Nothing is Ever Wasted in Writing

Or, why I'm happily throwing out old journals

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This is not a photo of my journals, but it could have been. They looked a lot like this. Photo by Julia Joppien on Unsplash

Yes, I really am throwing out old journals

Did the above sentence make you gasp?

It does for most writers, I find. The thought of sending all their lovely, delicate words to the junk heap or recycling bin is enough to make most of us run screaming for the bottle of whiskey.

When I announced this in my Artist’s Way class, most of the writers on the zoom said they didn’t think they could do it. I didn’t either, for years. Which is why I amassed tubs full of them. And when I say tubs, I mean tubs. The photo above would represent a mere fraction of them. Seriously—I’ve been keeping journals off and on since I was a kid. (Somewhere I have the first journal I ever kept, one of those locking diaries they give to kids. If I ever find that one, I’ll hang on to it.)

But many of the journals had been in storage for years. I had never, ever been able to even entertain the idea that I could get rid of them. And I also had never looked at them. I often indicated something worth saving with a post-it note, and told myself I’d go back and transfer it somewhere for safekeeping. Hahahaha. That rarely happened. The excitement of starting a new journal overrode any organizing efforts.

Here are the reasons why

—Most of the journals are borderline illegible. If I really, really, really, wanted to spend hours deciphering them, I could. But I don’t think it’s worth it. And so what’s the point of hoarding them?

—Some of them are just notes. Bullet journal-ish. To-do lists with items crossed out, etc., notes from classes I’ve long forgotten, scrawled scribbles that mean nothing. DO NOT NEED. Automatic recycle. Why is it so hard to admit this?

—Much of it is processing. Like, 99% of it. Processing emotions. Processing story ideas. Processing things that happened in a seriously boring way. No need for this, either. It’s actually kind of painful to see how I’ve processed the same damn things over and over again.

—They are boring! I’m terrible at relating details of things that happened. I’m good at details in my fiction! But not so good in my journals. Because: I get bored relating things that have already happened. Thus, they are boring.

—There might be things that happened that I’d prefer not come to light, say when my children are going through my papers after my death. Might. Maybe. Not for sure. Not taking any chances.

The boost I needed

So as I was thinking about it, had dipped a ton into the process, my friend Reta piped up in the Artist’s Way class and allowed as how she shredded her journals every six months, when she changes countries. She said that she uses her journals for processing, like I do, and sometimes in the moment, that processing might include writing down intense emotions. Which she does not want a loved one to happen upon and take the wrong way.

I can’t tell you what a weight lifted from my shoulders when I heard this. Because, that’s exactly me, too. From that moment on, my journals have been heaved out the door.

And so I’ve spent a lot of time heaving them recently. It’s fun to glance through them (briefly) and get a quick hit of what I was doing in, say, March 2017. But for the most part the diaries don’t give up much in the way of particularly interesting info. I mean, do I really need to remember that I got up regularly at 7 AM in 2003?

Going forward

You might think that all this heave-ho-ing has stifled my enthusiasm for journaling, You’ll never dissuade me from my journaling habit. Years ago, I read an interview with the actress Annette Bening. When she was asked what was the one thing she would need if marooned on a desert island, she answered her journal and a pen. (Okay, two things.) I’ve always remembered that, because that’s me, too. I have to be able to write. I process the world through my journal writing. Without it, I am lost.

But here’s one change I’m making. I swear to you, I’m going to make a huge effort to mine the journals once I’m done with them, to go back through promptly and transfer the info I deem important. Actually, I’ve gotten better at doing this as I go along and that’s an enormous satisfaction. (For all my notes, I use the Craft app. I looked and looked for a note-taking app that suits my needs and had all but given up finding one when I happened upon Craft. I love it.)

And I’m still a huge proselytizer for you to journal, too. I think it’s imperative for writers to have a safe space to process and write. My journal is my best friend, always there for me, never judging, just there, ready to take in everything, good and bad.

And here is the most important thing

All of what I’ve written is part of me now. I’m at an age where I want to be who I am now, not who I was twenty years ago. (Thanks to my most wonderful friend Patty Bechtold for helping me to figure this out.)

Now that I’m letting go of old, half-finished stories, thoughts, ideas, I feel that I have much more room for the stories I want to tell now. And instead of clinging to all the old ideas, I’m letting new ones come in. I suddenly have more energy to finish the projects that are truly important to me.

In case you need encouragement

And so if you’ve been considering ditching your old diaries, I say go for it. I hereby grant you permission to do it in any way that feels right to you. Some people have ceremonial fires. (I’ve got way too many for that, I’d be ceremonialing every day for a month.) Some people take dedicated time and go through each journal, noting things, probably in a new journal, hahaha. I don’t have time for that. Or at least I didn’t want to take the time. I’m sure there are numerous other ideas for dealing with them. And yes there are:

—Reddit for the win, of course. This thread has a lot of ideas, but don’t let the naysayers guilt you out!

—Here’s something mentioned on Reddit that looks intriguing, but alas it’s in the UK.

—Writer’s Digest weighs in. Spoiler alert: they say to remember journals are a responsibility. As in, if you don’t deal with them, somebody, some time will have to.

—And here’s someone like me, who just ditched them all.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Love you guys. Leave a comment and tell me what you think! Am I crazy? Or very, very, sane?