Just half of a fully forgotten memory

I collect things. Anyone who knows me in person can probably tell you something I collect. Ask ten different people, and they probably tell you I collect ten different things. The truth is, I just keep stuff, not in a deadly-hoarder kind of fashion, but in the “this is useful or interesting or taught me something valuable and I must retain it until it no longer serves that purpose to me” kind of way.

Books, and video games (spanning well over two decades of production), DVDs and CDs flow out of a dozen shelves in my house. I have small wooden boxes and large vintage suitcases, collections of wool, yarn, thread, and scraps of fabric for sewing and creating. Tumbled gemstones, Tarot decks, notebooks and little paper and fabric gift baggies that I usually find another great purpose for.

I also collect quotes and inspiring stories. My favourite is collecting writing advice that doesn’t tell you any of the specific things, but rings that clear, pealing bell inside me, the one that says, “TRUTH!”.

Now, I don’t have the best functioning memory in the world. I usually attribute that to replacing memories too frequently with new information, new ideas. I don’t recall specifics of things I’ve read very well, and that is a kind of blessing. Some days when I’m feeling really lost or uninspired, I might decide to browse through my interesting writing file. Just see if I’ve got anything in there that will remind me why I should do any of it.

I’ll usually find something. Rather, I usually find this blog post by Merlin Mann: Making the Clackity Noise. I can’t remember where I first found this article, or why I read it. It came from somewhere.

It rang true to me in all the right ways. And even if I don’t always end up writing something significant afterwards, I’m happy, because just a little bit of a story fell out of me. I think we get way too caught up trying to do it “right”. There isn’t a right. There is, however, a write. That’s what I’m going to briefly remember to do.