The 9/5/92 entry reads: How does the process work? You collect things... I had no idea that it started for me that early. It's exactly the way I'd start my answer to the question today.
The journal starts with letters to Dave, weirdly. I was on a trip with a childhood friend. It starts on 12/30/92 and the first line is It's such a luxury to be only me, known not presented. (We'd spent the holidays introducing each other to family and friends.)
The journal collapses over time. Eventually there are no more dates only quick jottings, lists of characters' names (Ogden, Cappage ...), bits of those things I'd collected to make stories from, notes in the margins where I say what I'm doing wrong ("Nothing works because setting is only a casement...").
There's a gap of over a year, it seems. It's '95. I'm married and have a baby.
The last written paragraph in the journal appears only half-way through the book. It sits alone at the top of a page. It reads, "I'm writing 2 stories at the same time. They're both ended but incomplete -- the baby just woke up + I'm thinking no not possible -- no. C'MON!"
The baby woke up and there were more babies and more wakings. But I kept writing, two stories at a time, leaving pages empty to take care of kids -- abandoning journals, abandoning this small extra step of clarity, learning to do it in my head and on scraps of paper, finding some small measure of time to write and write and write ...