Dear Diary (Episode #3)

*This is the third in a series on productive, actionable, and inspirational journaling. To read the second post in the series, click here! 

Dear Writer, 

Welcome back! I'm a bit under-the-weather as I write this, so today's post is going to be brief (but I'll feel better having written it -- I've said it before and I'll say it again, writing almost always makes me feel better, more like myself.) 

It's that 'almost' word that I'm tackling with this series on Productive Journal Writing. MOST of the time, my writing practice makes me feel pretty good. I don't believe there are any 'wasted words' -- even if you end up scrapping that short story, or shredding that poem and letting it loose on the evening wind, you've exercised your writing muscle, and that's a very good thing. (To learn more about a project I've developed that encourages easy, daily writing, click here.) 

Sometimes, though, we can begin to wonder -- why am I even writing? (Anyone reading this who's read George Orwell's 1984 knows just how desperate writing to the void can get.) 

This question crops up most often when it comes to journal writing, reflective writing, naval-gazing on the page. If we're not creating something we could publish, then why write at all? 

I say, that's B.S. ALL writing is valuable, even if it never greets the light of day (or the inside of the New Yorker editorial offices). 

Writing is a muscle (I said it above, I'll say it again.) It's a muscle that only stays viable, stays strong, if we make it do some daily work. 

I don't wear a bathing suit every day of the year (I actually much prefer sweatpants), but that doesn't mean that I only stretch my running legs two days before swimsuit season. I want my legs to be strong year round because they serve me, they help me do things that make me feel good. 

The same goes for writing. If we take care of it, if we let it out to roam and breath in some fresh ink, it's going to show up for us later on in ways we can't yet imagine. 

You'll be walking down the street and BOOM, the entire plot for that final chapter of that novel you've never finished will come to you in one clear, graceful swoop, like a beloved friend sidling up to you and saying hello. 

If we work for our writing, our writing will work for us. 

This is where journaling can come in very handy. 

Journaling, in a blank book that no one will ever see, is a wide open prairie. Self-criticism, judgement, and perfectionism -- those wild beasts who creep through the forests of our minds -- HATE the open prairie. Too much blue sky there, too much soft wind, not enough places to hide, waiting to pounce (did I mention I was under the weather? The illness-bred metaphors are coming out). 

The point is this: Consider your journal your weekly trips to the gym. Your novel? Your short stories? Your blog posts, poetry, and articles? Those are your registered-for races. Those are your weekend outings, when your aim is 10 miles. The journal is the training, and the training is the way we grow strong. 

Here's a journal writing task to try on for size: 

Each morning, open up your journal to a clean page, and write -- without stopping -- for 10 to 20 minutes. Write about anything you want. Fiction, non-fiction, an angry letter to the yahoo who cut you off in traffic yesterday -- anything.

Just write. Just flex that muscle. That's it. And that's everything. 

Thanks for reading, as always. 

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