It's not that I'm not writing...
It's just that I'm not writing in here at the moment. Because what I am writing at the moment is going into a random book that I just made...
I idly picked up my how-to-make-books book and read a bit that said something about just diving in and letting the materials do the talking.
So I decided to dive in and make my first stitched signatures - the trimming was lousy, the binding didn't go on straight and I cut the cover to the wrong size... but the stitching was beautiful and I was very happy.
The paper I used was just some random stuff that happened to be in the paper box: some sheets from primary school when my son was learning to write. Precious little memories that I hadn't been able to throw away. But I made myself fold them and cut them up and stitch them, and then there it was: a book.
Great, I thought. Fear of losing the materials by using them: ovecome.
But the first page was blank.
And as I stared at it I realised I had come up against my same old same old problem: the fear of the blank page. Just like when I started this journal.
Then I started to wonder what else was holding me back from actually putting any content in this book now that I'd made it.
So I started writing about fear of blank pages, and fear of not still having the materials if I use them, and then discovered that I was rapidly accumulating a list of lots of other fears that hold me back from doing all sorts of things, not just writing - although my writing is pretty representational of all the other stuff I do.
So now I know what the book is about, and it's not what I expected at all, but it's proving very therapeutic so far.
This is still a work in progress but if it comes up with anything interesting I'll report back.
Perhaps I will discover what lies at the root of my deep horror of bank statements, very sharp knives, heights, and arguments.
And all from some random bits of paper.
(This book will make my OH laugh, but then I have a deep fear of being laughed at, so that'll be good for me...)