Treasured

Something I treasured as a child was always my ‘little black book’.
It was something I really enjoy carrying around, because it was unlike a diary more of a book of my own feelings that I wanted to share with others. I started creating my writings at an early age (about 11).

It all started in 5th grade with my teacher Mr. Berlin. He was a great class leader he taught all subjects, but the one I favored most was writing. There were plenty of things to learn threw this teacher, how to make a boring essay in to something creative and helped me try to develop my ideas in to something to write about. I don’t think I ever had a tough time thinking about things to write about it was more like how to put them on paper, so I started my ‘little black book’. Everything I wrote in that book was not spelled correct nor had proper punctuation, but it had meaning. What more can you ask for, a simple book to enjoy my creativity. This book was blank paper, with no lines so if I wanted to create a masterpiece of art it was ok.

My ‘little black book’ became my obsession. I was not judged in anyway, unless I allowed myself to be subject to judgments by sharing my thoughts on paper in this book. What I came to find was that my thoughts in this book showed a side of me unexposed to my peers, and let them see an inner piece of me. Most of all the feed back I received after sharing this side of me was positive. I was never really nervous when I allowed someone to read my work, I was just happy enough to have someone find interest in what I had to talk about. Something as simple as a picture of rain while riding the greyhound visiting some place new, had a huge meaning.

A few things I wrote about were relationships, those were the scariest things to express because I never knew how they would turn out and mostly I used pen so I couldn’t erase very easily. Honestly I don’t think I really took the time to re-read my own writings, I just wrote and forgot until someone asked about this little book I carried. So many memories are stored in that book, locked up in storage for the mean time collecting dust; just waiting for someone to open it up and read threw my past and possibly in to my future.