Journal Malaise

The Perils of the Modern Journal Author

Well, I am republishing my blog. I took down my entries because I didn't think they were 'fun' enough or something, but I have to say that writing articles instead of blurbs is what I should be doing. Of course what I really should be doing is writing cooking comics, but no one would buy them, as much fun as I'd have writing and illustrating them. I've seen one cooking comic before, a compliation, and it was pretty hit and miss. The problem with most lady comic artists is that they are raging lesbian feminists, and that comes out in their work, just a bit. So you don't really get a warm community feel from their cooking experiences. Except for The Alice B. Toklas Cookbook, which was awesome. And I don't mean the mythical brownies, either. She wasn't a comic artist though, but imagine if she was! Anyway, one of the comic stories was brilliant, but the rest alternated between anger and science.("Why does canned Mexican food always have orange stuff on top! What is that orange stuff!" I dunno, cause it's canned?) Yeah. Not really your dream kitchen there. But this blog isn't about comics or bad chili recipes.

The following is an Mark Twain excerpt, from The Innocents Abroad, by way of food author, and conversational writer Peg Bracken, from her book: But I Wouldn't Have Missed It for the World. It seemed a good way to restart whatever I'm trying to accomplish here. It also reminds me of one of the panelists on Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me, on NPR. Unfortunately I can't remember his name but he was saying how he blogged and how he started out strong but only made one entry, April 16, 2006. And then everyone else on the show joked by saying what a great day that must have been. And sadly it was about as unfunny on the show as it just was recalled. But, what else is there to listen to on the radio at 9 pm. Sunday Nights? In any case on to the master, and mistress, for that matter, who are both genuinely funny:

I don't mean to imply that the path of the traveling journalkeeper runs entirely smooth. In this, as in anything, there are pitfalls, one of which Mark Twain paints with poignant strokes in The Innocents Abroad. Strolling one day on deck, he came across a young man, one of his fellow passengers, busily writing in his journal.

"'What do you find to put in it, Jack?'" asked Clemens.

"'Oh, everything. Latitude and longitude, noon every day; and how many miles we made last twenty-four hours; and all the domino games I beat, and horse billiards; and whales and sharks and porpoises; and the text of the sermon Sundays (because that'll tell at home, you know); and the ships we saluted and what nation they were; and which way the wind was, and whether there was a heavy sea, and what sail we carried, though we don't ever carry any, principally, going against a head wind, always -wonder what is the reason of that?- and how many lies Moult has told -oh everything! I've got everything down. My father told me to keep that journal. Father wouldn't take a thousand dollars for it when I get it done.'

"'No, Jack; it will be worth more than a thousand dollars -when you get it done.'

"Well I about half think so, myself. It ain't no slouch of a journal."

A few weeks later, Mark Twain encountered him again, in port. After they'd chatted a bit, he said. "'Now I'll go and stroll around the cafe awhile, Jack, and give you a chance to write up your journal, old fellow.'

His countenance lost its fire. He said,

"'Well no, you needn't mind. I think I won't run that journal anymore. It is awful tedious. Do you know - I reckon I'm as much as four thousand pages behindhand. I haven't got any France in it at all. First I thought I'd leave France out and start fresh. But that wouldn't do, would it? The governor would say "Hello, there -didn't you see anything in France?" That cat wouldn't fight, you know. First I thought I'd copy France out of the guidebook, like old Badger in the forrard cabin, who's writing a book, but there's more than three hundred pages of it. Oh I don't think a journal's any use -do you? They're only a bother, ain't they?'

"'Yes a journal that is incomplete isn't of much use, but a journal properly kept is worth a thousand dollars -when you've got it done.'

"'A thousand! -well I should think so. I wouldn't finish it for a million.'"

Well, certainly, anyone who ever pushed a diary down the drain knows exactly how Jack felt. But to my mind, Mark Twain didn't give him the right encouragement.