Editor’s Note: This is the 2nd installment in our new series “The Journal Speaks Back” where Menomonie resident John Wilkerson invites you to join him in his love for journaling.
I like tractors, old ones that have character. My little Masser Ferguson is temperamental and lovable; like when you sit a neighbor’s baby for a few hours. This bundle of diesel, crankcase oil, and dry-rotted tires came up from Mississippi with me. In the hot climate she spent her time cutting grass and clearing deadfall. We did drive around the old roads for fun, but I don’t consider that work just happiness.
The tractor had a moment of rebellion this past winter. I’d tried to preemptively excite her by finding an original 1950’s back blade that was of the same manufacturer before we discussed the expectations of moving snow. She was not swayed by my attempt to buy her affection.
By January, I’d had her wrapped in a reflective blanket with a space heater and a heat gun to get the engine started. That sounds awful if you think about standing in the barn during a Wisconsin winter with no gloves.
Surprisingly, a quiet Zen arrives with work like this. It’s the same Zen I get when we grade the long, gravel driveway that rises the hill to my residence. The little-red tractor and I discuss life as we routinely move and smooth the roadbed. It’s a never-ending cycle of rain and road wear that moves the gravel down and the little tractor moves it back home.
In looking at the simplicity of the chore, consider how your journaling becomes less of an attempt in creating something and more of an opportunity to let the Zen of your thoughts form as words and take root in your journal.
The journal as a storytelling medium is one of the most powerful ways we capture our memories. Case in point is a collection of letters my great grandfather penned and sent home to his parents in the early twentieth century. There is nothing remarkable about the letters besides the fact that they tell the story of a young man writing home about his new life as an adult. What seemed so trivial at the time of his writings are now priceless family keepsakes.
Your memories and stories are sparks of insight into who you are. You don’t have to share them with anyone unless you wish to but if you do write them, at a future date, you will go back and reread them. The stories may be simple as a conversation with the dry cleaner as you wait for a rainy morning to clear. I’ve chosen a dry cleaner as an example with intent. Our town’s dry cleaner closed business a few months ago. This is the loss of a part of our community. Yes, the service is gone but so are all the connections that the people had that frequented the business.
The stories, the morning coffee, the last-minute scramble to get the prom dress pressed before the perfect dance. Our journals record these instances.
Today’s prompt is this… tell a story.
All it takes are three sentences: one to open the story, one to build the action, and one to close the story. If you can get those three parts established, you’ll be surprised how many more words appear on your page or screen.
For the advanced thinkers and subsequent bar conversations, this is a game I used to play with my nieces and nephews, tell a story in ten words or less. It’s a great mental exercise for slicing to the core of any tale.
Starry nights evoke the magic of forgotten love.
That was eight words. Not too bad for being out of practice.
John Wilkerson works most days writing and fiddling with his computer. His new, old, home in Menomonie is constantly subjected to DIY mayhem. His background includes ghost writing, newspaper reporting, and a long stretch in marketing and advertising.
John may be contacted at: [email protected]
