Creativity and Privacy:
Choosing What to Share
“If you want to write, you need to keep an honest, unpublishable journal that nobody reads, nobody but you.” – Madeleine L’Engle
Two of my favorite authors, L.M. Montgomery and Madeleine L’Engle, each kept journals but treated them in opposite ways. Montgomery edited her journals for publication after she died. L’Engle recommended an unpublishable journal that nobody reads. Their choices open up many questions for me.
So have my conversations with AFTER ANNE readers, which often begin or end with journaling. Some of my favorite reader connections have been about family members’ journals—especially journals from lost loved ones. These journals can let us know a beloved person at ages and in ways we never would have otherwise experienced. They can become grab-first-in-case-of-fire possessions. I’ve also talked to readers who are horrified at the thought of reading their parents’ journals or having someone read theirs.
An essential part of the creative process is deciding what our own private and public dividing line will be. Whether creating a journal, a letter, a novel, a wall hanging, or a piece of woodwork, we face the same decision. Do we keep it entirely for our own? Pass it down? Or make it sellable to the public?
Often, we know where we are headed when we begin a project. When I set out to write fiction, I had some idea that I would try to publish it one day. But journals are different because we usually start out with an intent to keep them private. It is what can make them so relieving. For me, my journals are a place where my subconscious can stretch out and breathe. I can be messy—not only in my thoughts, but on the page. Looking at the orderly state of my house, you wouldn’t believe how messy my handwriting can get.
Especially in our internet-driven world, a truly private space is a rare and beautiful thing. I enter that space when I open my journals, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t get nearly as much from writing in them. The relief would be missing.
But as I’ve been writing this post, my mind keeps stumbling over this paradox:
I allow myself to be messy in my journals because of the safety that comes from knowing they are private.
And also, the biggest work of my life so far has been stretching the comfort zone of my private-mouse self. I keep learning—and relearning—that saying more of what I really mean and keeping less of myself hidden makes me healthier and happier. That is part of what I am trying to do here.
So maybe I will get to a point where I am comfortable sharing my journals. Not with the public! They are laughably far from the works of art that Montgomery created. But could I get to a point where I have processed enough of my past and accepted enough of myself that I could embrace the mess of my journals and give them to my daughter? I hope so. And could I share them with her during my lifetime to experience her knowing me better through them? I hope for that too.