Plagiarising myself
I've recently been going through some old writing notes from about 10-15 years ago, back when my style was somewhat free-form and chaotic, part therapy session, part Hunter S. Thompson ... and what has surprised me most is the feelings I was experiencing. I have vague memories of distance (percieved) traumas and dramas, but nothing like a full recollection of what I was thinking when I wrote these pieces.
And in a strange way it felt like I was snooping on someone ... going through their underwear drawer and reading their diary.
Some of these pieces went on to become songs, others are the kernals of stories that I have since developed. But most are bits and pieces, experiments in verses or stream of concious writing that are ripe for plundering by my newly found poet brain.
But there, once again, is the rub. It feels like I'm cheating someone out of their work. It's my own words, my own scrawled handwriting, my own declarations of heartbreak, but I feel so disconnected to that person that it is weird to re-work them.
But does that mean I should simply leave them in a folder to fade away? Everyone changes over the years, matures, develops, moves on and so on. And every writers work generally gets better the more you write. Would I be so reluctant to re-visit a short story I had tried to write years ago, only to find new inspiration to finish it? Probably not at all. So why the hypocrisy?
I think it does come down to the diary analogy. These pieces were written at very turbulent times, the emotions are raw and splashed across the page for all to see. So I think I am struggling with a sense of honour to those times. I am a changed person, better in some ways, more stable, less sad. And so would it be OK to use some of these old pieces to show my life as it was, back then? To edit and craft using the ten or so years writing experience I have amassed to turn them into something that may, one day, be fit for public consumption?
I hope so. Because, reading back these pieces, I have found that some of them are good, rough but good.
And good writing is the name of the game!
And in a strange way it felt like I was snooping on someone ... going through their underwear drawer and reading their diary.
Some of these pieces went on to become songs, others are the kernals of stories that I have since developed. But most are bits and pieces, experiments in verses or stream of concious writing that are ripe for plundering by my newly found poet brain.
But there, once again, is the rub. It feels like I'm cheating someone out of their work. It's my own words, my own scrawled handwriting, my own declarations of heartbreak, but I feel so disconnected to that person that it is weird to re-work them.
But does that mean I should simply leave them in a folder to fade away? Everyone changes over the years, matures, develops, moves on and so on. And every writers work generally gets better the more you write. Would I be so reluctant to re-visit a short story I had tried to write years ago, only to find new inspiration to finish it? Probably not at all. So why the hypocrisy?
I think it does come down to the diary analogy. These pieces were written at very turbulent times, the emotions are raw and splashed across the page for all to see. So I think I am struggling with a sense of honour to those times. I am a changed person, better in some ways, more stable, less sad. And so would it be OK to use some of these old pieces to show my life as it was, back then? To edit and craft using the ten or so years writing experience I have amassed to turn them into something that may, one day, be fit for public consumption?
I hope so. Because, reading back these pieces, I have found that some of them are good, rough but good.
And good writing is the name of the game!
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Short Ramblings
I'll try to keep it short! I'll post updates, thoughts and progresses on various projects, be they short stories or poetry.
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