The End of End Pieces

I’ve been going through my files, scanning tear pages into the computer. My file cabinets are stuffed. I have to make room. I keep articles from magazines and newspaper that spark something in me or in my memory, give me ideas, help my writing, gives me another take on a subject I’m interested in. And, of course, I save research material.

A wealth of information passes through my fingers, if I pay attention. I’m sure that’s true for anyone, but a writer never knows when that one tiny insignificant bit of information is just the thing for a scene in a novel, a line in a poem, a whole essay idea.

It amazes me the piles of tear outs I’ve kept from magazines and newspapers over the years. As I’ve been going through these I’ve noticed most of the tear pages have come from magazine end pieces. Every magazine had one, that last page essay. And I loved them. As I’ve been going through these files I’ve been amazed at the writing. Those end pieces are the best writing, I think. Emotional, witty, thoughtful, over the back fence conversations, that we get now only through blogs and internet noise.

It made me just a little sad. I know there is so much more access now, more opinions heard, too. Probably a good thing, that. Yes, the dialogue is bigger, more diverse and we most likely do a lot more thinking about someone else’s opinion, whether we agree or not.

Still, is it wrong of me? Does it reveal my age when I say how much I miss those end pieces in magazine? When I could read them over my toast and honey at breakfast, where the speed of the rebuttal didn’t exist and any answer to the essay took thought, editing and careful wording.
These archived essays were a strange illustration of my tastes, my views, disagreements with views and my life as a stay-at-home mom during a time not so different from now. It is a history, my history.

End pieces from Byline (how I miss that writer’s magazine), Garden Shed, Writer’s Digest, Woman’s Day, Family Circle, Good Housekeeping. My life in end pieces.

The pile reminds me of a box my brother-in-law gave me from his Aunt Doris. He said I was the only one he could think would appreciate the contents of that boot box. The contents must have meant a great deal to Aunt Dernice, she kept it through every move she made, including the last. Inside the old boot box was a pile of papers with quotes. Luncheon napkins with quotes on the back, church programs, tear outs from the newspaper (1945-1956.) Of course I wanted it.

I collect every great quote I run into, too. What a treasure and a little bread crumb trail of Dernice’s life.

It’s kind of sad that there won’t be a lot of breadcrumbs left behind anymore.