Through my graduate studies one of my favorite personal essay topics was myself and since I was separated and going through a divorce, my emotional terrain took up pages and pages of my writing life.
I wrote through it, about it and around it and finally and I’m not quite sure when it happened, I have written over it. I’m over it. I can no longer write about that time of my life with clarity, conviction or emotion because I no longer feel it. Or feel like it.
Writing is truly therapeutic.
Yet I have well-crafted essays with nowhere to go. I can’t submit them for publication because while they represent who I was they no longer represent who I am. Do I revise them for today or keep them consistent with yesterday?
I could do either.
Do I post them on my blog as fresh wounds or scabs? Post them as closed chapters? Posting them at all gives them new life. I could build a bonfire of lost emotion and watch the embers dance, smoldering upon the sky. But to where would they drift?
I will not allow my past to define my writing future.
Do I delete them like excess words that no longer serve the story?
Instead I will file them under a folder labeled “closed chapters” and I will walk away from the well-crafted ramblings of a writer I no longer recognize.