From a writeup of a talk by John Muir Laws on nature journaling:
For each thing you record, note these three things:
Awareness: “I see…”: You notice something, draw a picture of it, make notes about it
Creativity: “It reminds me of…” (or more simply “IRMO”): You consciously seek out analogies to what you’ve seen and make notes about those
Curiosity: “I wonder…”: You ask questions or create hypotheses about what you’ve seen.
A few days ago I was reading an article about journaling as self-care, and came across several quotes by local Austin professor James Pennebaker, author of The Secret Life of Pronouns and Opening Up By Writing It Down. Pennebaker had this to say about when and how and how long to journal therapeutically:
Dr. Pennebaker’s research has found that even a one-time 15-to-30-minute session of focused journal writing can be beneficial. In fact, he said he is not “a big fan of journaling every day.”
“One of the interesting problems of writing too much, especially if you’re going through a difficult a time, is that writing becomes more like rumination and that’s the last thing in the world you need,” he said. “My recommendation is to think of expressive writing as a life course correction. As opposed to something you have commit to doing every day for the rest of your life.”
If you’re distressed about something, Dr. Pennebaker advises, set aside three to four days to write for 15 to 20 minutes a day about it. If you don’t find a benefit from it, he says, “stop doing it. Go jogging. See a therapist. Go to a bar. Go to church.”
I drew these notes during a Pennebaker lecture back in 2011. Fascinating guy.
On March 24, 1857, Thoreau journaled about memory, and how the passing of time serves as a filter for what is good or interesting:
If you are describing any occurrence, or a man, make two or more distinct reports at different times. Though you may think you have said all, you will to-morrow remember a whole new class of facts which perhaps interested most of all at the time, but did not present themselves to be reported.
On March 27, three days later, true to the topic, he polished his thoughts on the subject:
I would fain make two reports in my Journal, first the incidents and observations of to-day; and by to-morrow I review the same and record what was omitted before, which will often be the most significant and poetic part. I do not know at first what it is that charms me. The men and things of to-day are wont to lie fairer and truer in to-morrow’s memory.
Above: Thoreau’s drawing of geese in formation, March 28, 1859
In John Stilgoe’s introduction to Thoreau’s journal, he points out that “Winter prompted him to ponder journalizing.” There’s a particularly lovely entry from January 22, 1852 — exactly 166 years ago, when Thoreau was 34, the age I am now — in which he tries to lay out what he’s doing with his journal, how he’s trying to make “wholes of parts.”
(Lawrence Weiner: “BITS & PIECES PUT TOGETHER TO PRESENT A SEMBLANCE OF A WHOLE.” Mark Strand: “We all have reasons / for moving. / I move / to keep things whole.”)
Thoreau says writing is a “distinct profession to rescue from oblivion and to fix the sentiments and thoughts which visit all men more or less generally.” In other words, his thoughts aren’t necessarily special, but writing them down is.
Each thought that is welcomed and recorded is a nest egg, by the side of which more will be laid. Thoughts accidentally thrown together become a frame in which more may be developed and exhibited… Having by chance recorded a few disconnected thoughts and brought them into juxtaposition, they suggest a whole new field in which it was possible to labor and to think. Thought begat thought.
Today when you say “nest egg” many think of money saved and put away, but a literal “nest egg” is a real or fake egg that you put in a nest to encourage a bird or a hen to lay more eggs there. So what Thoreau is saying is that by simply writing down a thought, you encourage more thoughts to come. When you have enough thoughts pushed together in the same space — a collage of thoughts, juxtaposed — they often lead to something totally new.
This is the magic of writing.
“Writers are the custodians of memory, and that’s what you must become if you want to leave some kind of record of your life…”
—William Zinsser
A little over six years ago I bought a little Moleskine daily diary and started keeping a logbook. Here’s how you can keep your own.
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