I've been in purge mode lately. I've been deleting files like crazy. Old letters. A few of my Journals. Some sloppy attempts at fiction. Even worse poetry. I'm getting rid of a lot of stuff that I have written over the years.
I've been burning the hard copies, zapping the hard drive. Killing the words. Some of it I remember EXACTLY what I was doing when I wrote it. Some of it I find in folders and drawers and wonder when the heck I ever came up with that. All but a few favorites are going down the drain. I've got a pile of Zip disks I have yet to go through...haven't decided yet what among that stack I'll keep and what I'll add to the junk pile. During certain periods I've been crazy prolific with writing so there is a lot. I'm ready to wipe the slate clean.
I find the PROCESS of my writing is more valuable to me than the product. I write. I read it. I think about it and ponder. Putting thoughts and feelings into words helps me to sort out the uncertainty and ambivalence that storms in my brain over so many things. But I would be mortified if I were to get hit by a bus and these pages were left for others to find. So out it all goes. Goodbye words.