This time of year we cope with a lot of activity. Social engagements and gift shopping, worrying about how to spread a gift buying budget around and the need to travel distances or entertain out-of-town family sweep away our writing time. Sometimes, our very sense of ourselves as writers disappears. Ironically, this very same time of year is also full of emotions and memories and the desire to tell our stories as we read classics by other authors. A pent up desire to write might make us feel impatient with others and ourselves and even depressed at a time of year when we are urged to celebrate.

To remedy the emotional decline we face from lack of time with pen and paper or typing into fresh Word documents in our writing files, this week’s article contains an idea for approaching your material even when you feel that you don’t have time.

I believe that ten to fifteen minutes of writing a few times a week can renew our sense of ourselves as writers–and these minutes can be found while waiting in a parking lot for someone who’s run into a store, by taking lunch alone a couple of times a week, or by opening a notebook on the bus to work.

I believe that David Mas Masumoto’s thoughts in a journal about journaling will help you write about your life this December. –SB]

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Years ago, when writer and farmer David Mas Masumoto agreed to contribute work to the book I was editing, The Writer’s Journal: 40 Writers and Their Journals, he kept a journal about journaling as a way of sharing his ideas on the subject. Here are excerpts from what he contributed:

March 8th
A journal about keeping a journal. This could be dangerous, venturing into the private world of a writer and exposing a vein. But isn’t that what journals are all about? Another danger lies in analyzing journal writing – the writer becomes too self-conscious, overly critical and the words lose their freedom. For me, that’s what keeping a journal is about: thinking freely.

I’ve read many types of journals. I’ve tried lots of ways to keep a journal. I don’t have a favorite journal writer and some of the best material I’ve read is about keeping a journal – or as in Joan Didion’s case, “On Keeping a Notebook” (from Slouching to Bethlehem).
Because I farm, my fieldwork is often woven into my journals. But do records on when the peaches first blooms or the grape shoots peak out at the spring sun or the early signs of worms in my peaches – do they belong in my journal?

Yes and no. They are part of what makes a journal important – a documentation of where you were and what you felt at a specific time and place. But do worms and metaphors belong on the same page? I’ve written some of my best stories about worms – but I keep a different type of farm journal in addition to my writing journal. No one said I couldn’t have more than one.

March 17
Journals capture my ideas, my emotions, the smell of the mowed grasses, the taste of a wildflower lemon stalk, the images from the farmhouse porch on a cool spring morning. My farm journals do the same; they record my feelings about a spring storm on peach blossoms or the fear of invisible diseases growing on my grapes.

Writing and farming share a common tie – neither is done well by using formulas. Good stories are not based on recipes, a juicy peach cannot be grown by following “how to” books. Nor does technology automatically improve my work. Riveting characters and moving themes are not created by word processors and new software; bigger machines and new chemicals do not equate to better produce.

So I write and farm drawing from experiential knowledge. I need to dirty my hands to write about farm work. I need to feel the tightening of stomach muscles when a dark storm approaches in order to understand a sense of helplessness as I bow before nature.

My journals take many forms. Some are scribbled notes I write while on a tractor and then jam into a file folder. Later I’ll pull out the pieces of paper like leaves in a family album, each tells a story of a moment in time and the emotions captured in the words and shaky handwriting. I keep another journal of one page entries with a headings that sound like a short story titles. Some will grow into manuscripts such as a journal entry entitled “Five Worms” that later became a story about the meaning of finding worms in your peaches and my learning to live with nature.

My journals allow me to integrate my ideas with who I am. My words are not removed from the real and everyday. And that is precisely what I strive for in my stories.

April 8
I do not write in my journal every day, though I am disciplined enough to write daily. On days where the words cease to flow or my thoughts are jumbled, I can return to my journals. They help soothe and calm and provide a forum to “think out” ideas and issues.

My journals often do not make sense. I have a rule: there can be no wrongs in my journals. I misspell words frequently, use wrong verb tenses, create sentence fragments. I can check the facts later, I can verify quotes some other time. Some thoughts ramble, others remain disconnected and out of place, I enjoy non-linear thinking, jumping from idea to idea without worrying about how they may be connected and coherent.

What’s important is to get it out on paper, to commit feelings to words, to write and capture the creative spirit. I seek a freedom of expression, for no one will read these journals verbatim, my words are not intended for writing teachers or editors. No one will ever write in red ink “Who cares?” over my words. I care and that’s all that matters.

Journals provide me with the raw materials to work with. I’ll write about the frustrations of farm life and the precarious relationship when working with nature. I’ll write about screaming at dark thunderclouds as my delicate peaches hang on my trees. Does it help to shout at a storm? Yes, because when I write about it, I realize how silly I must have appeared while doing a farmer’s anti-rain dance. I’ll explore the amazing power of the human spirit to rationalize events. If there was no downpour, I’ll claim my pleas worked; if it hails, I’ll assume nature is merely teaching me a lesson about humility.

In my journals I explore everyday life. The entries allow me access into my thoughts and emotions. I increase my odds at successful writing by making myself available – my journals provide me with opportunity.

April 25
Poetry and prose.
Some of my journal entries are written in the form of single line entries.
I like to think of these as poetic prose.
Like good poetry,
the single line format invites reflection.

Here’s how it works.
I begin with a single word or phrase.
Then I brain storm and am soon bulging with thoughts,
I need to get them out before I loose one.
That’s when the ease and simplicity of a journal shines.
My writing resembles a random list of ideas.
Some stand independent of each other,
some are clearly connected,
but they all reflect how I think at the moment,
complete with the excitement of creative energy.

Later I’ll add more details
Some ideas blossom into longer stories.
Others need to be clarified,
I bundle the thoughts into a package
that I can ponder when I’m out in the fields.
A few remain loners,
I’ll wrestle with them
and try to figure out why they were even mentioned.

I seek to establish a series of connections,
thoughts that relate to each other
and give life to one another.
I search for those meaningful connections.

April 30
I often reread my old farm journals, retracing my footsteps over familiar ground while renewing past friendships. The passing of time contributes to a refreshing perspective – I no long have high ownership of my words and ideas.

Why was I so preoccupied about summer pruning of peaches in ’92? Did it really make a difference when I found some worms in my peaches? “Where I was” helps orient me to “where I am now.” Journals date me because my memory too easily lies.

Future stories often begin in the passages of my farm journals. An old neighbor drops by and shares his invention for drying grapes into raisins. My nine-year old daughter drives the tractor by herself – my little girl is now big and strong enough to push down the clutch – a modern day rite of passage for farm kids. We fertilize a young orchard as a family working together; we all have our jobs as we nourish life for the future. Raw ideas for good stories like an artist’s sketches.

In my journals I show what once happened so I can later reread the passages and learn. The bad writing will reek terribly; I’ll be amazed I even wrote such garbage. The good entries will ring with honesty and they will be fun to revisit.

May 4
Why do I keep a journal? Partially for instant gratification. I like seeing my thoughts put into words; I enjoy the sense of accomplishment when I complete a good writing session. Occasionally the entry becomes an instant first draft for a manuscript.

Let me share two examples. First, my story, “Snapshot, 1944” began when I found an old photograph of my uncle’s funeral during the relocation of Japanese Americans from their homes during World War II. The first line in my journal became the first line of the story, “I stare at the silent and still faces, expressions frozen in a snapshot.” The story grew directly from my journal as I explored the meaning of this photograph, trying to make sense of a moment in history when my family, because they were Japanese Americans, were uprooted and imprisoned for four years behind barbed wire. The raw emotions of a journal entry provides the underpinning for a story that won a writing award, then appeared in my collection of short stories, Silent Strength, and will soon be republished in a “story telling” anthology.

Second, because I write mostly nonfiction, many passages evolve into essays and may find their way into newspaper OpEd sections. I wrote one particular piece about a wonderful tasting peach that lacks cosmetic “good looks” and becomes homeless in the market place. This was during the middle of a summer harvest; I had lost thousands of dollars and thousands of boxes of these peaches sat unsold in cold storage. My essay, published in the LA Times, was based on my journal entry: “The flesh of my peaches is so juicy that it oozes down your chin. The nectar explodes in your mouth. The fragrance enchants your nose, a natural perfume that could never be captured…”

This story then took on a life of it’s own. From journal entry to the LA Times to now, a book entitled Epitaph for a Peach, Four Seasons on My Family Farm. Good things can happen with our journals.

May 21
Soon my journal writing will become lean. Farm work takes center stage, 80 acres of vines and trees demand my attention. I am torn by the dilemma, to stay inside and write or to go outside and prepare for the harvests. A writer must do both, no? But like farming, my journals will be here for the next season and if I’m fortunate, for the season after that too.

Postscript: Every family needs a writer, a family journal writer. Who else can document and save family histories? Who else can pass on the voices and characters for the next generation? Stories honor the legacy of a family for an audience of the living and those not yet born.

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A Writing Idea Inspired by Masumoto’s Journal

Commit to keeping at least four journal entries over the holidays. In them, write about something you keep track of and pay attention to as Mas Masumoto pays attention to the growth and health of the peaches, the growing season and his hopes and his fears.

• What are you tracking this season?
• Memories of times past?
• The way young grandchildren are relating to family holiday rituals?
• Reintroducing old family traditions?
• Making changes to traditional ways of celebrating?
• Tasks concerning decorating for the holidays?
• A winter flowering shrub in your neighborhood?
• What marks the season for you?

Each time you sit down to write an entry about the subject you have taken on, at the finish of the entry ask yourself one of these questions and write the answer as an ending to the entry:

• What do I hope will happen because I am doing this?
• What is hard about what I am doing?
• What surprises am I encountering?
• What do I want to tell someone about this process I am engaged in?

Write in detail, as Masumoto does, including memories and anecdotes.

Then, in four sessions, you will be reflecting on the season and what it means to you. This will prove comforting and valuable to you and your writing, so you might be drawn to do more writing, to find more time. Or, you might be happy with your four starts and savor the idea of getting back to them after the New Year.