In this time of the pandemic-related trauma, I’ve found it useful to frame keeping a diary as a creative writing practice. This goes against what I’ve always told my students, that as serious practitioners of creative writing, we are creating for an audience, not just logging diary entries for ourselves. As soon as you enter the creative writing classroom or want to begin publishing, I tell them, a solitary enterprise turns into an interpersonal pursuit. It’s my justification for revision and a lot of the other work we do in class.
We are in extraordinary times, however, and that’s why I’m thinking about diaries. What if writing for yourself is the only thing that allows you to continue to create work for an audience?
The pandemic has rendered many of the writers I know unable to write much, period. Some of my friends can’t even bring themselves to read. Those of us who used to consume literature voraciously, a vocational study and an enjoyable pastime, are now picking away at a single book for weeks. I have friends who have not opened their writing notebooks in months, maybe since March.
There are good reasons for this. Many people, of course, are experiencing an extreme version of their regular caretaking responsibilities piled on top of job loss, grieving, and stress from every one of life’s arenas. Some writers have fallen ill themselves, but are trying to write as they battle the aftermath of a virus that includes brain fog, low energy, and extreme fatigue.
How do we write in, about, and of this new world?
I’d like to propose keeping a diary as a malleable creative writing practice well suited to this time of collective stress. The word “diary” is from the Latin root “dies,” meaning “daily,” but a diary doesn’t necessarily have to be kept every day. There are no length requirements for diary entries (you can log a few words, a single sentence, or much more), and because a private diary writing practice isn’t linked to the pressure to publish, there is not the same sense that I’m failing if I miss some days or don’t unearth a marvelous revelation that would be impressive to readers.
I have been keeping a diary on and off, but often on a daily basis, since March. Frequently, I haven’t written about anything that seems significant. I’ve written about what I’ve cooked, the freelance and teaching tasks I’ve completed, and what my partner and I saw on our walks with our dog. And I’ve also journaled my intense worry about friends who have COVID-19, grief over three newly lost family members, white supremacist violence, a White House of unending cruelty, and the announced permanent closure of the college campus where my partner works.
Implementing a ritual of any kind is one way to gain a greater sense of calm and control during this pandemic. This is why so many people are meditating, praying, and even obsessively cleaning right now. Diary writing is ritualistic and can be completed at the same time every day. It works best for me if I keep my diary next to my bed and jot a quick entry before I go to sleep. Other times, I’ve written in my diary first thing in the morning or during the day when I need a short break from the computer screen.
Creative writing classes and seminars are a great way to maintain a writing practice, but a lot of people don’t have the cash or aren’t able to fulfill the time and energy commitment. A diary, on the other hand, is affordable and low commitment writing practice for just about anyone. My current diary is a pink college-ruled, perfect-bound notebook I purchased at Office Depot for fifty cents, pre-pandemic, because it is a factory second. The photographic cover image of a pug puppy is printed upside-down and backwards.
There are ancillary cathartic and therapeutic effects from keeping a diary, but in the early months of the pandemic especially, writing in my diary helped maintain a feeling of “really being a writer,” an insecurity many writers share.
What I’m trying to say is that even if your diary never sees an outside reader, it keeps your pen moving. Even a walk around the block or ten jumping jacks in front of the computer at your kitchen table is more beneficial for your brain chemistry and happiness than no exercise at all. Similarly, writing one sentence in your diary after a long day of whatever life has thrown at you can be incredibly helpful and provide the sense that you are continuing to nurture your writing life.
We are doing the best that we can. After this is over, we’ll be able to take stock of where we’re at. Perhaps, we’ll have kept a log along the way of three nouns a day, a short list of bullet points every week, or a collection of memories that we can delve into later and expand in writing projects yet un-envisioned.
Arts + Literature Laboratory is offering a free writing workshop by Susan Buttenwieser. Register for Reflect and Restore through Writing today; course is online October 17 at 1:00 PM CST.
