Writers start somewhere.
There are drafts,more drafts, hours alone, nurturing, dismissals, and revelations. The work itself was its own validation; years later, validation, elusive, arrives like lovers, brief, mercurial, leaving mists. Refreshing.
When did I edit? Never, during the earlier processes. Could I pat the messy groundwork, plant a thought, re-plant more? Yeah: writers start somewhere.
Whether hidden (badly) within the serrated-edged
sheets inside a black faux leather diary with
a lock and key; or splayed upon curled and stained yellow pads, half- and full-sized; or drawn like art between colorfully-bound pages of padded journals. . .
my words morph, disappear, return, take root."Deep thoughts", philopsophies, rants, and raves--both light and dark--burrow. But they will not be edited, not this early. Even now, it's early.
The collection predominantly documents thirty-five years of my produced and anthologized works and chronicles their back-engineered processes. The archive even houses my journals, mid-1950s to mid-2000. Salacious selections (sic) will only be available by request in 2025 through Green Library. Note: the collection is still being processed.
Click on the tab Samples-original drafts for extracts of the earliest (pre-salacious) short stories and poems. Delight in familiarity. Discover sympatico. Take the hits. Brave your storms. Shed. Bare. Expose. Exult.
Be intrigued to research the full Special Collection
to follow this writer's beginnings and navigate through my own defining--and continuing--process.
Enjoy.
