At the start of the year I began a reading journal, in which I aimed only to write about books I was reading. It was meant as a record, though I invited myself to make remarks or point out passages, etc. It went well for a while, also because I was spending chunks of time unplugged on airplanes, where distractions from reading and writing are few.

But in March the coronavirus hit Europe and I stopped flying. It was mid-April before I thought it might be worth keeping a record of life at this time. I didn’t want to explore my feelings or dissect the news or criticize the government, at least not necessarily. I set out to observe and take notes.

Of course now I’ve got two journals going, or three if you count the collage journal I rarely tend to. Plus this sometimes-blog. It seems I’m burdening myself with commitments. Like, hey, how about this journal, or this one, or this? So I’m pursuing the most traditional of the non-digital three, i.e. life in these times.

My father has always been a faithful journal keeper and he says when he goes back to peruse old journals it isn’t thoughts or feelings that interest him. He’s more engaged by what he had for lunch or if a stranger told him his fly was open or if he visited a friend. So I’m sticking with the quotidian.

(All this aside I signed up for a prompt-a-day writing group that starts tomorrow.)

In publishing, I was invited to be part of the online Escapisms exhibition at Poem Atlas, which used one of the recent pieces from Tinderbox. It is a really interesting exhibition of visual poetry, so please have a look. I also have three pieces in Thrush, including ‘What It Takes,’ pictured.

I also had two visual poems from the ‘Sleepless Night’ series accepted by Diode (fourth try there) and two by Guesthouse. I do have some favorite journals, but it’s also good to find room in journals I haven’t had work in before.