The first rule of diary keeping is to throw away any booklet that is rules with equal spaces for every day, because not every day is worthy of the space allotted on it, and some are worth a great deal more. Keep your diary in a blank notebook, or type it, as I have done for the past 20 years, on loose sheets of paper to file in a ring binder.

    The second rule is not to write your diary every day, but wait until something interesting happens. You should write only when you wish to, which means when you want to show off a bit, grouse a bit, or drain away a disappointment.

    It is the recipient of your confidences, pledged to secrecy. So rule three is to lock it up, or write it in Swahili.

    Write it in the morning, because sleep irons out the day's wrinkles. And do not mention the weather, minor illnesses, or times of trains. The diary of King George V contained this entry: "It rained today, harder than yesterday: I hope it will not rain tomorrow." This is not what diaries are for. Their purpose is slowly to create a self-portrait, based on your activities, hopes, fears and relationships.

    A diary should not be too contrived. It is not a work of literature. But it muse be observant and, within limits, truthful.

    Unconsciously, all diarists write for posterity; otherwise a diary is nothing but self-indulgence. This brings me to my next rule. Train yourself to notice things that most of us take for granted, such as other people's mannerisms, dress, speech, rooms, books, gardens, as indicative of their characters this is what will interest posterity.

    And remember conversations. Read Boswell's diaries, or Fanny Burney's, to see how they invite you into the very presence of Dr johnson or George III. It is a matter of observation, and storing what you observe in your memory.

    Finally, remember that Pepys and Boswell, who must have foreseen the ridicule to which they would be exposed by the publication of some passages in their journals, did not destroy or mutilate them before they died. To do so would have been an act of self immolation. So do not destroy yours.

Thanks Nigel Nicolson

April 1, 33 A.D.

    This afternoon while I was walking to the market, I heard a big group of people shouting, “Kill him! Kill him!” So, I ran to see what was happening. Then I saw a lot of people looking at something. I tried to go in the group and see what was they're looking at. I managed to make my way to the front of the crowd. I saw a man carrying a big heavy wooden cross on his back. I asked someone who stood next to me “Who is this man?” The man told me that the man with the cross was Jesus, the head of the Jews
    The big wooden cross was very heavy and Jesus kept on dropping to the ground. I wanted to help him but the Roman solider pushed me away. I looked at his face and saw a lot of blood coming down from his head. I was very surprised how sad he looked. He was wearing a crown of sharp thorns.
    In a few minutes he pass away from me. Many people were following him. Some were shouting, some were crying.
    I knew what they were going to do to him. I didn't want to see this. So, I went back to the market and tried to forget this story. But in my mind I cannot forget how his face looked like. I think I will never forget his face.

--Lady sL

 

  Antoinette Midis from Laura's MIDI Heave