I just finished reading my 50th book of the year, Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True by Elizabeth Berg, the only book I’ve read on writing that made me feel seen. It was recommended by one of the presenters at Write on the Sound, our local writers’ conference, which just celebrated its 39th year. 

October’s event was my second year attending. Both Saturday and Sunday felt perfectly fall—crisp mornings turning to bright sunshine, the air laced with sea salt and cinnamon. I walked from home or rode my bike to the conference at Frances Anderson Center, past the farmers’ market and soccer games. I even popped out during breaks to watch my kids play. It was all very Gilmore Girls, very wholesome. 

Naturally, I took notes throughout the event. I placed library holds. One of those holds was for Escaping. When the book came in a few weeks later, I plopped it on my To Be Read pile, telling myself I’d get to it when I got to it. 

I opened the book after its first renewal, ever reluctant to read books on writing, and was transfixed immediately. So few books hold that kind of power and connection for me, so when I don’t want to put them down, my heart literally races from the excitement of the light finally hitting just right. 

Each chapter in Escaping concludes with a short homework assignment. In the first chapter, we were encouraged to go out and buy the most beautiful notebook we could find, for future assignments, and for collecting dreams and inspirations. 

Forever a curve-setting student, I decided to take the assignment a step further and include my kids. After I picked them up from school a few weeks ago, we set off on a mission to TJ Maxx, my favorite place to source cute paper products at scale. Between the three of us, we spent $68 on eight notebooks; two fluffy, hot pink diaries with smiling cupcakes on the covers; seven pens; a slightly-smushed-but-totally-salvagable pack of groovy thank you cards; and a set of pink folders decorated with red cowgirl boots. We all now own a brightly-covered Magic Journal, and my two kids (ages 7 and 5) walked out of those sliding glass doors wide-eyed and giddy over their fluffy pink diaries. 

In the car home, we discussed the rules of diaries, the logistics of key-hiding and the use cases for each type of notebook. Diaries are just for them. What they create in their Magic Journals can be shared — if they choose to share it. They are all for getting thoughts out of our heads. I also told them about my first diary, which had kittens on the cover and was part of a second-grade book order. I’m sure I still have it somewhere. 

That evening, we all sat silently in our living room—doodling, dreaming, thinking, creating, smiling. 

What I hope to ingrain in my kids is an inspired life, a predilection toward noticing and a bravery to create. It took me 37 years to give a little piece of my art to the world, to decide I wanted to be brave enough to share my heart, to believe it was worthy. I genuinely do not care what my kids choose to do with their creations. I intend to teach them all the ways they can make art by letting them into my world, by bringing them along as I tap back into my creative abandon—the girl who loves hot pink manicures, making vision boards with magazine clippings, doodling flowers, sending snail mail, and dotting “i”s with the occasional heart just because. I have Elizabeth Berg and Write on the Sound to thank for getting me closer. 

I wrote the first draft of this column in my new Hello Kitty Magic Journal — longhand and with a silver, bow-topped pen. I’ve filled the journal’s pages with Stüssy signs, sparkly rainbow stickers, half-written poems, drawings of hummingbirds and random thoughts. Maybe the beginning of the next great American novel is already inside. 

But, that’s not really the point, is it?

— By Whitney Popa

Whitney Popa is a writer, editor, and consultant for little companies with big dreams. A born communicator, she connects people through stories. She believes strongly in many things, including expensive sweat suits, offroad vehicles, good books and bad TV. With her two cats, two kids, and one husband, Whitney splits her time between Edmonds and Waterville, WA.