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My Diary For 2023

Every year I write a blog post about which diary system or set up I am going to use for the following twelve months. In recent years, I have moved away from a Filofax (I trialled something earlier this year - more of that in a minute) and fallen in love with the Hobonichi printed diaries. For the last two years I have used a Hobonichi Weeks as my personal planner and I won't be deviating from that this year. I have tried a Hobonichi Techo A6 a couple of times but have never managed to feel comfortable with it size-wise.  I have always lusted after the Hobonichi Cousin A5 as a main work planner so, this year, I have bitten the bullet at launch time and invested in my very first one. Hobonichi Weeks The Hobonichi Weeks is a slim diary with a yearly, monthly and weekly layout. The main section is a "week to view with notes" and there are an additional 70 note pages at the back. This year (2022) I used the "Mega" version which comes with almost three times as m

Poetry In Motion

I recently read a poem by fellow blogger and friend, Rachel and, whilst I recognised quality writing, I have to admit that I've never understood the concept of poetry.  This is probably because my only experience of poetry is the very basic 8/6/8/6 rhyming poetry that we read and learnt by repetition at school and I found that quite boring.  And it is.

Rachel has a different style of writing poetry - it's very short piece of  intense writing and it's not really the staccato way in which she writes that draws you in but the subject matter and her descriptive tone in just a few lines of words.

The only thing I have to compare this to is motorbikes.  An unusual analogy, you might think, but let me explain...

My whole family is motorbike-mad: my dad, my sister, my husband and my children.  I, on the other hand, have never ridden a motorbike in my life (apart from riding pillion).  Because I have never ridden one, I do not know how to control it.  I can drive a car therefore have never had the inclination to get from A to B without a metal shell protecting my body.  I have no idea how to change gear on a motorbike, how to hold the accelerator on, nor even how to "lean into a corner" *imagines all motorbike riders cringing*, therefore I fear motorbikes and their appeal.    

It's the same with poetry.  My lack of understanding is my fear.  I can admire it and I can spot good writing when I see it but I definitely cannot write it. Does this make me ignorant and  how do I solve this?  Do I take the bull by the horns and throw myself in a the deep end, churning out crap that no-one wants to read?  Do I read more and more and try and emulate the poetry styles that I enjoy?  Or do I leave it to the experts? 

For the time being, I think I'll stick to the third option.