Don't Let the Days Slip By

If you’re new here, welcome! I’m Barbara Ellen McMahon, author of the novella, Mrs. Rochester. It’s a sequel to Jane Eyre. This time, it’s Jane who’s locked in the attic and there’s a new governess. It’s available on Kobo, where it’s been getting rave reviews. If you enjoy my writing here, chances are you’ll love Mrs. Rochester.

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It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by.

—Vita Sackville-West —

Before I get into the joys of keeping a daily journal, let me say — this is for the people who have the time and the energy to give it a go. I’m in a season of my life when I have the luxury of time and the desire to spend it in introspection. But you may be in a season of utter chaos. If the thought of keeping a journal is overwhelming, now may not be the time. There’s no pressure here, just a lot of enthusiastic suggestions.

Is there anything sadder than a day that slips emptily by? Every day is a huge gift and writing it down, marking and honouring it is a good way to remember it. It doesn’t have to be a big production. Just a line or two, if that’s what you have the time or the strength for. But play with making it a regular practice and see how much richer your life becomes.

My Dad kept a journal for most of his adult life. His was far more factual than mine is. He’d write what happened, with maybe a comment or two on how he felt about it. And then, when we were reminiscing, he could go back and look and say, no, it actually happened like this. Which often took the wind out of our sails. We preferred our memories to the factual record. But still. I admire that kind of record-keeping, I’m just not able to do it. I get bored by repetition. My mind wanders off on tangents. I must say what I think about pretty much everything, so I do my morning pages, the kind of journaling that he utterly pooh-poohed, said, in fact that it was wrong (my Dad had very firm opinions). It wouldn’t have worked for him, but it works for me. I’ve started tracking my progress in a summary journal as recommended in this note by Elizabeth Kleinfeld, and I’m able to pull out all my keener insights for use in my Substack posts. I’m happy with the way I’m doing it. And the days don’t quite slip away. At least not emptily.

I read Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. I love her writing. She makes the act of writing sound like a far more serious practice than it is for me. Of course, she’s published a lot more than I have, so there’s that. She talks about sitting at her desk at set times for set periods and really wrestling with the words. The sort of practice my Dad always said I needed to follow if I was to be a real writer. It sounds like a lot of discipline and hard work. I much prefer my approach. Three pages every morning and then maybe some more later in the day, corralling earlier thoughts into posts. Never a real struggle. Not a lot of work. And yet, I write and I post and I’ve published a novella. Some people see me as this incredibly disciplined being, but I’m not. I’ve just learned to make the most of my time with the page. And to enjoy it. Because if you’re not enjoying it, why write? If you’re not enjoying it, why do anything?

This is the practice school of writing. Like running, the more you do it, the better you get at it.

— Natalie Goldberg—

Just as not every run is a race, not every writing session is for publication. A lot has to happen in the background so you can get to having something you want to share with the world. Early morning after early morning, alone with my journal, wrestling with concepts, arranging my thoughts, playing with the best assortment of words until I arrive at something I’m happy with, something I might like to share, or not. Sometimes it’s important to find out what doesn’t work. Either way, it’s a practice, like practicing piano. You go over it and over it. Always feeling like there’s more to learn, a bit more wisdom to eke out.

Another way I mark the days (I have a lot of time available to me), is to do a page in my junk journal. It’s a practice of seeing, experiencing, remembering. Finding the special in the everyday. It’s changing me, day by day. Since I started, I’ve become more observant, more grateful. Eager for what the day will unfold, for the treasures that will reveal themselves to me. Even in a day filled with pain and nausea and exhaustion, as many days are, there is still beauty to be found, still joy to be had. I’m more open to it, knowing I will want something to put in my journal. I don’t ignore the pain. I don’t gaslight myself. The point is not to be sunshine and rainbows at every turn, but to document my days.

When you are sick, the days can start to blend together. I got caught up in the sameness and repetition. The pill schedule, the doctors’ visits, the naps. My junk journal helps me notice the differences in each day, the rare and special moments. And, like the writing, it doesn’t have to be a big production. A photo, a sketch, maybe a few words. Five or ten minutes and you’re done. Some pages will look good and others won’t. That’s fine. This isn’t necessarily about making art. It’s about remembering.

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Don’t forget, my book, Mrs. Rochester, is available on Kobo. Your purchase helps to support an independent author.