Black sketch journal

Almost a year ago, I discovered a beautiful black hard covered sketch journal at SCRAP, which is essentially a goodwill of art supplies.  It seemed to emit a soft white glow, whispering my name, telling me of the endless possibilities this sketch journal possessed.  I picked it up and lovingly put it in our basket among the pile of junky art odds and ends needed for the kid’s duct tape art projects. I smiled down at it, excited.

Since it came home with us, I have shuffled it from one shelf to another. Every few months, I pick it up, open its pages, overwhelmed by its blankness. This journal deserves beauty and color. It deserves talent. I am not worthy of what it has to offer. My handwriting is sloppy. My spelling is wrong. My sketches are lacking. I am afraid to disappoint the journal.

So it sits on my shelf. Waiting.