Decluttering -- what that really means

I hate decluttering. Hate it. Mainly because it means getting rid of stuff -- and one of the things I'm most fond of collecting is paper. Piles and piles of it. I have a stack of paper nearly a foot high sitting in my closet. It is all the various drafts of Manhood Road. Call it a not so brief history of that story. The bottom pages are yellowed, and a bit scrunched -- various moves will do that to paper -- while the top pieces are relatively pristine. Just words -- most of these words actually made it to the last draft, the final draft of that story. I look at that pile, and think I should really remove it. You know, clean it out, so I have more room for the new. But it's not quite that easy.

That pile represents years -- literally years -- of my creative life. I look at that pile of paper, and I remember the first time I actually told someone what the story was probably going to be about. We were working in the Edmonton river valley at the time, another do gooder project that found me, and that I got paid very little for. But that was where I started to breathe life into that story. I went home that night and started hand writing it out. Didn't get too far, but I kept working at it. Chipping away at it, through the various jobs, and various time outs from doing good work. And finally the big push, losing the paranormal aspect that always seems to show up, and having it be a straight up "catch the serial killer." All that is left of the story I told the person sitting next to me on the edge of the river so many years before is the bones. So many changes, so many pieces of paper. So many years of my life.

Thinking about throwing it away to make space for new work feels a lot like getting rid of the oldest child's baby pictures so that I can make room for the new. (Yeah. Cliche. I know.) I don't think I can do it. Not this time around, anyhow. So, that pile stays.

Luckily, there are many pieces of paper I'm not so attached to, so I'm slowly working through the junk -- through the chaff -- to find those bits that must stay. Like the certificate for "Bravery, Stamina and Extreme Merit" for finishing the last three day contest. A person has to keep that, even if it's just for a little while. That, and my "Artist" tag from the Banff School of Fine Arts, and my delegate badge from the Liberal Leadership Convention. I just have to hang on to those bits of paper a little while longer, because they are physical representations of what I accomplished in the last year. And it was one heck of a year, I must say.

So, the decluttering is going slowly. I wish I could say that I savour it, but I don't. I hate it. I want it to be finished, so I can move forward, but this is part of what I must do to clear the decks. Look at every piece of paper, examine it for potential gold (even if it's only gold in my own mind), and then make the big decision. Blue bag or not?

On the writing front, still battling my way through another rewrite of Seeing the Light. (Another pile of paper that gets higher every year, ha ha.) I'm getting there, though. I'm getting there. I have to keep the ego on the sidelines with this rewrite. i have to keep reminding myself that I want to get it published, that I want lots of people to read and enjoy this story, so it can't stay the way it started even though I love Farley dearly, and I'm getting there. Marie is finally coming to life for me, and that helps. She whispers in my ear, and I just write it down. I don't have to make stuff up for her anymore. And that's a good place to be.