I remember the red notebook. It was my first writing journal. It was an old spiral notebook. There is even a chance that I could find it buried in some of the treasures from my past that I have held onto. I can only imagine the clarity and purity of the middle school words untainted by realities of life. It was the beginning of my intimate relationship with writing. Yesterday, we started the Writing Project at MRH, and it was like meeting an old friend. Writing was pushed back into the things that bring me joy. Though the venom of words has tamed from my time of writing in college, there is now a greater joy from the internal reaction that I can get instead of the external reaction that I relied upon to drive my writing forward. Welcome back, and I hope this can last.