Journalling--just for whiny teenagers?

Considering that this is the first post onto a writing blog (which, I would like to make plain, is not a blog about writing a blog; I've very little experience with that), it would make sense that we would begin by discussing the concept of journalling.

First off, I would like to make it clear that I have nothing against journalling. I do it on a semiregular basis myself, whether it be to get some weight off my chest, to explore a new writing technique or genre, or just to make note of a new idea I've gotten while showering. In fact, I've been journalling for six years now. I've chronicled my life from the retarded age of fifteen to the somewhat-less-retarded age of twenty-one. I journalled my feelings on the September eleventh attacks, my first serious forays into writing, my college experience, and my enjoyment or lack-thereof of various literature.

Just about every writing advice manual out there will tell you three specific things: Don't wait for inspiration, kill your darlings, and journal-journal-journal. Journalling is supposed to force you to write every day, preparing a dark, damp, and (if you're anything like me) a ginormous compost heap of garbage and cow feces that you hope and pray that something beautiful and fresh-smelling will grow in. Journalling is supposed to make you aware of the process required to compose prose, or to at least allow yourself a forum where you can blather on about your sad relationships and shitty job and how much your family pisses you off without writing a novel about the same and facing some serious libel lawsuit. Journalling is, according to writers such as Natalie Goldberg, supposed to be the key to becoming a great writer.

Does it really? I mean, if some random author that I'm sure you probably saw the name of and went "huh?" is guaranteeing you the ability to become the best writer you can be, as long as you work your buns off create a bunch of writing that you wouldn't reread if someone paid you, I certainly would like to know if it works. And trust me, journalling is hard work, particularly if you plan on rereading some of it to see if there is any sort of good writing hidden in the muck. If it isn't particularly good, or makes you cringe in embarrassment, does it really help?

On the surface, I have to say no, and not just because I want to retroactively strangle my whiny teenage self. My entries all seem to talk about what I did, what I need to do, what I'm angry about, or how abysmal my love-life was. For six years, there does not seem to be too much deviation from these themes, and when there is, I hastily wish I could kick the shit out of myself for being so incredibly immature. In fact, the number one thing I've learned from my journalling escapades? I overuse the word "anyway". It's true.

On the other hand, there is something that happens deeper within the journaller that wants to grow up to be a writer, even if they are just those that chronicle what they did that day. The journaller begins to look at his or her world differently. The world around them is not just something to merely experience, like everyone else, but something that they can use as material for their next journal entry. They could describe the park as they walked the dog. They could record a conversation they had at their local grocery store. They could think about how they plan on detailing the adventures of their weekend to inspire the same fun-feeling they experienced while living it.

Anyway--told you--journalling, by itself, does not make you a better writer. It may help you string words together, even if they are crappy words, but it does not make you a better writer. It may bring to light words you use too much and force you to look for other options, but it does not make you a better writer. What journalling does is make you think like a writer, who looks at life around them and experiences it, but then takes those experiences with them to the writing desk when it comes time to get down to the deed. And honestly, that is a gift much better earned that a secret writer's key to success.