Letting Go

Are you the type who can't thin out vegetable seedlings because you believe if they took the trouble to germinate, they should all be given the chance to grow?

LET GO.

Does your garden look like an Amazon rainforest because you can't bear to get out the hedge clippers?

LET  GO.

Do you possess more meaningless, random five-year old art work than you actually have five year olds because you won't throw anything out?

LET GO.

Do you hang onto ill feelings long after an altercation just in case you need them again for round two?

LET GO.

As a writer, are you reluctant to edit your own work, because they employ people to do that sort of thing for you anyway don't they, and any self-respecting editor will be able to see how much blood, sweat and tears each word took to produce therefore earning its place in your convoluted story?

LET  GO.

An oft hackneyed term that is easier said than done. Perhaps, as writers, we have to deal with the idea of letting go, shaving back, cleaning out, and changing tack more frequently than the average Joe because not only must we contend with our own overcrowded, complicated lives, but we must also be wary of unnecessarily cluttering those of our characters.

And it's much, much harder to butcher the dreams and aspirations of those you love than your own, believe me.

I'm going through a few personal crises just now and a rushed bout of self-editing (for a manuscript). The two are at vastly different ends of my well-being spectrum but the one uniting factor they share is the need to

LET GO.

It's tough work. But the feeling you get after chucking out that Tupperware you no longer look at or culling back an unnecessary paragraph or two is nothing short of liberating and life changing. At least on one's own little life spectrum.

It's not easy but it's worth it. Because to change everything, you simply need to change your attitude. Or at least let the old ones go...

So, what about a change of hair-do then? Hack it off? What do you reckon?