Different writing is handled different ways: my journal entries I do not edit–I just get it down redundancies and all. Blogs I edit right away and on the computer. Letters I do not edit. I read them before sending them and make sure there are no errors–usually of omission. Short autobiographical stories, which I do not write too many I first get down and run a hard copy after each set of editing. Poems are usually generated from my journal. I edit right away from my raw material and run a hard copy and then edit, again, and run another hard copy, sometimes, sitting on it and edit it again from the hard copy and print and repeat the process until I am happy with it. I failed to note my wife edits my material. My blogs, poems, and other written material I read out loud to her for a general reaction and modify my material according to her reaction. She has good instincts. Also it is amazing what I hear when I read the material out loud especially regarding poems. I am keenly aware of my material read out loud. It has to sound right. That is some of my techniques and process I go through. My web site I created with my wife’s help to aid other writers.

Editing when I write a poem (or blog) (or anything), is different for different types of writing.  For blogs I edit as I go along.  For journals entries that turn into poems I try initially to get the particular experience down.  At that point I do not edit and if I decide to turn the entry into a poem I then start editing when I get to the computer.  Letters I write I never edit.  I do read my letter once.  Sometimes I find omissions and add a word or two here or there but that is it.  I but I really do not edit my letters.

I do write autobiographical short stories but this is rare.  I could only remember three I wrote.  There I write initially without editing and then when I get to the computer with it I get it all down, print the initial draft and then edit each subsequent draft which is done from the hard copy.  This is my general process.  I do use my wife as an editor.  For a general reaction, which I always consider as I edit further.  I am very lucky to have her.

I don’t want more things to come into my house, that is cluttered enough; although we have made much progress.  I am as responsible as my wife for more things coming into my house.  There is always another book or another piece of music to purchase.  When both of us go, someone will have a massive job to clear the house.  I mentioned this to my wife and she did not seem concerned about this.  We have made much progress in decluttering our house.  It seems a losing battle.  I really have to determine (in our will) what truly is important.  To me it is my journals and poems.  I don’t know what things my wife wants to bequeath if anything.  Right now we have a menagerie (seven cats and four dogs) but they are starting to get up in age, particularly, the cats, where the youngest one is nine years old.  I am sure my wife would want them to go to a good home if any animals were left when both of us are gone.  You never know how much time you have.  And death may come suddenly.  You never know.

I have been depressed for awhile.  I know my depression is an indicator.  I know my age has something to do with it:  I will not live another 64 years.  I wonder what I will leave behind.  I certainly can’t take my things with me–my music, my journals, my poems.  I can’t take anything with me.  So what is there?  What is my purpose of living?  It is not the accumulation of my things.  From dust you come and from dust you shall return.  I do hope I leave the world a better place, that some people might mourn me.  And have good memories of me.  The thing about the world it goes on.  Every day someone dies, someone is born.  I am trying to figure out my purpose in the time I have left.  Not that my death is imminent but who knows?  No one can really help me on my journey.  Somehow I have to figure out what I have to do which will give me meaning so I can climb out of my depression.  There is (???are) no easy answers.

I Am Not My Diagnosis

Author: siggy

I am not my diagnosis.  I could state it but it does not matter.  I am a man who loves all kinds of music, writes poetry, letters and other things.  I love nature particularly the birds I attract with all my feeders.  I am married to a woman I love who is not quite the same but loves a lot of the same things particularly music from the same era.  She is not perfect but close.  We both love to read and I have more books in my house that I ever had before.  She loves mysteries.  I don’t.  But our tastes in books and music is very eclectic.  Music and books are all over the house.  She usually lets me be.  I am not as good as her in that regard and sometimes have to learn to be quiet.  We have our own space in our house.  I love the mountains, the lakes and ocean.  So does she.  We live on the edge of country.  I am all these things and more.  I am not my diagnosis I have to state again.  That is just an artificial artifact.  The doctors need that and my insurance.  That is the only purpose of my diagnosis.  It is not me.

It was in the late sixties I started keeping a journal.  It was a pivotal point in my life.  Forty years ago I knew my emotions were frozen.  I could not cry.  I did not know how I felt at any moment.  I was deeply depressed.

My journal was a start.  It gave me somewhere to go safely.  It was my only outlet (outside of sports) at the time.  My writings back then were not that good.  I poured out my depressed feelings.

Eventually some of my entries became poems and even got published.  That was the furthest thing from my mind when I started.

At some point years later I made an important shift:  instead of accenting the negative I started writing more and more about the positive in my life.

I never would have got there if I had not written first about all the things that were bothering me.

At some point I started recording the humorous things that happened around me.  It became another way to diffuse the “craziness” I saw.

I found out decades later I liked making people laugh at open mikes.  And I wrote more and more funny poems.

None of this would have not (???) happened if I did not start journalling in the late sixties.  Now my blogs have almost replaced my journal.  Though entries in my journal still trickle in.

WELCOME! I hope you will enjoy reading my blurbs.

In addition to the Blogs, I hope to encourage and inform poets and writers at Siggy’s Cafe For Writers & Poets, www.siggyscafe.com.  Here you will find many pages of articles, poems, suggested reading, and more, plus a special section devoted to my love of music.  Siggy