1935 Diary

I recently discovered a diary of my grandmother's that chronicles her life from January to June of 1935, in Freeport, IL. Those days came way before marriage and motherhood. My grandmother was young and having fun.

She wrote about tap dance lessons, dinner with girlfriends, and the men she dated. Nothing graphic was written, but it's still pretty juicy. Sometimes she admitted to thinking about one man while on a date with another. She mentioned if she got drunk, which happened a couple times. She wrote about what annoyed her, what she loved, and what she hoped would happen.

It's funny to see what details my grandmother included, outside of her social opinions. She recorded purchases, like "Skirt $2." She worked as a secretary at a battery company, but once in a while she waited tables, and wrote, "Tip 25 [cents]." She also jotted down the title of every movie that she saw, and there were many. Some obscure titles were surely lost to history. The places she visited certainly were. She wrote all the names of those long-gone restaurants and clubs in Freeport. Sometimes her language is outdated too. She'll say someone "Came after me" but there was no attack. That just meant someone paid her a visit.

From a writer's standpoint, this diary is so intriguing. What was included, and what was not? There are hints about setting, that are effective, like when she's gazing out her frosty window at the snow. She'll mention a brown rug or a brass lamp she bought for her bedroom. There's also subtle foreshadowing, like when a girlfriend's health declines, and eventually the poor woman dies, which is where the journal ends.

But it's not all sad news. Meanwhile, my grandmother met a new man, named Scotty. She adored him, and he's not my grandpa. There's a whole stack of letters from Scotty, postmarked mere days apart, from July to December. It seems to be the second chapter of this story. I haven't read all of those letters yet, and will see how serious her relationship became. The couple Scotty letters I did read so far have gushed with "I love you, sweetie."

Writing a diary and writing fiction are clearly different, but there is a common thread here. Think of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and its tremendous success. That's not the first diary-style novel, and it won't be the last. There's something comforting about reading a journal. In diaries it's okay to be mean, selfish, or dramatic. The feelings and honesty flow out, they need to, it's like therapy. Melodrama is acceptable because it comes from truth.

Maybe I can use her diary to write a story. I hope that grandma would approve. She did a great job, recording a specific window of time. I can picture her, long ago, surviving the ups and downs of friendship and loss, that still happen today, and forever.