2007-07-29 - 8:29 p.m.

I've been writing so many things that I've been neglecting this little box, my first public outlet, the plain black square with white words inside. I'm sorry. As of this writing, I have a journal, a dream journal, some penpals, a heap of poetry, a French translation notebook (I hope soon to get out of the United States and escape to France), a conversation transcription book, the sudden inclination/inspiration to finally start those short stories and a novel in progress. It is all going very well but it is a lot to handle all at once -- projects upon projects, taken on simultaneously, always always always writing (unless I am reading or at work). I have stacks and stacks of bygone notebooks, full of shiney words and piles of dust, which hopefully will be of use to me someday. I'm collecting words and pinning them down like rare and exotic butterflies, hoping that the fragile wings will not turn to dust with time.