Of stuff. Of ideas. Of anger. Of resentment and jealousy.
When I started blogging, I recorded every idea that came to me on a voice recorder on my phone. I didn’t want to lose the moment or the thought that was so precious and would surely lead to an insightful blog post. I love blogging. I love writing. I needed content and each idea that came to me was like gold.
I have never gone back to those voice recordings. None of the 37 short and long tidbits or full posts recorded on my phone have ever made it to my computer screen and then out into the blogosphere.
And yet I hang onto them. They are all good ideas. In some cases, I wouldn’t even have to expand on the idea. I dictated the entire post to my phone. I would just have to transcribe it.
But that’s not likely going to happen. See, that’s the thing about blogging. I thought that, after my first two exciting weeks as a blogger when I was turning out posts non-stop, I would have trouble finding content and keeping the momentum up.
So I started recording ideas because they always seemed to come to me when I was doing something that prevented me from typing.
But I don’t run out of ideas. With every post that I write or read, another idea is born. It’s never-ending. Each new idea spawns another. And, as all writers know, it’s hard to let go of your ideas, your tidbits, your words. They are your babies. You cradle and mold and shape them, and then send them out into the world and hope for the best.
A writer’s words, whether recorded or written, are like their children. I am a mother and a writer. I cling to my words and to my children.
I cannot let my recorded ideas go. I may never get around to dispensing them into the blogosphere, but I cannot let them go.