Journals as Mindfulness
Here I will speak in praise of journals. I mean by the term any sort of personal, not necessarily public, writing. Letters as well, that is. I believe everyone should keep some sort of journal.
When I was maybe twelve I kept a Dear Diary sort of thing for a while. I know I wrote self-consciously, felt crammed in the idea of producing something. This journal did not last but I note the ambition. I did not at the time otherwise write except for schoolwork.
Years later, established as a writer (in my mind, at least), I started a diurnal sort of journal. I wrote of everyday events. I wanted to keep triviality out of my poetry. Modest things like the weather or victories by the Boston Red Sox found their way into my poetry. There is nothing that poetry cannot embrace but I found that my excitements lured exaggeration or imbalance. By exhaling into a journal, I thought I kept nerve storms and weather reports from clogging my poetry.
By now, I had a voice but didn’t try for style. I just laid out what had gone on, large or small. I would read this journal now and then but without urgency. The point was to release.
After some twenty years, I started a second journal. I wanted a place where I could ruminate on my reading. This immediately expanded to television shows, movies, music, and just anything that made its notice to me. Again, I didn’t write formally or for style, but just to place the thoughts down. I used dashes a lot, rather than regular punctuation, because I didn’t want to worry about sentence structure.
I no longer keep a journal, I guess because I am more comfortable in the outward mode. I feel more capable in my expression, after all these years of trying. I still love the journal as format.
Journals are great because they are undefined. You aren’t beholden to punctuation or syntax rules. I used tons of abbreviations so that I could write faster, to the point that other readers would need translation. You can add drawings and doodles, even if you are not an “artist”.
In high school I enjoyed the prolific journals of Anaïs Nin. To be honest, I don’t remember them now except the pleasure of them. I’m sure they made an impress. Thoreau’s journals are endlessly delicious. Emerson, suggested keeping a journal to the young Thoreau, and for the rest of his life, Thoreau did. At first he wrote inklings that found their way into his books and essays. Later, Thoreau's journal became the work itself.
I don't mean to press just literary types on you. Published etters and journals of all sorts of people exist and will redeem your interest. This all is writing where the writer isn’t trying to be a writer. One sees the person's interest and curiosity. Unexpected exposure occurs. I don’t mean so much personal revelations, but that the journal allows trains of thought to ramble.
Place letters in the journal category—writing for very small, or no, audience. John Keats’ journal-like letters present serious heft. Charles Olson’s correspondence, especially with Robert Creeley and Cid Corman, undeniably adds to his poetry. Emily Dickinson was strange and thoughtful.
So here’s the thing. Allow yourself the space. Whatever you do, you can play with the thoughts. You need not qualify yourself as a writer, just put pen to paper, or electrons to hard drive.
Starting a journal may feel uncomfortable. Believe that no one will read it, and relax. Be mindful of the thought itself, not the style. You can practice style but don’t feel you must deliver.
We are all stuck with words. To make our thoughts visible is a pure act. You see these words you’ve laid down and the process extends. You need not call yourself writer or journalista. You are just accepting an invitation to ramble in your mind. Exult, complain, ponder, whinge: it is all release. Write now and think later.