Yesterday, I ordered Breathing In, Breathing Out, a book on how to keep a writer’s journal. It seems silly, doesn’t it? You keep a journal by… keeping a journal. You know, pick it up and write in it. Simple as that. Yet I can’t seem to do it. Every time I start a journal, I don’t do anything but chronicle my days. That’s dull, and it doesn’t serve the purpose I’m after. I want to maintain the kind of literary sketchbook I can use as a well for inspiration. That goal might as well be a Grail Quest, but when I stumbled onto a review of this book, it looked like it might be the answer to my prayers. The worst that can happen is that I fail again. Who knows? Maybe it will inspire me to start posting here more often, too.