Welcoming the Unexpected

Journal Collage Cover

By Shelley Burbank

One of the best parts of coming to the last page of a journal is starting the first page of a new one. No, it’s what comes before that. It’s picking out a new journal with a beautiful cover or, in my case, creating a collage cover that will inspire me over the course of filling the pages. I use no set dates. I start when I start. I write when I feel like it. I stop when I get to the last page, even if it’s a random day in February. 

Soft, leather books with wraparound ties. Pretty floral designs with gold-embossed letters spelling “Journal” and/or the year. Plain, black moleskine notebooks. Marble or other decorated composition books. I’ve tried all of these, but my preference now is to buy a spiral bound, college-ruled notebook with cardboard covers and make my own design from magazine cutouts, bits of pretty papers (even cocktail napkins), ephemera like ticket stubs or postcards, and even ribbons or buttons.  

This year I completed my last journal not long after Christmas. This wasn’t planned, but that meant I could create a new journal right at the new year, coinciding not only with my 57th birthday but also with a huge, life-changing move halfway around the world to Guam, a tiny speck in the Pacific barely 36 miles long and 12 miles wide.  

I’d been approaching this big move with a great deal of trepidation. Not only that, I’d become disenchanted with the whole publishing/marketing/PR side of my writing life, especially the social media aspect, at the same time. Here I was with some book projects started and stalled, another project planned, and feeling meh about the entire industry and unsure how to attract new readers and keep my writing career moving forward. A downward spiral seemed imminent. 

But I had a journal collage to create. 

Feeling cranky and uninspired, I gathered some magazines around me, grabbed my scissors and a gluestick, and tried to relax so that my subconscious could do its work.

At first, I couldn’t find anything I wanted to use for my collage. I cut out a few things, pushed them around into different configurations, testing the design. Nothing felt right, but then an advertisement with a clear blue-green background and butterflies caught my attention. I cut out a big chunk and laid it on the journal cover as a potential background layer. My mood lifted. That color felt like tropical beaches, far-off coastal skies, and luxury. It felt like something I could work with. Something appropriate to my adventures ahead.

Once I had the color, more images popped out for me. A dragonfly in golden brown hues. A ripped bit of cocktail napkin from a pack my friend gifted to me last summer. A turtle. A caftan. Sunglasses. 

Aha! My inner self knew I needed a different, positive approach to this move. Lean into it, my muse whispered. I cut out a starfish and a postcard and, most important, I spotted a writing prompt in Magnolia magazine reading: How can you approach each day open to the unexpected?

THIS, I thought, heart lifting. This is the attitude I needed moving forward. Openess to the new, the strange, the unfamiliar, the unexpected. 

Sure enough, not long after completing my journal collage and writing a few entries, a new story idea popped into my head, and I quickly wrote in the journal as the narrative formed. A character swam up from the depths. Who was she? What was her story? Why does she decide to go to . . . Guam?  

Everyone who said to me, “Well, this adventure should inspire some new writing,” had been right! 

I now plan on writing a series of stories set in Guam featuring my new character, a woman my age but not my circumstances (although she is a writer!) who decides to sell her home and move to that tiny speck in the Pacific. She (I don’t know her name yet. Katrina? Lindsay? Lynnie? Brooke? Marley? Tatum?) found a mysterious postcard from Guam addressed to her now-deceased mother, sent in 1973 from a man my character’s never heard of. Part of her journey will be discovering what this man mean to her mom, but really the postcard just gave her an idea of where to go when she needs a new start. 

Using long short stories, or novellas, I’ll be able to share my Guam experiences with my friends, family, and readers. How and where I’ll share them remains to be figured out, but I’m happy to be feeling creative again. In the end, I want my life to be about creativity and books and writing. 

Living your own “good life” is an art. I encourage you, my friends and readers, to be creative in your actual daily living. Find the things that make you happy and incorporate them into your life as much as possible. Be aware of the passing of your days. Make each day meaningful in little ways with your own rituals. Be deliberate in your choice of meals, music, books, collections, furnishings, and daily tasks.

How can YOU welcome the unexpected as we head into 2025?

Let Us Talk About Dreams

 I  (Donis) would like to talk about dreams today, Dear Reader.

A while back I was getting ready to conduct a journaling and memoir workshop. I pulled out some of my own old journals and went through them in hopes of finding a couple of creative examples of entries I could share with the class. Here is what I discovered: It’s horrifying to go back in time and see what was on my mind twenty or thirty years ago. Mainly because I really haven’t changed much. I was hoping I’d learned a thing or two.

The journal that interested me most was one that I kept about twenty years ago. I was going through a period of recording my dreams. 

Mar. 5, 2004 — I dreamed that Lois and Beckie and I were sitting around smoking weed…

I have always been a big dreamer. When I was very young, up through my twenties, my dreams were incredibly vivid and sometimes prescient. As the years passed, my dreams became more mundane. Now that I am no longer young, I mostly dream about something I read or just saw on television. 

October 12, 2004 - last night I dreamed I was driving John Kerry to a political rally but I got hopelessly lost. He was very patient. I kept acting like I knew what I was doing.

Like everyone else, I have the occasional weird, archetypal dream of the sort that you can find in any dream interpretation book. 

June 11, 2004 - I dreamed I went to a deli for a sandwich. I realize I’m naked, so I wrap myself in my newspaper, which turns into a gauzy blue scarf and looks very pretty. Finally I order a roast beef sandwich but realize that I can’t sit and read my paper without getting naked again…

I actually believe that many of the dreams of my youth were out-of-body experiences—floating around the house, or over the house, or visiting people in my sleep. Oh, yes, I do believe that dreams can be a portal to something. Early on in our relationship my husband and I had a long discussion about The Dream that sometimes happens when someone you love dies. This is a dream that is different from all others, and I don’t care how many logical people try to explain it away for you, you know you’ve been a party to something extraordinary.

Don said three of his five siblings reported that before they knew their mother had passed, she had come to them in a dream so real that they all swore they were awake. Maybe they were. Who am I do say otherwise?

In 1967, my own mother told me that a few months after my father died unexpectedly, he visited her in a vivid dream and assured her that he was all right.

Almost forty years later, the January that my mother died, I told Don that I had never had The Dream, even though for decades I had really wanted some contact with my father, and now I longed to know that my mother was okay. Wanting does not make it so. But that didn’t keep me from wishing. 

Finally, that same year:

Sept. 20 - I dreamed that my father was leading me through a forest. We found the nest of a tiny hummingbird, with a tiny blue egg in it. I said I wished I had a little egg like that, and my father produced one and told me to hold it in my moth. I put it between my lips and a little bird flew up and took from my lips with its bill, and I realized the egg would eventually hatch into a blue butterfly. I knew I was being given a gift of magic words.

The Dream

I (Donis) would like to talk about dreams today, Dear Reader. Have you ever had The Dream? You know the one. You wake up in the morning and realize that something extraordinary has happened.

A couple of days ago I conducted a journaling and memoir workshop. I pulled out some of my own old journals beforehand and went through them in hopes of finding a couple of creative examples of entries I could share with the class. Here is what I discovered: It’s horrifying to go back in time and see what was on my mind twenty or thirty years ago. Mainly because I really haven’t changed much. I was hoping I’d have learned a thing or two.

The journal that interested me most was one that I kept about a dozen years ago. At the time I was going through a period of recording my dreams.

   Mar. 5, 2004 — I dreamed that Lois and Beckie and I were sitting around smoking weed…

I have always been a big dreamer. When I was very young, up through my twenties, my dreams were incredibly vivid and sometimes prescient. As the years passed, my dreams became more mundane. Now that I am no longer young, I mostly dream about something I read or ate or just saw on television.

   October 12, 2004 - last night I dreamed I was driving John Kerry to a political rally but I got hopelessly lost. He was very patient. I kept acting like I knew what I was doing.

Like everyone else, I have the occasional weird, archetypal dream of the sort that you can find in any dream interpretation book.

   June 11, 2004 - I dreamed I went to a deli for a sandwich. I realize I’m naked, so I wrap myself in my newspaper, which turns into a gauzy blue scarf and looks very pretty. Finally I order a roast beef sandwich but realize that I can’t sit and read my paper without getting naked again…

I actually believe that many of the dreams of my youth were out-of-body experiences—floating around the house, or over the house, or visiting people in my sleep. Oh, yes, I do believe that dreams can be a portal to something. The other side, the past, the future, the answer to the question that had no answer. Early on in our relationship, my husband and I had a long discussion about The Dream that sometimes happens when someone you love dies. This is a dream that is different from all others, and I don’t care how many logical people try to explain it away for you, you know you’ve been a party to something extraordinary.

Don said three of his five siblings reported that before they knew their mother had passed, she had come to them in a dream so real that they all swore they were awake. In fact, she woke his brother by squeezing his toe. Maybe they were awake. Who am I do say otherwise?

My own mother told me that a few months after my father's unexpected death, he visited her in a vivid dream and assured her that he was all right.

Many, many years later, the January that my mother died, I told Don that I had never had The Dream, even though for decades I had really wanted some contact with my father, and now I longed to know that my mother was okay. Wanting does not make it so. But that didn’t keep me from wishing.

   Sept. 20, 2005 - I dreamed that my father was leading me through a forest. We found the nest of a tiny hummingbird, with a tiny blue egg in it. I said I wished I had a little egg like that, and my father produced one and told me to hold it in my mouth. I put it between my lips and a little bird flew up and took from my lips with its bill, and I realized the egg would eventually hatch into a blue butterfly. I knew I was being given a gift of magic words.