I’ve been harboring a concern for a while now. I seem to have left bits and pieces of my writing everywhere — several blogs, online writing platforms, old computers and floppy disks, at least half a dozen different kinds of notebooks that I’ve attempted to keep, scraps of paper, journal applications, ancient email accounts, publications — and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to gather them all up and put them all together in one place. More than half of them I probably won’t even have any chance of finding anymore.
I must be vanity, but I’m feeling quite sorry for how scatterbrained and fickle-minded I’ve been; it should be great to get hold of every single thing I’ve ever written! As it is I don’t even know how to find several of my published pieces. As for the random lines, paragraphs and pages, I would rather forget about them. I don’t even know why I like doing that — I’d be somewhere with nothing to write on and then I’d think of something, so I’d grab a tissue, and put it in my pocket and forget about it. Or, I’d find a writing website that seemed conducive for my so-called (and I’m gagging as I say this) “bursts of creativity,” so I’d post a couple of pieces there and then forget all about them as soon as I moved on to the next great site. The same would go for those phone apps. And the notebooks, oh my goodness. The furthest I’ve gone to filling one was not even halfway through!
It feels quite tragic on one hand, but on the other — Does it really matter? Not that I’m just trying to make myself feel better (no, honestly, that’s what I’m doing), but maybe what matters more is that I know I’m growing as a writer, and whatever I had produced in the past contributed to…
Scrap that. Who am I kidding? I was trying to soothe myself using tired, cheesy motivational lines. It’s almost funny.
I think I just have to go all pragmatic now and set an action plan for myself: to undertake a search and retrieval effort so that I can account for whatever old and current writings I can still get my hands into.
So help me God.