Does it matter if we realize when we inspire another writer? Anais Nin was my inspiration, not just because of the journals, but because she bought a press when she wanted to publish her work. The Bronte sisters paid what amounted to almost a years' worth of income to publish a volume of poetry before getting their novels accepted by a publishing house. As women writers, acting as if our work is valuable before we get approval from an outside source is imperative. If if weren't for Ann, I might not have written such a vivid memoir as Daughter of Corn. Even more important, I wouldn't have gone through such a profound healing process, as when I reread my journals in order to write my book.
During a long, blustery winter I seized my past and cried my way through unexpected memories which had been buried under my stoic self.
Isn't it interesting that by giving the gift of journal writing to ourselves, by allowing private thoughts and riveting emotions to be penned onto the page, that this act is so alive it can produce offspring of many sorts? We should not be afraid of this kind of doing. Many women I know let the internal, patriarchal critic rise up before they can pick up a pen. Tell me, who is your inspiration? Who are the grandmothers of your literary heart? Listen to them, for we are all in need of your inspired words.
Photo Collage, Corinne J. Stanley copyright 2010
Photo Collage, Corinne J. Stanley copyright 2010
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