I found this awesome JEDI JOURNAL at a flea market. Thought I’d share some scans of its glory.
On some of the pages, the author practiced his cursive signature. So I looked up his name, found a match, and this happened:
Did you ask him if he still goes by “Chubby”?
Man. I recently found old journals of myself from about that same age, and yes – stuff like that is golden. Reading back, you can almost remember what it felt like to be, like, seven – what was important to you, what you were thinking when you were writing things like “I wos two years wen I saw a ice crem”… Maybe as a writer especially, it can be awesome to reconnect with your seven-year-old self; writing kids can be really hard, and every little bit helps.
Poo on you.