Dear Diary

One of the first things anyone tells you about writing is that you have to do it regularly. Whether you are inspired or not, whether you feel like a million bucks or like something scraped off the bottom of your shoe, whether you are excited or depressed, happy or sad, pressed for time or lolling about eating bonbons--you've got to write. Often. Preferably every day.

And so...the diary. I've got to tell you that I love paper. I love notebooks. I love pens. I love my ancient Royal typewriter. And I love my laptop and iPad and iPhone. More than Imelda Marcos loved shoes; more than Scrooge McDuck loves money. But for all the soft leather notebooks and all the beautiful pens and all the lovely efficient machines, I cannot seem to muster up the discipline to write every day.  It's just not in me.

But the world has come to rescue me in the form of the social media. I (essentially) now keep a diary. It's called "Facebook". Every day (almost), I find something to say, or some tidbit of information comes my way that I find interesting enough to remark upon. Even if all I do is post a sarcastic remark, or a comment on my surroundings, or the tenor of my day...it is writing.  If I am blocked, I can distract myself with (God forgive me) Solitaire, or an email message. But more often than not, whatever I write in those status updates leads the way into something else, with any luck, of greater import.

I am one who saves everything--every scrap of writing, every inkling of an idea, every likable phrase that passes through my Swiss-cheese memory. I write them all down, usually as part of a post. Going back and reading what I've written gets me going again. Sometimes I cringe at what I've put out there. Sometimes I smile. And sometimes (don't tell anyone) I quietly delete posts in the hope that no one actually read them.

So say what you will about Facebook. It's a time-eating, narcissistic, pointless activity. Yup. For some. But for me, it's a writing tool. It's inspiration. It's my diary.