A journal isn’t homework. It’s a storage unit full of material you’ll need later.

A journal is not a record of your day, it is a pile of raw material. Half-lines, overheard arguments, the exact way the light fell, a name that sounded right. None of it seems worth keeping at the moment you write it, and most of it turns useful later, when you need something specific and your memory offers only fog.

Keep entries short enough that you actually make them. Three lines before bed counts as kept. Every month or so, read back a few pages and mark anything that still has a spark in it.