travesty and probably out of spite, because my ex knows how I feel about books.