I wrote my first book when I was in first grade.  It was Amelia Bedelia and I copied it word for word onto a Big Chief tablet.

When I was ten I had a diary that I kept under my mattress.  It’s cheap green cover left a little green rectangle on the boxspring.  I kept a record of my brother’s crimes against me and a friend’s daily boyfriend exchange.
I also joined my friends at school in writing horror stories our indulgent teacher let us read to the class.   They were slasher short stories with names like “The Phone Call”  and “When Will the End Come.”

All the teenage, young adult writing I ever did went unfinished into spiral notebooks and were a dismal read.   
From that point on, I just quit trying to express myself, except in animated conversations with my family. 
I use my children’s unfinished school spirals now to write our recipes, chart a remodel, plan my garden, or journal a little on vacation.
I happened to be staring at a shelf of spirals when I realized I needed a photo for today. Yes, that’s why I’m writing about this.  365 is like a high school daily writing assignment:  Pick an object, take a photo, open your spiral, and write about what it makes you think of.  I mean it’s not all that random, I do actually have things I want to say, things I may say one day.  But sometimes, yeah, it’s just random insight and this place is my spiral, for now.   
Thanks for reading.

(old spirals, day 120)

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