As I wrote in the previous blog post, I have this old word processor (from college – it’s more of a pre-computer*) that I have discs (the post-floppy hard kind – in multi-colors) with ALL of my writing up to the age of about 30 when I stopped writing pretty much altogether. There’s even a disc with resume’s and work history (which I should dust off as well).  I haven’t gotten to go through too much this week as I’ve been kind of ill and have been getting large house projects finished (and i will be SO happy when these projects are done so I can “play” and not feel like I’m shirking my adult-home-owner responsibility.)

But the little bit that I’ve gone through…they have really good bones. I’m not a particularly prideful individual, I don’t brag or bluster, but some of these poems and short stories I wrote way back when – some of them are really good. And actually still relevant to the world (as in, not dated – not “oh that’s SO nineties!”). And while it does make me wonder why I stopped writing in the first place (when did I get scared of my own words?), I’m thankful I stumbled upon these while going through boxes I’ve been wondering where they got to. I’m also very thankful that the word processor still works and the discs aren’t damaged from being stored in an attic that gets volcanically hot in the summer and arctically cold in the winter – because I don’t have hard copies of these anywhere anymore. I used to, but I don’t.

At one point I had a 3″ binder filled with printed copies of each and every poem I had written, in chronological order, nothing stored on discs or backed up anywhere. I didn’t have a real computer until I was in my mid-30’s and the only disc backup I had until then was on this cute little word processor with a 1 1/2″ screen to see your typing. When I went on vacation, I would hand the book off to a trusted friend for safe-keeping. You know, in case the house burned down while we gone or something.

Then at some point in my late 20’s I decided to edit. And I edited heavily. Tossing most of them out. I did not keep a copy “for old time’s-sake” nor did I have any type of sentimentality when I made “the cut”. And I kind of regret it now. I had hundreds of poems written between the age of 16-28. Hundreds. And a fair chunk of them from the college years when I wrote prolifically. PROLIFICALLY. I’m still hoping I run into a box in the attic with a binder, a journal, a disc even (?) that has the rest of them on it. I know there isn’t, deep down, in my heart of hearts. And it makes me breathe a little heavy, on the verge of a sob for lost poems that could have been re-worked, tweaked, or a the idea just taken in a different way.

If you take advice from anyone about your writing, heed this: Edit, sure, editing is good. It’s necessary sometimes for clarity’s sake or even just to make the thing better. But keep a copy of the original and perhaps the “in-betweens” till you get to the finished piece. DO NOT THROW ANYTHING OUT! EVER! Keep a copy on a disc/jump drive/whatever. Keep a hard copy in a safety box. Keep a copy in a binder and give to a friend for safe-keeping, whatever! But ALWAYS KEEP A COPY OF EVERYTHING YOU HAVE WRITTEN. Don’t make the mistake I made. Don’t try to hide your writing boo-boos or naivete’s from the world. It was written for a reason. It’s a part of your history. Embrace it, don’t abandon it. And for the love of god, don’t ever stop writing/painting/drawing/photographing/CREATING!! The world needs it’s artists and it’s poets. Now more than ever.

*I went to college in the very early nineties, the internet barely existed (it was a black hole of DOS formatted email at the time, nothing that exists now existed then!)  so home computers didn’t do too much back then. Actually, I think I bought it the very last year of college….