When I am checking out other people’s journals, I tend to read some of their stuff, get a feel for the type of writer that they are, then head to their “Other Journals” link. Most have these – other journals that the person reads regularly. I have found that there are many people that have a handful of the same people. Sometimes this occurs when I am least expecting it – in other words, when I didn’t follow a link to here, to there, then back again. It was an entirely different search, and it took me to someone whose daily reads include the same people as so-and-so. Very interesting.

Anyway, I found someone’s journal today, and, as always, I headed straight to the “Links” page and found Nobody Knows Anything. It’s a journal that is no longer updated, but within it I found an interesting and thought-provoking essay written by the diarist/journaler.

The title of this essay didn’t scare me so much as it intrigued me. At first I thought, “Oh gosh, why is journaling so horrible?” Then, after that initial questioning, I reminded myself that it was an essay written by someone who has one herself, so it can’t be all bad. It was actually a very clever guise; the title created an interest to read further. So I did, much to my pleasure.

She has given some very sound advice in this essay: things to do, things not to do, things to think about, questions to ask yourself before beginning an online journal of any kind. It was straight-forward, and it spoke to me. It also made me question myself as to why I am, indeed, creating a journal and writing in it online.

I have been interested in journals my entire life. I could spend hours at a store perusing the shelves of different kinds of diaries and journal books. As a child, I always longed after the ones with the glossy, golden-edged pages and the satiny ribbon that was attached as a place-marker. I would carefully choose one, and Mom or Dad would give in and buy one for me. Oh, the pleasure I could find in having one of these. I knew I would write in it every single day of my entire life. I would cuddle up on my bed and write in that diary – my secrets and deepest desires.

I was faithful, too………for about a week.

Yep, I would always love starting them, but I always found other things to do. The diary would sit there on my dresser, in my dresser drawer, on my nightstand, under my pillow – wherever I chose to stash it, and go to complete waste. This became a habit of mine until… well, I still do it. The last journal that I bought myself was a nice wire-ringed one with pages that were a bit more structured, things that I could fill out for memory-sake. I think I’ve written in it three times.

Why might I be more likely to do this online if I can’t even do it offline? Well, much of the reason, I believe, is because I am a fast keyboarder. I can write my thoughts down quickly via the computer and not forget what I was saying. Well, it happens less often anyway. I’m also at the computer a lot, for whatever reasons. Plainly put, it’s a whole lot easier to do it on a computer.

I suppose I could write in Word and have a folder for all of my entries. I guess there is an attraction of sorts in knowing that others can read my journal. After reading the essay, I found myself questioning myself regarding that desire. Why would I want complete strangers accessing my private life? Where’s the intrigue in that?

I have a few friends who I’ve met online that know about my journal. No one else does. I do not talk about it to anyone in my family or to anyone with whom I work. It’s private. The things that happen to me in my daily life are not going to be with the few that I know online. However, I may find myself, in the future, tempering my words a bit if the occasion does arise to write or vent about something that happens within my online world.

The reason that I have chosen to attempt a journal is mostly to find my voice again. At one time, I was a fairly creative writer. It’s been so long, I think that I’ve lost my muse. I want to find her again. She speaks with a soft voice, but I know she’s there. Her whispers still tickle my mind. I am hoping to lure her out.

I am beginning this new journey by participating in some collaborations. I don’t lead a very interesting life, in my opinion, so I am highly interested in the structure of writing collaborations that provide monthly prompts. These collabs will help ease me back into the writing, and hopefully stimulate that muse-in-hiding. She’s in there. Now if only she would show herself.

I look forward every day to writing in my journal. I don’t, however, write in it every day. Sometimes I sit there, staring at what I have already written (past entries), and wonder silently to myself, “What today, Maggie? Do you have anything interesting to say today?”

I am writing for myself. During this time of wonder and introspection, I browse through the many journals that have interested me. I read these words, listen to the stories, and enjoy the anecdotes that are woven so expertly with words, and I feel so inferior. I shake my head and whisper, “I’ll never be that interesting. I can’t write that well. My vocabulary is so inferior.” While all these things might be true, I snap out of that self pity and remind myself for whom I am writing: me and only me. I am the only one that I need to impress. I am, however, most likely the hardest to impress. I am not writing to impress others. Sometimes I do need to be reminded of that. I think that if I can hold onto that, my online journaling will be nothing but a positive experience.

I am writing in journal to keep a record of my life. It’s not been what I would call exciting, but years down the road, I know that I’ll be grateful that I had the foresight and encouragement from others to begin this written journey within myself. If there are people out there in the vast expanse of the cyberworld that find me, and they think that my words are interesting enough to come back to, then I will be happy that I was helping not only myself, but others, too. However, I am fully aware that because I have chosen a very public venue in which to take this journey, I am at risk of feeling some possible retributions.

My journal is for me.

My journal is for whoever chooses to read it.

My journal is to keep a log of the events that make me who I am.

My journal is to develop a better sense of myself.

My journal is a tool with which I hope to develop myself as a writer.

My journal is an escape.

My journal is entertainment.

My journal is a vehicle with which I am able to vent, complain, celebrate, and bask in the reality of life.

My journal is log of my life.

My journal will not define me; I will define it.

If, at any time, the reasons for my journal fade away into the abyss of the internet, I will re-evaluate why I am doing it. At that time, I may or may not choose to stop writing. If I find my creative muse, then I may not have the need for this anymore. However, I believe it is a simple tool for me in the here-and-now.

I will leave tomorrow to the future, and live today in the present.