Dear Diary …
By Mark Pepper
I’m not sure about journal-writing. I don’t mean the type where you understandably record your amazing adventures in some awesome profession or when you document a trip to foreign lands; I mean the sort that is just between you and your diary about your everyday activities. You know what I mean:
“Dear Diary,
Hello. How are you? I’m fab, thanks for asking. Well! What a day! Got up early this morning because I had to wee-wee. Went back to bed. Then got up late and went to work. Boss told me off so I put printer ink in his coffee – Café Amerinkano. Did some work. I’m better than this. I could be President of the United States. Or Robert DeNiro. Obviously he would have to die first. Ate lunch. Did some more work. (Didn’t really – just pretended, tee hee.) Went home. Package finally arrived by UPS. Still waiting for the bullets. Ate dinner. Went to bed. Toilet first. (Always try and get that in the right order.) Love you, Diary … What’s that? You love me, too? Good. Nighty night.”
Yeah, scary stuff. Have a look on Amazon – where you can buy a writing journal. At the bottom it says: “People who bought this product also bought … a Kalashnikov.”
Frankly, I’m worried. Okay, I’m not really, I made that last bit up. Actually, I’ve dabbled with journal-writing once or twice myself, I’m just not sure why. I’m not some famous bod who needs to record my life story for a forthcoming autobiography (though Lord knows I tried). Neither do I need to perform a little written self-analysis because I’m screwed in the head. I’m not saying I’m not screwed in the head; I’m saying I don’t need to write it down to know it. You’d have to be pretty self-unaware to get your first inkling about your mental state from writing it down.
“Dear Diary, I drank a bottle of Vodka today whilst crying my eyes out teetering on the ledge outside my apartment which is twenty floors above the street. I’m not sure wh- …”
Holy crap, I’m depressed!
There are three types of journal-writing. The first two have already been mentioned: Numero Uno is where you simply have to record your adventures in life because they are too interesting not to; Numero Dos is where you really don’t have to record your adventures in life because they’re not adventures at all; and then there’s fascinating Numero Tres.
Numero Tres is journal-writing that is creative writing in disguise. You may not even be aware you are really creating anything, although it may be far more powerful than much of what you will find on bookstore shelves. This is the creative writing that comes from the heart, completely unfettered and unedited, free from the pressures that are exerted by accepted notions of right and wrong, good and bad. This is where a personal style can be honed; your writer’s voice. Private scribbling is thus a potentially invaluable tool for any writer, no matter what stage they are at. The fact that it is not intended to see the light of day is irrelevant. It matters because it is creative, and that is reason enough.
Yet I return again to the writing that serves as your own personal psychoanalyst, and I still have my doubts. I accept that writing your problems down can order your thoughts and feelings, but it can also cause immense frustrations. As much as you can throw light on certain problems, I’m not sure that writing of this sort brings any lasting peace. It’s like discovering the reason for the headaches you’ve been suffering for years, and finding out there’s zip-all you can do about them because it’s a malignancy deep within the brain. Knowing what the problem is does not necessarily mean you can fix it.
The danger is that you become so convinced that your writing is helping that you don’t actually take any steps to put things right. You think the simple physical act of writing will work the oracle on its own, when it doesn’t. I spoke in an earlier blog about how writing to get published can skew what’s truly important in life, and I suspect the same applies here. I love writing, but I think there’s too much importance placed on how it can change your world, personally and professionally.
I believe you should be writing for one of two reasons: firstly, because you love it; it’s your fix and it makes you happy. Secondly, because it pays the bills. Asking any more from your writing – to make you rich and famous or to cure your personal problems – is likely to lead to chronic disappointment.
Gotta go, that’s the doorbell. Oh, good: UPS.
About the Author: I have two novels published hardback and paperback by Hodder & Stoughton - The Short Cut and Man On A Murder Cycle. I live on the Murcian coast of Spain with my beautiful wife and daughter. For the past five years I have been working in corporate intelligence for some of the largest companies in the world.
Brett Legree | Dec 28, 2009 | Reply
Enjoy your Kalashnikov
PS – I tend to write my journal in style #1.
tumblemoose | Dec 28, 2009 | Reply
Mark,
When I read the first part of your post I thought, “Hey, isn’t that what Twitter is for?”
Good stuff here, and a great reminder about paying attention to the kind of writing we do.
Cheers
George
Davina | Dec 28, 2009 | Reply
Dear Diary. Was it as good for you as it was for me?
“The danger is that you become so convinced that your writing is helping that you don’t actually take any steps to put things right.” Interesting perspective; I can see the truth in that.
For me it can be a rude wake-up call, when I read back through what I’ve written and often, reading the “stuff” makes me realize it wasn’t that big of a deal after all.
Mark | Dec 28, 2009 | Reply
Davina, that is a GREAT point you make. I heard the advice once that the best thing to do if you’re worried about stuff is to write it all down and put it in a sealed envelope. A month later you come back to it and read it all. Chances are that the worst-case scenario has not happened; in fact, nothing bad has happened and all those worries of a month ago seem pretty tame because they have now been replaced with a new set of worries. So you write them all down and put them in a sealed envelope for another month. When you open that envelope you realise the same thing has happened again, i.e. nothing. So you write down your new worries …
After a few months of this you just have to accept that life is full of worries, and most are pointless. The best way to deal with worry is to take action. Worry is just a prolonged state of being in fear. If I was faced with a hungry Grizzly, I wouldn’t start to worry and look for my diary, I’d shoot the bloody thing. See, that Kalashnikov came in handy, Brett.
George, I have heard wondrous mutterings of this Twitter thing of which you speak. Pray, tell me more.
Brett Legree | Dec 30, 2009 | Reply
Mark,
A variation of the sealed envelope thing, I know someone who took a really bad experience, wrote it down and then buried it out in the bush (near the grizzlies). It worked really well for her, apparently.
I think that would work well for me, though my “Viking tendencies” would lead me to burn it instead…
Worrying about things accomplishes nothing, and dwelling on what has come and gone does about the same thing – nothing. We can only act on the now (and carefully navigate to a desired future path).
Leah | Jan 13, 2010 | Reply
Mark,
I personally have found journaling to be very a powerful resource in finding my creating flow. There is no pressure to create a masterpiece and it can be as heavy or lighthearted as you want it to be – nothing has to make sense. This is a selling point for numbskulls like myself. AS to the scattered direction and lack of structure that poses a problem, I encourage you to pick up “Drawing From Life – The Journal As Art” (http://www.amazon.com/Drawing-Life-Journal-as-Art/dp/1568984456) for some inspiration into what it could be.
Enjoy and thanks for sharing your great writing!