In prep for my recent move, I decided to go through my small room to get rid of all the unnecessary. I wanted a new start and that meant throwing away and donating some old things that I'd (for whatever reason) held onto. I came across this uninteresting, run-of-the-mill spiral green notebook. It had several empty sheets in the back, so I figured I could toss whatever was in the front and reuse the back. Opening the front to rifle through and tear out whatever no-longer-needed school notes I thought I was sure to find, I stumbled upon something wonderful. Here was a slightly crappy but quite usable beginning to a novel I'd been writing roughly two years ago before starting my now-finished masters degree. I couldn't remember writing it, let alone remember where I was going with the storyline--I'd left off mid-sentence right at a juicy part. What an opportunity!
Now in my new place, in a new borough (New Yorker that I am), living with new roommates, I find myself with obsessing over this old gem that I seem to have unearthed. Coming out of a summer of wanting to write but never really making the time to, I'm excited. I've found something old that has made itself new to me again.
Sometimes change is about newness, but sometimes it's about the old morphing into something better. It's refreshing to experience all of this newness while still feeling a connection to the old. I'm thrilled to take the time to write this new/old novel.
What about you? Experienced anything similar? I'd love to hear your story.
I've experienced something very similar recently - found an old notebook down the back of my desk last week, with notes from over 7 years ago! It's VERY rough, but I think there's something there I could use in a future book. It's great when that happens!
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