How Keeping a Reading Journal Changed My Writing
In graduate school, one of my professors assigned our workshop to keep a semester-long reading journal. Along with our normal required submissions and comment assignments, our task was to present a handful of reading entries at every one-on-one conference to review. We could use any notebook or format, so long as each entry included:
The word, phrase, or passage
The page number
The title and author of the work
I started annotating books long before then, but keeping a reading journal went beyond checkmarks or short-hand comments within the margins. When a word or phrase jumped out from the page at me, I would record the tactic, image, or word in the work and what moved me to write it down. I hashed out my thoughts to form my opinions, and I could use these entries as evidence to show how I digested the writer’s piece and craft. Not only did my reading journal change my writing, but it enhanced my way of reading.
The Craft of Reading
The journal was a tactic to strengthen our active reading skills. In order for writers to grow, we needed to bring a reading style that would not only connect with the text but nourish our own craft (Diane Callahan has a great piece, “How to Read Like A Writer”, that looks more into this subject).
There were no right or wrong entries, so long as we steered away from solely pointing out our likes and dislikes in the work. During these discussions, my professor and I unpacked my entries. We looked at the thoughts I articulated, and what I was learning from those choices. Not only did my close reading skills improved, I found support in my own way of thinking.
Over time the journal assignment felt innate. The work bled into my workshop comments, where I gave thoughtful and constructive feedback about a peer’s piece without being too prescriptive or blindly cheering the writer on. I noted where a word or tactic tripped the flow of my reading, or a part that sparked a deeper understanding about the overall work. I could describe the experience with how I received their tactics in order to show the writer where a piece worked or needed revisions. I could also note thoughts or predictions a writer might not have noticed.
Reading to learn became its own form of pleasure. Before, I saw reading as a lonely experience. I believed that I encountered the works I chose alone and that the writing needed to connect to me. Over time, though, my reading journal felt like one long letter to a penpal. My ideas of reading shifted. The encounter felt like one long dinner party with an author I’m dying to talk to. Each question or idea I could unpack in my journal, like I was responding to another writer within our own conversation. We exchanged an experience that left me with a deeper understanding of the story lying underneath the surface. I could mark something I wanted to remember for my own work, and walk away from that conversation satisfied.
How Keeping a Reading Journal Changed My Writing
I incorporate keeping a reading journal into my writing practice with the same kind of necessity as having a cup of coffee beside my computer. When I want to center my sporadic thoughts about my work, I read. If I am lost in revisions, I read. Before I write, I reach for my current read or an essay I’ve bookmarked on Twitter and I let the words wash over me, stopping every so often to catalog findings in my Moleskine notebook.
I pay attention to craft choices because I’m always seeking to grow my own skills. My reading journal resembles a tackle box I kept as a kid. Each red-yellow bobber flags a craft entry from a vast collection of works that indicate an author's choice that successfully evoked the story underneath the surface of a text. The act of keeping and returning back to my entries from varied writers allows me to collect all of the lures and hooks that I’ve noted throughout my reading experiences. The words, questions, and passages within my notebook store craft choices that caught my attention and left me satisfied after.
I sit with my entries so that I take that kind of thinking to the page. As I center myself to write, my reading practice calms my anxious thoughts about my writing. Before, if a choice I made in my work wasn’t working or I was stuck on where to go next, I felt a blinding pressure in writing. I wanted to capture a catch-and-release experience, an exchange between reader and the writer, within my own work. If I couldn’t accomplish that task within the first few drafts, I feared that I may not pull off the writing at all.
Yet, my journal allowed a space for me to find examples to draw from, or choices that I may try something different. I go back through and find examples of craft decisions that influence choices I make in my own work. As I reflect on my thoughts within my journal, that pressure relaxes. I choose to continue my journal because each finding encourages me to keep trying. I can cast and play with different craft choices. If something isn’t working, I reel back and try something else. There will always be room to grow, and I want to find those moments every chance I get.
