I cannot distract myself from my daily reading of Virginia Woolf‘s A Writer’s Diary – “Diario di una Scrittrice” in Italian translation published by minimum fax.
I keep wondering why I haven’t started reading this book earlier, the day I bought it, because it would have helped me through my ups and downs in writing.
I can see a lot of myself into V. Woolf’s daily routine, feelings and nervous breakdowns.
Perhaps the ‘only’ difference (not so slight one) is that I’m not bipolar: I’m highly sensitive and I have a religious faith that helps me see the light at the end of the dark tunnel of my mental issues.
Other similarities concern the regular keeping of a writing journal: what is this blog but a journal for my writing and reading activities? What was the Writer’s Diary for Virginia Woolf? Just the same.
There are no rules here, no rules there; there is no need to run after a certain style and grasp the right word to splat on paper (or videoscreen). Only the desperate need to put order in our brains, in our imaginary worlds, to control our emotions and our writing muses.
Yes, that is what glues my mind and soul to A Writer’s Diary: the specular image it returns to my eyes.
