A while back the BBC did a short series of shows where the subject matter was keeping a diary. I watched engrossed in the subject matter of the shows, amazed at the quality of writing these people had managed to put down on paper. My own paper journal, I discovered, is far from amazing, interesting or well written. It seems my need to get things out of my head and on to paper doesn’t come across as well as others. Still I keep at it.
I have kept a paper journal to varying degrees since I was 18. I tried to keep one before then but being a teenager, it was full of boys and all the drama that goes with them. That said its still not far off the same now as it was then. But the show got me thinking, how do I go about changing the writing style of a life time into something that would be more interesting, that would give a better insight into what my life is like now and would mean that some nosy bugger in 50 years would be interesting in reading.
The answer? I still don’t know. For me keeping a diary has always been about getting thoughts on paper and out of my head. A form of therapy if you have to put a label on it. To me it’s just writing, in free form, without good grammar or perfect punctuation. I’ve always felt that putting words on paper a good way to sort out an issue or have a rant. Things that I know wouldn’t be accepted out in public or I need to work out for myself.
I once was told that I was The Keeper of the Archives. It’s a title that suits me and one that I’m happy to have. I keep important things, reminders, mementos, ticket stubs. Each one a tiny window into life. Not an exciting glamorous life, just an average life, my life. But judging by my own excitement on discovering my Grandmothers diaries, a life that someone may find fascinating at some point.
I don’t keep a diary to one day be famous, to be published, I keep one because I like to. There’s something to be said for feeling pen on paper and making real all of your secret thoughts.