The clutter I’m learning to reduce isn’t physical—it’s internal. For years, I filled my creative process with unnecessary layers: over-explaining, over-structuring, and second-guessing instincts that were already sound. What looked like discipline was often a lack of trust.
As I’ve grown as an artist, I’ve realized that my voice was never the problem. The clutter came from stepping in too often—guiding the reader instead of letting them discover, rushing work before it had the time to settle into its own shape. That impulse to manage every outcome added noise where there should have been space.
Reducing clutter, for me, means removing that interference. It means listening to the work, to the unease, to the so-called madness I once tried to control or explain away. Once I connect the dots and nothing inside me flinches, the work is ready. Anything beyond that is excess.
The simplification isn’t about doing less. It’s about getting out of the way.
Memoirs of Madness 
Indeed… the work has thus the ability to follow the contours of readers’ imagination. As writers, we do ntervene too often, especially when we aren’t ready to release our creation into the world.
I, too, am learning to quiet the voices.
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