I wrote something recently. It seemed almost good. I though it needed some fleshing out. That is what I set out to do.
Just as I was ready to add a little color to the piece, I unexpectedly and suddenly did the opposite. I deleted something.
After deleting a little of it, I liked what I saw. So then I cut the rest of the paragraph. I liked that too.
At this point, I’m on a roll. I went through the writing, paragraph by paragraph. I deleted a little at a time at first. Then I became bold and started eliminating wide swaths of writing. Entire threads went into the trash.
This non-writing was extremely satisfying. This non-writing started to feel like writing.
After getting rid of most of my writing, I looked at what was left. I didn’t miss what was missing. Even though I had acted very spur of the moment, I knew that I did the right thing.
I was so satisfied with this hatchet job. I didn’t add anything back. I didn’t add anything new.
I’d arrived at the crux of it. I experienced happy minimalism.
I don’t know what this means going forward. But I have a feeling it’s leading somewhere.