Why I Never Kept a Journal
You would think that with all of the medical adventures and misadventures in my life and with all of the countless hours spent in hospitals, waiting rooms and dialysis centers, and with all of the drama that ensued following my diagnosis and daily existence, I would have had the wherewithal to keep a journal.
Well, I did not. I did not keep one for the same reason I hesitated to start a blog. I am no good at keeping up with things. In fact, sometimes I completely forget I have a blog. I forget that I haven’t written a thing in days. And it is only when I see it again that I realize how long it has been. Crazy me!
Part of the reason for me starting a blog was to give myself the time and space to exercise my writing skills. It was meant to be a place where I could freely express my thoughts and feelings about me and about the world around me. From this I learned that my love for writing remains as powerful as ever. From it I learned that I could still recapture the ease and flow of the words that spill from me in ribbons of sentences. From it I know that I write because it makes me who I am.
In the little bit of time that I have forgotten about my dear, little blog all sorts of things have occurred. Some silly and some serious, but all worth discussing…had I given any of them the time of day. Now it just seems pointless to rehash what’s been hashed all over the place. Instead I want to try to find out what makes me the kind of bubble-headed procrastinator that I have always been.
A lot of what goes on in my head in a 24-hour period could ideally become a nicely written book somewhere. If only…
If only I could concentrate long enough to compile all the thoughts into coherent, grammatically correct double-spaced paragraphs that are nicely printed on 8 ½ by 11-inch paper. Alas, it is just this kind of lackluster attention that gets me into these writing dry spells. It becomes a combination of my inability to come up with a satisfactory ending to all my tales and my overwhelming and paralyzing fear of the monumental task of going from idea to published book.
Call me crazy…or is that call me lazy? Well, call me crazy, but I think that I might just have what it takes to get that book deal, but I also might not have the proverbial balls to find out if I do or don’t have what it takes. And that very simple fact scares the holy bee jeezers out of me! Some days I want to scream at the top of my lungs – to myself – what is the matter with you? Use the gifts the good Lord gave you and run as fast as you can, or die trying. Just don’t let it all slip away into a nothingness you won’t be able to come back from. And even as I tell myself this and even as I get a second (third, fourth, fifth…I have lost count) wind of determination, the flame burns out before the fingers touch the keyboard. Sadness ensues.
Poor little writer girl!
Poor writing girl who has all of these words in her head and makes up all the pretty stories. What a sad writer who creates new worlds and makes them come to life on paper. Poor little writer with her countless cast of character who wreak havoc all over her brain cells, mocking her very existence for its total lack of confidence and fearlessness. Poor nutty girl who knows deep down that better things await in the not-too-distant future, but who holds herself back to avoid getting hurt.
I digress.
Bottom line in all I say here comes down to simple realities. I want to write for a living. I don’t want to punch a clock, or sit at a desk (not my own). I don’t want to answer to a boss, other than God, of course. I don’t want to work in a cubicle, or have to deal with petty office bullshit. I don’t want to work for vindictive women, or work with catty ones. I don’t want the constraints imposed on me from the 9-to-5, Monday through Friday way of life. I want to break free of these chains. I have never felt anything but invaded by them and never felt anything other than foreign to them. Within the chains I wilt like a new spring blossom on the first hot day of summer. There has got to be something more for me than this.
So it is true that I never kept a journal. I have started some here and there along the years of my life, and as a young girl I even kept a diary…for about a month. Yet even then I couldn’t concentrate long enough to have compiled a decent number of stories from my life to look back upon with a bit of nostalgia. It is too bad, too, because something tells me that if I had done that, I would have had a damn good start, middle and end to my story. At least I hope I would…
Find the nerve and find the words to make it all happen. It’s what I have to do. I know and everyone who knows me knows it, as well. What’s it going to take? I wish I had that answer!
Comments
In that case… you’re lucky I found this because girl, I have some GREAT news for you! ☺ You don’t have to concentrate long enough for all that stuff. You *only* have to concentrate long enough to write a sentence. That’s it! Just one sentence. Or a paragraph. Or a run-on idea. Or a few bullet points. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. Then, if you do that little itty bit here, a little itty bit more there, a new idea here, a character sheet there, a title brainstorm, a new scene, a few more lines… well before you know it, you’re on your way to writing an actual book. Forget grammar, format, and 8 ½ by 11 paper!
And here’s some more good news for you, which I won’t even charge you for. ☺ There is no such task as going from idea to published book. That is an achievement, a dream, a goal, a journey with a start and end, but not a task. That journey is composed of thousands of tasks, like, fleshing out your idea. And developing characters. And giving them backstories and goals and obstacles. And honing your voice. And writing. A lot. And erasing a lot. And getting critiques. And revising, revising, revising. And writing a query letter. And submitting it to the agent list you’ve crafted and researched. And waiting. And getting an agent. And then doing more revisions. Then going out on submission. And then about 500 more steps before the end of that journey where you see your book on the shelves.
Sooooo… don’t think about publishing a book. Think about writing a sentence. That’s it. Just one sentence. You wrote a whole mess of them just in this blog entry, so surely you can write one little sentence on your work in progress, right? Right!
Give yourself permission to just do one thing. And then keep giving yourself that permission. And eventually you’ll find your stride and YOU WILL DO IT. I say all of this with 100% unfailing confidence that I KNOW I’m right. Why? Because I have journal entries JUST LIKE THIS all over my computer and hard copy journals. I was there, not that long ago. And in 2006, I finally made the decision to do it. And the universe conspired to help me, which is why after 20+ years of just *thinking* about writing, once I actually decided to sit down and write my book, and finish it, everything else happened at light speed, and now I’m counting down to June 1.
You can do this. Please try! Please! One sentence!
XXOO
Your fellow writer friend who believes in you and knows you can do it! ☺