It's What's Inside That Counts: Journaling by Bob Jones

Here I am getting ready for the 29^th of the month. Again.

And again, women and men of Inscribe Writers Online have shared incredible insights on the subject of journaling. I enjoyed reading them all. I learned (and laughed) so much.

(But I do wonder what happened to the writers for June 2^nd, 5^th, 7^th, 11^th, 13^th 23^rd, and 24^th. Maybe they were too busy journaling to post.)

So – and here’s a writer’s favorite question – “What can I write about that hasn’t already been shared?”  I feel such a temptation to plagiarize. (Note to self – write July’s post before July 1^st)

I look at my current journal and it reminds me of why I journal. This journal was a 2016 Christmas present.

On the cover is the quote - “It’s what inside that counts.” On the inside cover page is an inscription from one of my sons, daughter-in-law and three granddaughters.

“Dad, Another year, another journal, another glimpse into your journey. We pray you are blessed beyond measure in the coming year.”

I can’t read these words, let alone type them without losing my ability to see clearly.

The penmanship tells me that it was my daughter-in-law that wrote the words. That means all the more to me. To be loved by the woman your son chose to be his wife and the mother of my grand girls is beyond words.

Why do I journal?

Because I keep receiving journals as Christmas presents.

Because I’m reminded that my writing is valued by people other than me.

Because journaling keeps me alert to what really matters.

Because I would easily forget the good that comes to me “on my journey” if I didn’t journal.

Now, I’m ready for July.

Bob is a recovering perfectionist, who collects Coca-Cola memorabilia and drinks Iced Tea. His office walls are adorned with his sons’ framed football jerseys, and his library shelves, with soul food. He writes to inspire people to be real, grow an authentic faith in Jesus, enjoy healthy relationships and discover their life purpose.  

Follow his writing at Pointe's of View.

Take Note of Note Takers -- Bruce Atchison

I blogged some years ago about how my journal helped me remember my vacation to Trinidad in 1982. It certainly did help with the details when I wrote my How I Was Razed memoir. Many of the incidents either had faded from my mind or I misremembered them.

But notebooks aren't the only way we can remember times in our lives. Looking at photos and videos show subtleties which our notes might miss.

The snapshots and home videos of my bunnies sure helped me with details which I wrote in When a Man Loves a Rabbit. Seeing them doing all their cute things helped me to add an extra layer of description to my narrative.

When I wrote Deliverance from Jericho, I had few photos and no video reminders. Instead, I listened to songs from the sixties which brought back memories of those times. Some of those recollections were quite painful but writing them down became excellent therapy for me.

Old e-mail and newsgroup posts were also a great help with my writing. I save my correspondence and that helped me with my recalling of exactly what happened. The paper letters I kept likewise remind me of what people wrote and even the style of their writing.

One thing I enjoy doing when on vacation is recording local radio stations. The cassettes I taped in Trinidad as well as when I visited Moscow in 1997 gave me the local cultural flavour of the two countries. I still treasure those recordings and I've digitized them.

I'm glad I hung on to all those letters, floppy disks, tapes, photos, and videos. And thanks to YouTube, I was able to find songs which I didn't have in my music collection. In future, I'd like to scan all of these letters so  I can preserve them. My nephews and nieces might be curious someday about what their strange uncle with the rabbits wrote.

A New Road - Marnie Pohlmann

I walk down this road of life.

I trip and fall into a dark hole.

I get up and continue walking.

Again, I trip and fall into a dark hole.

I climb out and continue walking.

Once again, I trip and fall into another dark hole.

Deeper this time, it is difficult to climb out.

But I pull myself up and walk on.

And again, I fall into a deep hole.

But I decide to stay awhile.

Eventually, I climb up the wall and back onto the path.

I fall into a hole.

I realize how dark, dreary, and lonely it is.

I decide to decorate, to make it cozier.

I hang a picture of me as a child, and I write in my journal.

I scream pain onto the page in silent words.

No one hears, so I stay in the hole.

Time goes by.

Though I believe I am secure and comfortable in my hole,

I begin to notice light up above.

I continue to write in my journal.

Then I hear a voice, calling to me.

He says he will help me get out of my hole,

He says, if I choose, he will walk with me on my path.

I think about it, but am frightened.

I know my hole.

I don't know outside, or down the road.

I am not sure I can trust the voice.

Yet he continues to call.

His words appear in my journal.

Finally, I agree to meet him.

He reaches down and helps me out of my hole.

I bring my journals.

He walks with me.

Just when I am about to trip into a deep hole,

He catches me.

We continue walking.

I sometimes almost fall into other dark holes,

But as I trip, he holds me.

I still skin my knees sometimes and he lets me cry,

but he comforts me.

We walk on.

And now He guides me down a different road.

I based this story on a poem I read many years ago. That poem did not have the journals or God calling to me, but it did end with learning to walk a new road. I have not been able to find the original author's name or even the original words. Over the years I have seen this idea of repeatedly falling into the hole, decorating the hole, and eventually choosing a new road, become a picture of my life.

I have a love-hate relationship with the journals I have kept on my journey. On one hand, they contain pain, struggles, and rebellion; times I do not wish to relive. On the other hand, they contain answers from God to my pleas, and they show how He has been at work in my life all these years.

My goal a while ago was to read through those journals to see what I could use in my writing. I was nervous about this project so decided this would be an exercise in research, not a reliving of the past. An emotional detachment was the key, or so I thought. I knew God was with me, holding my hand and ready to point out the gems of what He wanted me to share through writing.

And then I found myself again in a dark hole. Not because of my journals, but because of life circumstances which I found overwhelming. I returned to childhood coping methods I know do not work and once again believed the old messages of shame and worthlessness. Then I began to decorate my hole with pictures of everything wrong with me and my present life. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder once again settled into the corners of the darkness, bringing alive all the negative emotions of childhood, the work I do, and cancer.

I was depressed, yes, but I was not afraid - I am not afraid. In the dark times, God is present. When I am struggling, God is at work. He will not ever leave me, Scripture says, and He never has, so I know He won't this time. He calls to me and reaches down to help me out of the hole again.

Emotion is part of the past as much as it is part of today. If I am to read and write from my life journals, I must do it acknowledging and including all the feelings and emotions, not as a dry research paper. Memories in my journals may be dark, but I believe I will also see where the Sonshine drew me out of the holes. Rather than being nervous about this project, I am now excited to discover and re-discover God's presence in my life and how He so gently leads me to walk with Him on a new road.

I have been sporadic in my journaling lately. Writing ideas are strewn about in various pretty journals, church bulletins, Bible Study notebooks, and even in my phone. Personal woes and joys are dated with months between the entries. I have found I miss having (making) the time to journal.

This month's posts have been inspirational, showing me how journals are a gift. I now realize that organizing the thoughts, lessons, and ideas in those journals is also a gift. 

I think I'll start (another) new journal.

Photos courtesy of CCO License: hole - pexels.com;  girl, journal - pixabay.com

Marnie struggles and journals in northern BC. Visit her blog, Phosphorescent, to read her adventures in absorbing and reflecting God's light in dark times.

It's not only about the rant By Vickie Stam

A self guided tour. An exploration of my heart. A much needed respite. A time out. A place with no restraints. In it, there's just one voice and no visitors. I'm free to be me! Ah.....the journal.

The pages safeguard a world that no one else sees. They provide a place to relinquish my pain, face my fears and find purpose among the good and the bad. Yes, in my journal I can write about anything and everything. 

Still, a journal is not for everyone. I learned this while I was enrolled in one of my writing classes. 
   "Journals are just a place where people can rant!" A fellow classmate spouted during a fifteen minute coffee break. A dribble of spit landed on her chin. On her own rant, she never realized it was there.

She refused to offer up one positive thing. In fact, she waved her hand in the air so as to stifle our conversation; put an end to the misery she seemed to feel at the mention of journal writing. Startled by her sudden outburst, everyone went silent.     

Her negative tone certainly caught me by surprise. I couldn't help wondering what was so wrong with ranting in a journal. No one else knows you're ranting and besides that, doesn't everyone need to sound off at some point in their life?    

I remember a time when my two sister's, my mother and my niece would meet me for a day of shopping and lunch. This had become a regular habit of ours, one that we all looked forward to. Filled with excitement, I would make the 45 minute drive to Hamilton to pick everyone up. There was nothing better than, "a girl's day out!"

"So where are we going today?" I would ask when they all piled into the car. Everyone seemed to chime in at once. A burst of laughter always followed. Life was good. 
           
But amidst all of this fun, my sister Karen decided to move to Prince Edward Island, a place she had come to love while vacationing there a few summers in a row. Angela moved to Bala, enticed by a new job position. Bala is only a 4 hour drive from Hamilton, except that she doesn't drive. And then, my mother passed away after a brief bout with cancer. Inside of a few short weeks, that ripple affect brought our 'girl's day out' to an abrupt halt.    

Eight years ago my life changed once again. I suddenly found myself feeling more alone than ever. Thankfully I had my journal. Tears became my constant companion. My prayers - not so pretty. 

I really hoped that my sister, Karen would change her mind about moving to Prince Edward Island. I knew it was wrong, selfish really. But, I could hardly imagine my life with her being so far away.  

I needed to a place that would not only provide solace, I also needed a place to - you know - RANT. 

My journal hasn't judged me. I've been free to put away my fake smile, let the tears flow and despise the things that have caused me pain. Go ahead and have a pity party. I've never heard the pages telling me, "not to party too long." 

Journaling reminds me that everything will be okay. They provide an inexpensive therapy in the emotional seasons of my life.  

I remember watching an episode of Downton Abbey. One the main character's, Anna said it best when she said, "All God's creatures have their troubles." I'm afraid she's right. God never said that my life would be without trials.  
 
2 Corinthians 4:8 "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair"


Unfortunately, there have been times when I have felt, 'hard pressed on every side.' In those moments of despair, I want that place where I feel safe to complain. Question God. "Why didn't you (God) tell me - whisper in my ear - give me some sort of a warning......"  You knew this was going to happen long before I did!"

Even so, it isn't all about the rant. Included among my tales of woe are the triumphs. My visits to Prince Edward Island. No - she hasn't changed her mind about living there.    

My journal is truly my safety-deposit book! I can make as many deposits as I want. And when I want to. It's a place that provides protection for every account of my life - rant or other.    

Dear Journal, Thank You For Listening! Alan Anderson

I’m not going to pretend to give the impression I journal daily. I do, however, see tremendous value in writing in a journal. I don’t habitually share my journaling with anyone else. Oops, that sounds a bit selfish! (insert smile here)

Through journaling I prepare myself for life or reflect on my life thus far. It offers me an opportunity to ask myself how I am doing in life. Allow me to give you a peek into my life through journaling. Please be patient with me as I bear my soul a bit to you.

My journal is a safe place for me. It is where I tell myself how at times I want to scream at the craziness of the world. I feel like this when I read newspaper headlines of the most recent terrorist attack somewhere in the world. I scream out of fear, frustration and the folly of people.

My heart cries when I hear of children who have been murdered. Even now tears come to my eyes as I reflect on a recent interchange of a grieving grandfather who chatted with me. There are other grandparents who have confided in me with similar stories. I keep all such stories in my head or in my journal. How my heart aches for these dear people. How my heart aches for these beautiful children.

My journal is a “friend,” so to speak. I have a loving wife and family but I must say I don’t have many close friends. I talk to my journal the way I hope I could talk to a close friend, someone more ready to listen than judge. It would be nice to have a friend or friends I could call or meet anytime.  We would be content in knowing we can share our thoughts with each other.

My journal is a “counselor” who I know listens to me. It is here I can pour out my thoughts and emotions. I have listened to a lot of sad stories of experiences people have suffered in their lives. Some things so horrible I haven’t even told my wife. I have also heard of how people have endured in spite of their suffering. Through journaling I process what I have listened to.

 My journal is a cheerleader, who gives me cause to smile and say, life can be sweet! I love life! In spite of my screams and few times of rage at the world, I love life. For the most part, I love people. I love too that God has blessed me in my life and continues to do so. I don’t say this just to put a positive spin on things. I say this because it is true.

I need a cheerleader now and then. How about you? I also like to cheer for other people. As I say to those who are hurting because of a sad experience in life, we are in this together!

My dear writer family, we are in this life together. How can we show our love one for the other? We can cheer each other on in our journeys through life. We may even be close enough geographically that we can be there to listen.

Father in heaven, you have called us to be writers. Help us to see the beauty of each other’s words. Help us to be real with ourselves as we journal. Help us to cheer each other on and to realize we are in this together! Amen!

Blog: ScarredJoy@wordpress.com

My Love Affair With Notebooks ... by Jocelyn Faire

I don't know when it began, or what to do with all of them. The notebooks, the journals of all sizes and shapes—many of them still empty, waiting for the right poem or the new theme, or my most brilliant thoughts. Some of the more unusual journals bought on travels are still waiting. Often I try to have a theme for a journal, so I begin more than one of them, while having an ongoing chronological journal. Meanwhile I use notebooks for a collection of ideas, thoughts and quotes.

Why do I encourage so many people to journal? Is there any benefit in writing down what we go through? A resounding Yes is my answer! I began journalling decades ago, when I was going through what I call the usual ups and downs of life; and even there I always felt the benefit of the process. Writing down thoughts brings clarity to whatever the situation may be. During my grief years, my journals became my lifeline, my prayer line, my place to recharge, my place to question any and everything. Those were the times it was necessary to write in order to make sense of what had gone so terribly wrong (write to right). As I reread my journals I see a woman expressing her longings, her laments while choosing to be grateful for the beauty of life. The historical value of journals is to look back and witness in your own handwriting the evidence of God's hand in it all. Most recently this has been vividly evident as I looked back at my 2016 journal while searching for ideas for this blog. A frequently used verse was from Isaiah 49 in The Message: The walls you're rebuilding are never out of my sight.

On January 1, 2016, my notes say:

A blank page

a new journal opens up before me ... what will be written on these pages?

It's a page turner to be sure

Life is an adventure—a sad one at times, disappointment at end of year brings a weariness to the new year.

I went on to express disappointment that I was not in a better place. A main discouragement was that I had been praying for several years for the possibility of a man in my life. And I was beginning to think that God had answered No, and that I would need to come to terms with it. On the blank page opposite my January first entry, I had later added that my daughter had prayed for me that perhaps this was the year. In June of 2016 I told two very dear friends that I thought I would remain alone for the rest of my life, and that I was actually okay with it. And then on June 10, I wrote “God, I think you're up to something.”

June 19, 2016 there was a profound upbeat tone as I wrote about having lunch with Harold, someone I had known for over 30 years ... someone I had worked with, someone who had also gone through some serious grief. That day I wrote in my journal: Is the something you are up to HB?

I chuckle at times when I see my gift of misinterpretation of scriptures. After this wonderful man and I had been communicating for a while, I had some doubts that were answered in a resounding way. In my journal I quoted Isaiah 43 The Message: Forget about what's happened, don't keep going over old history. Be alert, be present, I'm abut to do something brand new. It's bursting out!! Don't you see it? No, I don't often see it, but I love it when verses jump out with what seems a personal message for me.

The gift of the journals is the documented evidence in my own handwriting of how God is working out the bigger plan in my life. And on a separate lovely note, on December 17, 2016 at my wedding to Harold, we used Isaiah's verses about rebuilding walls from chapter 49. The love affair continues :)

Photo by Joel Krahn

Journaling Rambles by Joylene M. Bailey

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Wow, the 20^th of the month is here again! How did that happen?  Again, I’m stumped for what to write for InScribe Writers Online. Why do I always feel like I have nothing to contribute?

This month's topic is journaling and writer's notebooks. Oh boy. I wish I were a more consistent journaler. I might actually have something to share then. But I’m more of a spurtster, like Glynis.

Hmmm, it looks like a lot of the writers this month have several journals for different things. Me too! Only, so many of my journals had great beginnings and then petered out.  I have a whole drawerful of enticing journals, just waiting to be filled.

I love journals - give me a journal and you’re my friend for life. And I love the idea of journaling everyday, sitting in a fragrant and shady corner of my yard on a sun-dappled day putting down words of beauty, encouragement, wisdom and wit. In reality that’s not what happens at all.

Oh man, do I have anything at all to share on this topic? Let’s see, what do I seem to be writing down these days?

Oh! I have that quote notebook I have been keeping for years. I wonder if that counts. I also started that JOY journal – in fact I think I started two … No, those aren’t even worth mentioning.

I guess I do have my prayer/devotional journal that includes sermon and teaching notes. But then when Sweetie called in the middle of the night to say the twins were born, that was the nearest paper to hand, and I opened to the back page to write down the little boys’ names, weights, times of birth, what the names meant, and even how long she pushed for each one! Then I took that journal to Manitoba when I went to help with the twins, and continued from the back to the front, writing little rhyming verses and songs for 3-year-old Little Man. Now I even have jot notes for blog posts in there and a whole list of Edmonton Sites to See This Summer. Again, back to front. What kind of journal is that?

There must be another legitimate journal that’s worth sharing about …

I have that junk-drawer-journal. Everything but the kitchen sink in that one. Anybody else reading it would be so confused. Email addresses, books I want to read, somebody’s very detailed dream, accounting figures, lists, quotes, passwords, definitions, schedules, flight times … You name it, it’s in there. Nah, this journal would never count.

I did start “Morning Pages”, as suggested by Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way. I appreciated that exercise, I think I’d like to get back to that. I also love the sound of an Artist’s Daybook that Sandi Somers mentioned in her post. It has a nice ring to it. Yes, “Morning Pages” and my Artist’s Daybook, those will be goals for my summer writing.

But to get back to my journal post … The only valid journal I might be able to share about is my In the Coffee Shop, In the Library one I started in September as an exercise to get me out of the house when I was on doctor’s orders to rest. It was fun to just sit and write down observations in coffee shops and libraries, and a good exercise in coming up with the right words on the spot. But then came surgery, 6 weeks of recovery, and then right away off to look after grandchildren, including the newborns. I haven’t written in that thing for at least 3 months.

It seems I’m not currently journaling at all.

So, it’s finally happened … I have absolutely nothing to contribute this month. Zilch. Zero.

I might as well go find the topic for next month and get a head start on that.

****************

Joylene journals about not journaling from her home in Edmonton where she is resting up after 6 weeks of looking after grandchildren. 
Find more of her writing at Scraps of Joy.

Painting a Sentence by Eunice Matchett

Spring is such a lovely season, but along with all its loveliness comes a truckload of work. Each year I do one major project beyond the normal planting and weeding. This year, my major undertaking was painting the fence.

As I evaluated the weathered boards, my mind wandered to my writing projects that were weeks behind schedule. From there, my thoughts zoomed into sentence structure and my unpainted fence morphed into a sentence.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the fence. It served its purpose by offering privacy, keeping the neighbourhood dogs out, and most of the time, my cats in. But it was drab. And boring. Just like a first draft sentence.

I went to work pulling out branches that had grown through the cracks between the boards much the same way I slash goes without saying words in a sentence. The fence appeared taller, but dry leaves and brittle pine needles littered the two-by-fours to which the boards were nailed. As I brushed away the dead foliage it reminded me of how the over use of fluffy words and words ending with ing or ly cluttered a sentence, making it difficult to comprehend.  This done, I checked all the boards to make sure their nails were still holding them fast. It made me think of how necessary conjunctions are to hold a sentence together.

Now, I’m ready for the paint. But what kind of paint? Just as a sentence requires precise words, my fence needs the right paint. The clerk in the local hardware store showed me exactly what I needed. Then, dressed in old tube top and shorts, a can of paint in one hand and a brush in the other, I began my task. Hours later, my arms ached, my skin burned, but I’d finished one side of one side of my fence. I stepped back to admire my handiwork. My throat throbbed. All my loving swishes had left light spots all over the fence.

Just like your sentence crept into my thoughts. Those light spots are weak words you allowed to remain in a sentence rather than taking time to search for stronger ones. I took a deep breath and returned to the spot where I started. Before laziness could overwhelm my thoughts, I dipped my brush into the paint and applied another coat.

In half the time it took to apply the first coat, I’d completed the second. My arms ached twice as much, and I think the sun had removed the top layer of my skin, but I’d finished. Again. I stepped away, gingerly this time. But it wasn’t necessary. A perfect fence section stood in front of me. Not one light spot. Not one knot hole exposing naked wood. No loose boards or painted-over pine needle. My fence sang. Just as well thought out and strategically placed words make a sentence dance, properly applied paint to my weathered fence gave my whole yard a fresh, new life.

It's In the Journey - by Gloria Guest

I first started journaling in my Bible College days and when I think back to why that might have been, I think it was because I finally felt like I was in a safe place; a place where I felt safer to explore my feelings and thoughts. However, knowing what I do now, I was woefully out of touch with those feelings and all that would need to come to the surface in the coming years (thank goodness I did not know) but still, looking back I can see that it was my ‘start’ to the journey of healing and coming to know ‘me’ and who I really was.

I continued journaling into my early years as a new wife and mother. Peeking back into those journals is another glimpse into my development as a person; a little more in touch with some things but there was still very much hidden and undisclosed. Of course I can now read between those lines and see very much what was going on in my heart at the time, that I just couldn’t quite put into words. But I’m proud of that young woman  for trying; for searching, for hoping and dreaming even if I wasn’t quite sure what I was hoping for.

After that, my journaling became more sporadic as life began to take on a dizzying pace for me with the accompanying stress. We were a young farm family barely eking out a living. We were living on the same farm yard as my in-laws and I did not have a close bond with my mother-in-law. When my mother died when she was only 48 years old, it seemed to be the catalyst for my submerged childhood emotions and trauma to begin rising more to the surface. I started going through a crisis in just about every area of my life; physically, emotionally, spiritually. I did manage to reach out for a life line and began seeing a counsellor; something that continued for many years. Through those years as I said, I journalled sporadically and when I did I found it therapeutic and calming. But soon after a deep family secret from my childhood emerged; one that sent me reeling and one that eventually led to my younger sister committing suicide. Sometime during those crisis days my journaling ended . I recall reaching for it one day and reading some recent entries that were filled with darkness and bitterness and feeling ill at the thought that someone might one day come across them. Worse yet, reading those words I was sure if I continued that God might strike me down with lightning! Should I burn them? I seriously considered it but it felt like a betrayal of that younger woman who had tried so hard. And so I decided to simply close them, hide them away and never look at them or write in them again.

Where I am now? Thankfully I’ve made much progress coming through those dark times although it never fails to amaze me how many more layers there can be where childhood trauma is concerned. All I know is that God has led me through it all and I haven’t yet been struck down by lightning!

Recently while taking two U of T Creative Writing Classes I was encouraged and in one class, ‘required’ to journal. That was a challenge for me. It helped that it was free-style so we could write on any subject we chose just as long as we wrote steady for ten minutes a day. And so I chose my subjects carefully and wrote. And enjoyed it. And felt a new found freedom coming back into my writing. Since then, I admit I still did not start journaling on my own. But I haven’t forgotten about it. It’s niggled in my mind as something that I might like to do again. And then came this month’s Inscribe blog topic. I’ve read the entries by everyone else with trepidation and interest. Slowly, over the month I’ve become intrigued again with the idea of journaling and so today, on Father’s Day I made a new entry. I’d like to share a bit of it here:

“June 18, 2017. Today is Father’s Day as I sit down to write in this journal six years from the last entry. I haven’t seen him (my father) for almost thirty years now. There are no words to fill in a blank that big – maybe someday I will try – but for today all I want to say is….I’ve noticed an imperceptible change in myself these past weeks. In the past, whenever I’ve felt cornered into explaining his absence in my life I would say things like;

“I choose not to see him.”
“I had to separate myself from him.”
“I haven’t seen him in (fill in the blank) years.”
"I…I….I…" And I always walked away feeling guilty and to blame.

But lately I’ve felt free to say it slightly different.

“My father chose to not be a part of my life.”
So true. That’s what happened. I was willing to reconcile (which takes two people who truly want to face the truth) but he wanted to continue his lies and abuse. It was that simple. So I chose to move on so I could grow. He was the one who let go.
Thank you God that you never did let go – of me – or him.
I write this in a journal with the Footprints poem on the front. So fitting. You’ve carried me through so much when I felt like I couldn’t’ take even one more step. I know you will continue. It’s all in the journey and I’m so thankful that You are on this journey with me.

Notebooks for every occasion - by Rohadi

Notebooks for every occasion. Never leave home without one. That and pens. Never leave home without a pen. The last thing you want to do is scrounge up a pencil from your car, or a ballpoint from the bank. 

When it comes to notebook selection some things matter and others don't. I’m more lenient on what qualifies as a “notebook” as I've been in the past, opting to accept the electronic variety in a pinch. 

Here’s a snapshot of of both process and hobby when it comes to selecting my writing tools.

• Every new book project gets it’s own notebook. Not just any notebook mind you. Utility has to outweigh beauty. Thick pages that can take ink from the fountain pen (usually the quickest pen so long as it doesn't skip) without bleeding through. They can be short, 48 pages maybe, and small, 5x5 perhaps.
• Meandering thoughts can go in notebooks that have a certain stylish flair. I’m not picky with quality, albeit the pen needs to run well along the pages. 
• I tend to have different notebooks for different tasks. For example, one devoted to ideas on faith and ministry, another for random reflections. 
• Then there’s the tiny notepad, the one I can fit in a coat pocket or briefcase. It’s for jotting down random thoughts. You know the ones that find you out of thin air. I got tired of using the napkin or grocery receipt, so I have some little pages at my disposal.
• If all that fails, I’ll pull out my phone and use the Evernote app (that syncs with my desktop). I’ve tried OneNote but simply didn’t get the hang of it. Evernote has been useful to organize thoughts in broad categories. That makes returning to an idea and following through a little bit easier. 
• Category use in the app is also why I chose Scrivener to complete writing projects. It's critical to organize ideas, and Word can't match the power and features in Scrivener. 

What I haven’t yet mastered is what to do with all the ideas. Most of them turn into nothing, ideas jotted down that I never revisit. I wonder if some “spring cleaning” would de-clutter the list and increase creative use? 

Finally, how do I approach the regular rhythm of journalling? I don't. In fact, I’ve never consistently journaled. I do it, but merely as a way to reduce the noise in my head by transferring it to paper. I rarely go back into my journals, mostly because I write too fast while journalling. Which is fine because that’s not the point. Journalling is a necessary outlet to keep the writing mind, and the soul, healthy. Rarely do thoughts escape into projects, or new ideas emerge. It's merely a release, a dump of letters to complete the day or season.

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P.S. I would love to reply to comments but I've been unable due to login issues (that I don't know how to remedy).....so thanks for all of your thoughts! 

Visit Rohadi at his blog. Check out his adult coloring book Soul Coats.