Destroying the manuscripts

Every artist has a their own way of creating their masterpieces. Some sit in quiet rooms, diligently plugging away at the ideas in their head to make their ideas real. Others prefer the outdoors or public places. They also have ways of destroying pieces of their creation or completed projects. Each artist has their reasons for doing so. Rarely does the artist ever think about what the public or future generations will think about their actions.

In the past week, I have had two conversations with friends about how I destroy a lot of my work. There are reasons behind it, but their reactions gave me pause about why I choose to do it and I thought I might explain why, at least for me, this is actually a good thing.

I have, mostly, finished my memoir. All artists will tell you they are never truly satisfied with their work. If they look back at their work, they will always find something they could have done better.

When I was a reporter, I never read my articles. There are a few reasons why, but one of them was because I would read a sentence and think, “I should have written another way.” It would plague me that I could not fix it, make it better. I knew I had done the best work I could have at the time, but the nagging thought that it could have been better would overwhelm me. So I stopped reading.

With my personal writings, I have the power to change it. Until my memoir is published, I will continue to look at the manuscript and find ways to do things better and words to convey my message clearer. This is a major reason why I delete and shred versions of my writings as I go.

My one friend thinks the destruction of my work was a detriment to potential future readers. I do not agree. Once something is clear and is the way I want the message to be conveyed, why would I want anyone to look or see the silly progression from my brain? Those are my intimate thought processes and I do not want to be judged for the way I process and convey information. I create different versions as I seek to find better ways to tell a story. My purpose is not to show you the process, but the finished product.

Currently, the only existing copies of my manuscript are the May 27 and July 7 edits. I have made nine revisions to my manuscript so far. The last two are the only existing copies.

The May 27 edit still exists because my former editor agreed to read it and made some great suggestions. Though I have taken all his advice into consideration, there are two things he suggested that I have not fixed yet.

One is because I haven’t gotten to it. The other is because I need to rework something. His comments were spot on, but it also showed that I failed as the author to get my point across and I must be clearer on one particular chapter. Once those two items are done, the May 27 edit will no longer exist. I expect this will happen in the next week or two.

All of my poetry exists only in its final form. I will hand-write my poem. then, I will type up a copy, print it, and edit it. Once the editing is completed, all versions of the poem will cease to exist. Only the intended finished poem and its message will be conveyed to the reader.

My other friend has also recently been going through something similar. He is getting rid of artistic creations he either finished or has abandoned that he considers no good or not worthy of existing. I, too, have done what he is doing.

There is something cathartic in looking at a piece of art and concluding that there is no benefit for it to exist. It doesn’t tell a story, convey a feeling, or evoke an emotion, so why does it need to exist? I have written countless items only to later discard them. I have begun pieces and deleted them. I have turned ideas over in my mind only to conclude they are not worth my time and desire to see them to fruition.

In every case, there is a catharsis in the destruction. They are my creations and I am the only one who should have a say in whether they exist or not.

While my one friend sees value in the journal I kept from 1990-1995, my other friend sees the value in the lessons learned from within its pages and the lack of a need to keep those pages around. Indeed, when I tore the pages from those journals and burned them in my sink – and later in my back yard – there was an immense sense of finality in the process that allowed me to move on as a person and as a writer.

The destruction of manuscripts, for me, is a way of letting go of imperfections and stepping forward into meaning and progress. Could there have been a grand masterpiece among the ashes? Maybe. But that is my risk to take.

The satisfaction of having the best, finished piece known to the public is at the heart of my desire to write. That is what I show. The private, internalized method is not meant for you and, so, it is destroyed as time moves on.

I believe, in the end, it makes us all better writers, musicians, and creators. When a friend or a loved one lets you in on the secret that they are destroying things they may have spent months working on, trust them that they are doing the best thing possible. It is how we grow as artists and how we learn to let go of things that do not work in order to present our next masterpiece to you.