Writing with Purpose

Why do I write here?

I've discussed that topic before several times, but now, going into the third year of this journal, perhaps it's time to think about it again.

I've been struggling to think of a topic for this essay for several days. Finally, tonight, I was beginning to think that I should change this front page and stop doing a monthly essay. I write a journal entry every day, and that's pressure enough on myself; the essay sometimes begins to take on the feeling of a homework assignment with a looming deadline. But last month I approached the people on my mailing list with the question of whether they would miss it if I stopped doing it, and I received letters from quite a few people who said that they looked forward to the new essay each month, that they printed it out and sent it to friends or passed it around their office. So I would be disappointing them if I stopped. That's one reason.

When asked the same question, a friend told me that the monthly essays have a different flavor than the daily entries, that they're more "focused." Sometimes my daily journal entries tend to be a collection of rambling, somewhat incoherent thoughts. I think it's important that I continue to work on focus. That's another reason.

But why do the journal at all? Why write a journal, and why write an on-line journal?

I've written journals sporadically for years. The concept of journaling, of keeping a chronicle of a life, has always fascinated me. I was never very good at it, though, never very dedicated. There was never any really compelling reason to keep at it. I would write faithfully for a few days or weeks, but soon my resolve would falter. The only form of a diary that I was really successful at keeping was a dream diary, and I believe that was because I was, in a sense, "taking dictation." I don't take responsibility for my dreams, I just record them. And if I don't take responsibility for them, I don't have to figure out what they mean.

Keeping a journal is tough. There is no "right" or "wrong" way, but if you do it faithfully, and put your heart into it, even without intending to you're going to plumb your soul's depths. You're going to find out things about yourself that you didn't know, or that you don't want to admit. You're going to sit back one day and say, "Where did that come from?"

I believe that all writing is worthwhile, because there's something almost magical about putting your thoughts down in a concrete form. Even if you write something down only to throw it away, just the fact that you've written it causes it to take on more meaning than it had when it was just an unformed thought.

Writing a journal, and writing this journal, has been incredibly helpful to me, and to my growth as a writer. Most nights I sit down at the computer with no idea of what I'm going to write about. But I start, type one word and then another, and somehow the thoughts begin to flow. They aren't always particularly interesting, and they're certainly not always profound, but the act of writing gives me a feeling of accomplishment and joy.

So why not just keep a bound journal, a diary for my eyes only?

When I started this journal I had no idea that it would take the form it has, or that it would touch so many people. The fact that I'm writing for an audience, no matter how small, helps me focus my writing, makes me attempt to organize my thoughts coherently, forces me to find an interesting way to present whatever material I'm dealing with. I don't think I'd go to the trouble if I was just writing for myself, in fact, I'm sure I would have stopped long ago.

I suppose the bigger question isn't why I write the journal, but why people read it. I still don't really know the answer to that. Some people say that my journal has inspired them to start writing, and to start journals of their own. There are many people who have been with me since nearly the beginning, and start the day by reading the journal. I don't think my life is especially interesting or unusual, it's just a life. But maybe that's comforting in some way. I complained recently that I didn't feel I was really telling a "story," that my journal lacked continuity. I was told: "you have been and are telling a wonderful story that definitely has a beginning - many of them - a middle - lots of middles, and some ends but hopefully not the big one for some time to come."

So I write here. I write for myself, and I write for my friends, and I write for yet-to-be friends who stumble upon this journal by searching for information on the things they love, and thereby finding a kindred spirit. And that's the best reason of all.