
Today I purged nearly twenty years of background notes, drafts, and other miscellanea for my unpublished writing. At first, I tried to be highly selective, but faced with leaning piles of files, I became merciless.
It occurred to me as I was shredding that I was releasing early dreams of publishing glory. Of course, my manuscripts in final draft still exist, both in electronic and in paper form. But the fancies I had woven as I wrote my fictional “masterpieces” lay collapsed under mounds of shredded paper.
Ironically, with the advent of electronic media, publishing has never been more accessible. After a modest amount of polishing, I could simply upload all my manuscripts and they would be instantly available to all. And I may still do that. I just do not seem to be moved to do that right now.
Today may, in the end, prove to be inconsequential. Years hence, I may scarcely be moved by the memory of releasing so much of me, as expressed through my writing. I don’t know. I just know that today I purged and while I feel lightened I also feel saddened.


