One of my first assignments this term for my MFA lyric essay class is to keep a weekly journal. Despite my love of writing and despite the purchase of all the cute journaling accoutrements—colored pens, journal with writerly mantra on the cover, and irresistible Etsy stickers—I have not, as yet, been able to discipline myself
I find myself longing, daydreaming for extra minutes just to have more time to write . . .
In the farthest corner of my house, in a room very occasionally used as a guestroom, there is a box that rests high on a shelf in the closet. In the box, thanks to my mother, is everything I have ever written from the time I could hold a crayon through my senior year in