Tidying Up

Started watching ‘Tidying Up’ a couple of nights ago on Netflix – a lower-rent version of BBC Two’s brilliant ‘Life Laundry’ from years back.

In it, Marie Kondo talks about shedding stuff and ordering what remains in beautifully laid out drawers and shelves.

Prompted me to intersperse my writing with some real-life editing.

Ditched the concert series preview brochures; hung onto anything with programme notes in it – the result is print-based evidence of fruitful relationships with effective classical music PRs over the years.

The pile I threw away was mildly distressing. I see the effort in that print. I project a sense of pride onto their creation. I picture the people who have done the research, and the interviewing, and the writing, and the sub-editing. I stare at the pile of magazines I no longer want (because I haven’t looked at them in six months) and think to throw them away seems like such a shocking waste of everyone’s time, money and effort.

Why even write if the tangible evidence of your creation will, eventually, get thrown away?


This is all at odds with the big classical music journalism thing this week – Ariane Todes announcing plans for a new magazine she wants to put together about the artform and with a specific audience in mind. It’s a great thing, and one I’ve no doubt she will pull off too. It’s also much-needed.

But as much as I love print – I feel reassured by its tactile quality – it’s not lasting. It requires consumers like me to hang on to it in order for the work that was involved putting it together to continue to receive recognition. To discard that print feels disrespectful. Ungrateful. Doesn’t it?

The New Year has come with a whole host of unexpected thought processes, all of them loosely connected around value, purpose, and frugality.

An irony presents itself. The very thing which derives such pleasure for me (and seems to come reasonably easily) – writing – is the same thing that can be discarded so straightforwardly.

Writing is a pleasure, and something I don’t doubt I can do to a reasonably good level (note the use of ‘reasonably‘). It’s my safe haven amid the screaming. When I get paid for it the circle is complete.

What’s odd is the idea of wanting to write when you know that the potential fruits of your labour could be so easily forgotten and thrown away.

At least I hung on to the programme notes, I suppose.

Comments

comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.