Leaving a Trace by Alexandra Johnson

Title: Leaving a Trace: On Keepinga Journal

Author: Alexandra Johnson

Publisher: Back Bay Books 2002

Genre: Nonficiton - Writing

Pages: 272

Rating:  4/5 stars

Reading Challenges: Nonfiction Adventure (perpetual); Dewey Decimal - 800s; OLW Home

Highly personal (in fact, almost intimate), Johnson's long essay centers on the discipline of keeping a journal and the effect reading other journals has on a creative life. The essay is broken into chapters that provide some organizational structure; threaded throughout are exercises and activities to motivate, encourage, and inspire. Further, each chapter features stories and journal entries from well-known writers as well as everyday people.

I really enjoyed this slim volume. I've been thinking about starting (or really restarting) daily journaling for awhile now and this book helped to kickstart that idea. The first half focuses on journaling, types of journals, what journals can tell us, how journals help our everyday lives. I would give the first half of the book 5 stars. I read and read some of the passages. I haven't tried the writing exercises, but they are perfectly paired with each chapter. The second half of the books wasn't as successful for me. The chapters focused on turning your journal entries into published works. I am focusing on writing a journal just for me. I have no intention of publishing anything or using it for fiction ideas. I just want to use the journal as a cathartic exercise. But I will say that the second half is nicely written with more great writing exercises. I just didn't connect to the second half like I did to the first half.

Creative Writing -- Saturday Mornings

What’s your ideal Saturday morning? Are you doing those things this morning? Why not? My ideal Saturday morning is full of relaxation.  Ideally I would like to sleep into until 9, but with a newborn I just know that won't happen.  Then I would get up, take a shower (a must!), and get dressed.  Then I would make myself a cup of coffee in my new Keurig machine (merry christmas to us!) and eat some type of pastry.  After eating, I would curl up with a good book and read for a few hours.  That's it.  I'm pretty easy.  Just a few creature comforts to get my Saturday started right.

I'm still in Indiana trying to enjoy Christmas vacation (with a nasty cold), so my Saturday doesn't look this at all.  I'm up with the baby trying not to cough all over him.  I'll get my cup of coffee as I bought my mom a Keurig for Christmas, but no pastry.  I'll have to settle for an English muffin with some jelly or peanut butter.  No time for reading for a few hours.  I have a baby to take care of and a baby shower to prep for.  Hopefully we all make it through today...

Creative Writing -- My First Post

Now that you’ve got some blogging experience under your belt, re-write your very first post. I’ve started another blog.  This one is for me…  a place for me to collect my thoughts, share some ideas, be a record of me.  The two other blogs that I write for are very specific.  And while I enjoy writing for them… they are just so darn specific.  If I want to wonder about the weather or share my thoughts on a non-education or tech book I just read, I can’t.  So, this one will be my personal outlet.  If anyone gets around to reading this… enjoy!  Just remember, most days I am fairly scatter brained and random.  Prepare to get ridiculous!

Instead of rewriting the post, I thought I would do a bit of reflection on my first post.  It did the job, but overall is a bit boring.  Of course, I've seen others' first posts that are one sentence.  This one does establish the fact that I've started a new blog for my personal thoughts.  Very quickly the blog morphed into a books and reading centric blog, but that's okay.  I really wanted to document my reading.  Book reviews are still a huge part of the blog.  This past year, I have started branching back out into other areas of my life.  I started Fashion Fridays to play with style (not that I actually own any of those clothes, wishful thinking...).  I did weekly pregnancy updates.  I've highlighted more about my new little one (need to get more about the twins on here).  I've also made an attempt to document my attempt to document our lives using Project Life.  My blog is slowly turning into an all encompassing life blog and I love the direction it's going.  I'm not going to give up reading related posts any time soon, but I don't just want this to be a book blog (not that there's anything wrong with book blogs).  I don't want to limit myself so much that I don't feel free to post where the moment takes me.  My new mantra for the blog: "This will be my personal outlet."

Creative Writing -- Dream Residence

If you were asked to spend a year living in a different location, where would you choose and why? This one is so easy... I would definitely choose Italy.  I've always wanted to experience the sights and sounds and tastes of Italy.  I want to travel throughout the country spending time in the big cities and countryside.  I want to attempt to learn the language.  I want to see all the famous art and architecture.  And I especially want to eat all the food!

Creative Writing -- Loneliness

In January, I am embarking on 30 days of creative writing exercises.  I'm behind by one day, but want to catch up tonight or tomorrow.

When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely?

I randomly pulled this question up today, but almost immediately regretted it.  How do I answer this question?  How personal do I get here on the blog?  I took a minute to think mull over these issues...

The last time I felt lonely was right after my miscarriage in August 2012.  Even though I knew that others had experienced the same feelings and emotions, I felt like I was completely alone.  I retreated into myself and spiraled into a depressive episode.  It took almost two months for me to bring myself back out.  Those two months, I felt a deep loneliness.  It was irrational and yet I felt it.  The thing that helped me reconnect with the world was reading.  It was socializing with other people.  It was becoming engrossed in a fictional world.  Somehow, slowly, I started to wake back up and realized that I had people who cared for me.  I started socializing more and eventually got back into my regular routine.

Wishful Meeting

Part of my 101 creative writing prompts for my Day Zero Project.If you could spend one day with anyone in history, who would you choose?

That's an easy question: Alice Paul.  Alice Paul is my hero.  She lived during the early 20th century and fought for women's suffrage.  Any one seen the HBO movie Iron Jawed Angels starring Hillary Swank?  Yep, it's a movie about Alice Paul and winning suffrage.  I love reading about her tenacity and spirit.  I think she would be very interested in examining the status of equality in the country today.  We could have a great discussion.

Sit Down and Write 2

From Stories Inside:

This write-a-thon is for any writing you need to get done.  If you're working on a novel and, perhaps, participating in NaNoWriMo next month (like me--buddy up with me--thetruebookaddict), it's for you.  If you have a ton of reviews to write coming off of (or during) the many read-a-thons that are always going on, this is perfect for you.  Any writing you need to get done...this is the thon to really buckle down.  I'm not going to be hosting any mini-challenges, but I will have check-in linkies posted every few days, if you are so inclined to share your progress.  You can link to your reviews or your progress posts.  Our Twitter hashtag is #sitdownwrite  If you're game for a couple Twitter chats, let me know in the comments.

Due to input from participants last time, the write-a-thon will now run for two weeks!  Starting and end times are the usual:  Monday (11/12) 12:01am CST until Sunday (11/25) 11:59pm CST.

I just got to this in my GoogleReader and I am ready to join!  Last year, I tried NaNoWriMo and it didn't go so well.  Instead of the pressure of 50,000 words in a month for one piece, I am going to focus on short creative writing exercises.  I will be posting some of my pieces here on the blog.  These also count towards my Day Zero Project: Finish 100 Creative Writing Prompts.  I'm definitely not expecting to finish all 100, but I want to get a chunk done and get the creative juices flowing.

Life in Material -- RW #3

The camera shutter clicked noisily, echoing in the still house.  No one present to hear the sound. Well, no one but the photographer.  The photographer was excited at the prospect.  To everyone else, this mission was one of everyday banal.  Document the life beyond the change.  What does it mean to our things when we leave?  The photographer had become obsessed with the stuff of our lives before.  Before everything changed.  On this late September morning, the photographer entered the little white split level house at 5476 Island Dr.

A doorknob.  Not yet showing signs of decomposition.  How many had touched this?  How many had used this simple machine to escape from the cold, the rain, the humidity, the glare of the sun?  In the after, doorknobs were still in use.  But they didn't hold the promise of safety and belonging beyond like they once did.  Such a shame, thought the photographer.  This one was still shiny, almost like it was still being polished by human hands.

A chair.  How many hours were spent sitting enjoying the company of others or the company of the moving pictures on the screen?  Such a time when a few hours in front of the box was a perfectly acceptable way to spend an evening.  Now there is no time for relaxing.  There's always work to do.  Things to repair, things to make, things to watch for.  The photographer wanted to sink into the comfy arms of the chair and drift off to dreamland.  But there was only a few hours of light left.  The photographer had to move on.

The next room revealed another chair.  This one a brilliant orange.  The photographer remembered the time when everything was colorful.  Clothes, furniture, cars, people were all the colors of the rainbow.  Now the photographer was lucky to see a color this bright after the spring rains.  But those were few and far between.  The photographer sat at the foot of the chair and just stared until all the photographer could see was orange.  A color full of life.

A laundry basket.  What were these used for now?  Carrying things to and fro.  Much like the old use.  But the old use held clean and fragrant clothing.  All the dirt, sweat, and grime washed out.  A new start.

...

Now where were the new starts?  The promise and hope of something just around the corner?  The photographer couldn't find it in the settlements.  The photographer could find it in the lost things of a life in material.

The New World - RW #2

A few nights ago, I started reading The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan.  Since then, I have had the same dream for two nights.  Set in a world like hers, but not like hers.  This is where today's story comes from...

On Tuesday, she found him.  Or maybe he found her.  He arrived with a truckload of survivors coming from the southeast.  They were dirty, hungry, and tired.  She didn't see him at first and he didn't see her.  The rest were given a hot meal and access to a shower.  Then they were given the rules of the settlement and processed (name, date of birth, special skills).  They were then loaded into one of the few reserved trucks and delivered to their new homes with work schedules in hand.  But he remained sitting at the back of the barn, not raising his eyes from the ground.

While processing the others, she had asked their leader who he was.  The leader replied that they had picked him up a few days back.  He had been sitting on top of a car in the middle of a parking lot staring off in the distance.  He hadn't talked to any of them, but completed simple tasks if instructed.  That was all he knew.

Soon, the rest of the new arrivals had left, leaving her and him, still sitting at the back of the barn, still staring at the floor.  She approached warily.  Often she had encountered ones who had "lost their marbles" due to the stress of life now.  She was afraid he was one of those, but she still had to try and reach him.  Maybe there was some sort of recognition in the form that made her less afraid than at other times.  Or maybe she was having a hopeful day.  For whatever reason, she approached him and slowly knelt into his eye line.  She looked into the face and cried aloud his name.  He merely stared back.  She cried his name again, grabbing his hands, squeezing, hoping for some kind of response.  He simply stared.  Maybe he was too far gone, but she wouldn't allow that thought to stay. She cried his name again, this time his full name.  She started to recite the story of how they met, the fun things they had done together.  Very quietly, barely audible, he said her name.  And with that admission some kind of life flowed back in his eyes.

She clutched at him, drawing him into a tight embrace.  They hadn't have been lovers, but an outsider wouldn't have known that from their embrace.  When the world ended, people did away with conventional notions of relationships.  The survivors needed each other for survival for some sort of normalcy.  People came to rely on each more and more each day.  And so she held him tight to her body not wanting to let go.

She had to take care of him now.  He wasn't in any shape to be processed and sent off into some unknown house with unknown people.  And so she found the former waitress to take over at the reception desk.  She get him a meal and let him eat.  Afterward, she grabbed a welcome bag of toiletries and a towel and pushed him into the shower.  The entire time he bathed, she stood just outside the bathhouse, not willing to stray too far from him.  He finished, dressed, and emerged looking more like the man she used to know.  They proceeded to slowly walk, hand in hand, to her house.  Because where else was she going to take him?  He was hers to take care of now and she wasn't going to lose him in the chaos of the settlement.

That night, she had a hard time falling asleep, replaying all the events that led up to him sleeping in the next room.  Before she could finally nod off, she felt a presence at the door.  He tried to sleep, but couldn't.  He wanted to lay with her, for the comfort of another alive human being, for the comfort of knowing someone from the Old World.  For this was the New World.  Where life had been completely turned on its head.  Where all that they held dear had been shattered by the sickness.  Where the most simple tasks took on new meaning when faced with the future.  Where people reached for each other with more yearning than ever before.  And so she moved over so he could climb in.  They didn't speak, didn't move all night.  Just slept the first peaceful sleep each other had in months.

Now that they had found each other, maybe the future held some hope.  Maybe the settlement would survive.  Maybe they could learn a new life with new people.  Maybe, just maybe, they could survive and have a real life....

House Hunting Blues - Random Writing #1

I've been wanting to starting a weekly creative writing post.  I figured I would start today since I couldn't think of an answer to the Booking Through Thursday question.  So here's my first:

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Hunting for their perfect house was supposed to... one of the milestones of adult life.  Right?  I mean that's what we're all taught from an early age.  The American dream: graduate high school, graduate college, get a great job, find that perfect someone, get married, buy a house, have children, live happily ever after.  That's I what I thought.  I had my perfect job, my perfect husband, my perfect house, my perfect children all imagined in my head. And then reality sat in.

Mike and I met with a realtor.  A nice lady named Susan.  She was excited that we came with reasonable expectations of what our budget would buy.  She called us two days later with 5 showings.  "You're lucky!" she tells us.  "All five homes just came on the market this week.  You'll be among the first to see them.  I think we might have a winner here."  So Mike and I cleared our schedules and prepped for the hunting to begin.  To say we were excited was an understantement.  We were practically jumping up and down with antiicpation.

First House: A nice little three bedroom two bath in a great neighborhood.  I fell in love with the Spanish style architecture.  Mike argued that the yard was way too small.  Okay I can see that, but the house was in budget and in amazing condition.  Oh well, there are more...

Second House: A classic 1950s style ranch.  God it looked just like the Brady Bunch house.  Mike thought it had potential.  Yeah potential for me to have a heart attack from the stress of remodeling.  I don't think so.

We'd been at it all morning and now it was lunch time.  We really should have stopped for food, but the adrenaline was still pretty high.  So we continued.  In hindsight, this was where everything started going horribly wrong.

Third House: A two bedroom condo with no yard, but amazing view.  I loved, loved, loved it.  Mike thought it just wouldn't do.  "We're going to have six kids.  How are they going to fit in here?"  SIX KIDS!?!?!?!  When the hell did I ever agree to that?  I was thinking two kids, tops!  Right there in the newly refurbished kitchen with stainless steel appliances, Mike and I argued about how many kids we wanted to have. How did we never have this conversation?   We left that house not speaking.  But there were still two to go.  And I was determined to find the perfect house.

Four House: Classic three bedroom 60s two story.  Nice sized yard. Newly remodeled interior.  I loved it.  Classic.  Great neighborhood.  Nice yard.  There's even space for my craft room.  "Craft room?" says Mike.  That space is going to be my house gym.  "House gym? When do you ever workout?  When you come home from work, all I see you do is sit on the couch and watch tv."  "Well, you never craft!  When have you ever made anything in your life. All you do is sit next to me on the couch and watch tv."  All of this in front of the realtor.  I'm sure she had her own opinion, but thankfully she kept it to herself.  I think we went on for about 15 minutes, but who keeps track of time during an argument.

Fifth House: I barely even remember this house.  I think it was brown.

Mike and I continued the gym vs. craft room argument into the car ride over.  Somewhere it chnaged into a discusion of our various mothers.  I think I thanked the realtor for the showings.  I might have told her we would be in touch.  We arrived home, hungry and pissed.  I went to the bedroom and laid down.  I think Mike sat on the couch.  We stayed like that for most of the afternoon.  I recall eventually emerging for food (leftover Chinese).  And then I went to bed.  Mike slept on the couch.  Who knew house hunting could end a marriage?  Definitely not me.  I thought it was going to be one of the best days of my life.  Guess I should rethink that whole American Dream thing, huh?

The Fortune Teller

Do you see that girl over there?  No, not the leggy blonde.  The one in the corner quietly reading drinking black coffee.  She wants to be a writer when she grows up.  But one day, she will become the head of a Fortune 500 company. What about the thin guy at the counter drinking water and furiously typing on his laptop?  He's working on his doctorate in physics.  In ten years, he will become a stay-at-home dad to six beautiful children.

Grandma ove there is going to school to get a medical degree. but she'll be dead within the year.

Junior just learning to walk will dream of being an astronaut, but will end up being an electrician.

What about you?  Listening to me tell about others' futures. Bet you want to know yours.  I could tell you.  I could save you the pain of surprise.  I could describe your house, your family, your job, your appearance.  I could tell you everything that's coming... but I won't.

I won't take away the growing pains, the tear-filled moments, the minutes of utter despair.  What would your life be if you knew all that was to come?  I'll tell you--it wouldn't be anything to live for. It would be a plan set in stone... one that could never change for better or worse.  There would be no moments of pure surprise and unabashed joy.  Nothing would touch your heart and make you feel alive.  It would be like eating cardboard, tasteless and completely unenjoyable.

I will tell you this--it's not going to be what you planned for when you were little.  There are surprises around every corner, changing the course of your life.  There are people waiting for you to come into their lives and they don't even know it.

So get ready for the ride, it's going to be very bumpy but great.