Sunday, 21 August 2011


So, tonights blog post (about journals) coincidentally came when I was writing in my journal. It occurred to me, as I was writing in the aforementioned journal that I have gone through quite a few journals in my small, fifteen (nearly sixteen!) years. I don't know whether I just look like someone who uses a journal a lot, or something, but it has been something that has been a constant present for many years. Admittedly, I do use journals a lot. Even more so, recently.

Before you say anything, yes, I was that little girl who would bother their mother and/or father to get them a pretty notebook/diary/journal until they caved (I really don't like calling them diaries, because it only reminds me of homework). It's what I did, and to be honest, I don't think either of them minded very much. Even though, in the recent years, my birthday journals have been replaced with gift vouchers and such, it doesn't stop my love for journals.

I literally do use my journals for everything. It ranges from writing down a couple to a dozen lists, the things I have to do for homework, doodling random pictures (which honestly, isn't something I'm good at), to legit writing scenes from the multiple W.I.P's, to venting out my frustrations. They're some of the things I do a lot of in my journals.

So, for the purpose of this video, I have ransacked through my room, and found as many as I possibly could. The things I do for you guys. (And, yes I'm a bit of a hoarder).

I nicknamed them all for you, so you know what I'm talking about. I'm so nice, aren't I?
(also, sorry for the crappy quality)
Out of all the journals, I have wrote some form of fiction in... *looks through them* 5 of them. They would be OLDOLDOLD, Science-y School, Dolphin, Big Spotty, and Pinky Positive.

I'm pretty sure OLDOLDOLD (which is from, like, Grade 4 or 5), is the first example of my brilliant story writing. I actually just read through it, and it was a murder mystery, with the victim being Daisy Mowbray (pronounced Moe-bray, it says quite specifically in my notes), and the murderer being Paul Cabet (with a silent T, apparently, so I suppose it's pronounced Cab-ay, or something ludicrous). The detective is Kirsty Windchester, and the victim was found by Beverly Hill (OMG, so original). My obsession with Harry Potter is obvious from the beginning; one of my suspects was called Victor Crumb. He was a janitor. Oh, I'm shutting up about it now, because I'm absolutely certain this needs to be made into a video. Sorry, kids. You'll have to wait for that now.

The funny thing is, is that I actually remember writing it. Despite it only being a page (not kidding, one stinking page), I specifically remember going to my mum and asking her what a good dead person's name is. Oh my gosh, this is bringing a wave of nostalgia over me.

The four other journals (which really, are more fitting for the title diary, I feel) are practically my whining books. And my future books o.o. I wish I was even kidding, but apparently I was obsessed with the future even then. Little Spotty, and Supergirl (the pink one that wasn't labelled, because I'm a fool) are both dedicated to my life's ambitions, as well as future careers, etc. etc.

God, I'm so weird. Pinky Babu and Flowery Pinky are both filled with my daily encounters of life, and is spent for a majority of the time complaining about things. *throws hands up* I don't even know.

Can I just say, before I go, that just because I've got a lot of pink journals, it doesn't necessarily mean I like pink. Sure, when I was younger, it was my favourite colour, but seriously, it's green now. Green and me get along swimmingly.

Well, I'm gonna be off now. Homework is beckoning me to go stroke it's bristles (plus my mum is verging on the career/life lecture). If I don't make the nostalgia story video soon, poke me repeatedly until I lose it, and do it out of spite.

I'll thank you now, because I'll probably hate you when you actually do it.

DAYS TILL BIRTHDAY: 4 (omgomgomgomg)
WORDS WRITTEN THIS MONTH: 1,278 (I'm actually writing at the moment, that's why this topic came up in the first place)
QOTD: "Oh no, it was my phone. I passed out of my dream like a scream, and looked at the time" - Myself, aged 8, attempting to write a murder mystery.

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