For more than half a century my journals have been members of my family. Like too many others, my relationship with my family ended when I was young, 16.  

   When the sense of safety rooted in the sanctuary of family is taken away, you find other sanctuaries. The loss of family in any form adds a patina of perpetual danger to your life, at least it added one to mine. So, from age 16 to now, my notebooks, or journals as I’ve called them of late, have been family.

   I can be me on the pages, freely and openly, no holds barred. I can say and do anything I want, and no one can stop me. I am safe on the page.

   I have two journals these days. One is written in longhand, the other is one I type on my computer. I do not experience the familial connection with this journal. Only the longhand journal.

   For me, there is a deeper bond between me and language and writing when it is my hand is writing the words.