The life and times of a diarist

Before bloggers, there were diarists. I’ve been reading about the diary of Hazel Wheeler, who apparently kept a diary for most of her life which, while modern bloggers focus on the events of the day, was mostly concerned with knitting, baking, and other tiny details of life. It reminds me of the thrilling moment when we discovered that my great-great grandmother kept a diary of her adolescence and early married years. Initially, it was deeply exciting to think we had a window into the life of the woman whose gold rings and jewellery I inherited.

Great Great Grandmother lived in another age, but we only see it in glimpses. Her entries were brief, often lamenting the fact that she had so little time in which to write. As a friend who kept an online diary alongside mine once commented to me, one either has so much life one has no time to write about it, or very little life and very much to write about. Great Great Grandmother spent much of her time in the manner of the Very Rich of the Victorian era, and her life seems like a Jane Austen novel. “To Shugborough for tea with Charles. Lovely weather.” is a typical entry. In her married years, she writes about her experiences of having small children to care for, but always the entries are quite brief and to the point.

I’ve kept a diary most of my life, or at least since the age of about twelve. During my anorexic years it frequently descended into little more than records of what I’d eaten and what exercise I’d done during the day, with the occasional commentary. When I was about 21 I went back to it seriously, and that was how I ended up online, signing up to Open Diary, where I kept a diary for six years. I wrote around 80,000 words a month when I was on form, over six million words in five years. Basically, I wrote the equivalent of my PhD thesis every month.

Life, boyfriend, wrangles over buying a house filled my time, as well as teaching, studying and struggling with unresponsive archives (and even less responsive students). After that came to a halt, I wrote private diaries in various places but it somehow isn’t the same without an audience. We probably do descend to one line entries if there’s nobody but us to read it, but once online, it becomes an exercise in sharing an experience. Essentially, this is what this blog is about, sometimes. Sometimes it’s opinion pieces and other times I just ramble on about whatever’s on my mind or I’ve read about that day. Once again, I feel as though I either have a great deal of life but no time to write about it, or no life at all but lots of time to write.