It's a work in progress...

Recently I read an essay written by a woman who wrote about what it was like for her to be young in a city she had recently moved to. It was like reading a journal entry that spanned eight years but was summed up in roughly three thousand words. It made me think of my own journal writing and consider writing something similar to her own in the sense of trying to capture what being a young person has meant for me these past years. Which made me wonder whether this lady writer had just sat down and tried to sum it up there and then, in front of her typewriter? Or, had she read over old journals to try and renew her memory of situations and feelings worthy of been written in her brief however informative piece of writing. Then I came to realise not matter how she went about it, that is not the point at all. The fact that she was able to express herself in such a way was the key to writing a good even brilliant piece. Plus, our writing would be different because hers was a reflection rather than a a sequence of events unfolding as she wrote. I know I want to write a reflection as well, however, to run with her idea of been a young person living in a large city I thought well this is something that is unfolding around me, even at this moment as I write this. So, in a sense our writing shall be similar although different. It’s a piece that many have argued over who relates to it. While she was a young, middle-class, white women I still feel that there are aspects to her thoughts and feelings she describes that many people, not just young, middle class white women can relate to. In recent times I’ve largely strayed away from noting what takes place in my life on a daily basis or even over the weekends. Which is something I wish I hadn’t, so, starting from now I’m going to make a valid attempt to rectify this.