My love-letter to reading and writing

I created this journal with the aspiration of articulating my daydreams, making sense of of my nonsensical thoughts, and to share as many words with as many people as I possibly can. I’ve always loved words, and I’ve always found myself falling down dream-like literary rabbit holes; and for as long as I can possibly remember, my main ambition in my life has been to take other people down such rabbit holes with me.

I think reading and writing are two beautifully evocative, hand-in-hand practices. It is rather impossible -and while Lewis Carroll tells us that that we can do six impossible things before breakfast, writing without reading is most definitely not one of them- for the two to not coexist. They are inextricably interlinked, and are magnificently tied together at their innermost cores. They rely on the existence of each other to function, and are at a standstill without the other.

I have found that there is poetry residing in every corner of my life. In every chapter I have closed, everything I’ve left unfinished, there is something living, breathing and hopelessly beautiful in it’s ashes. Joan Didion articulates this feeling perfectly in The White Album. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

While I most certainly do tell myself stories in order to live, these stories cannot live without readers. It’s a quid pro quo economy; and readers and writers are ultimately cut from the same cloth as each other.

In short: My writing, odds-and-ends of words and fragments of tales and stories are now not only mine, but for others, and such are yours. And what a beautiful thing it is, to be able to do so.

Lots of love, bookmarks and dictionaries for hard-to-decipher words,

Emmanuelle