I know. I know. A memoir is not actually a storehouse for relics such as sacred bones or castoff pieces of clothing—the stuff of saints and the holiest of holies. A memoir is a container for a story from a life. And not necessarily a holy life, except for the belief that all life is holy, even that of a sinner such as me.

Regardless of all that, what I want to say is… while my completed memoir is awaiting acceptance, I have been rummaging through its 90,000 words in a search of excerpts I can carve out and make into stand-alone pieces to submit for publication. This is one of the ways we writers can connect with potential readers, create visibility, and “create buzz” for our upcoming books.

I haven’t memorized all 90k words in the memoir, but they are pretty familiar by now; the memoir has been in the works coming on five years. But I am familiar enough with the scenes and sections that, in reviewing various submissions guidelines, I know whether a possible fit resides within the manuscript. What’s been more fun and endlessly more interesting though, is going through all my old notebooks and journals in search of something worthy of moving to the next place—that is, submission for publication.

Most everyone who knows me knows I am a believer in writing practice and have been a daily practitioner for decades. I also lead writing workshops and groups where we respond to prompts and play around with writing exercises. Currently I’m leading another twelve-week Wild Women, Wild Voices Writing Workshop and, each week with the dozen or so other wild women, write about an aspect of my life based on the explorations suggested in the book. I still have journals from most of the previous Wild Women workshops I’ve facilitated.

Also, stashed in too many boxes under too many tables and on too many shelves, are journals and notebooks from other workshops and groups I’ve led over the last many years—writing marathons, solstice and equinox observances, writing retreats and focused, generative workshops (I loved the “Maps to Anywhere” workshop we did last year, and the recent, “We are Writers, Writing.”) And I’m not even talking about Thursday Writers sessions that I’ve been part of most every week since 1994. I don’t have all those notebooks (thanks, Marie Kondo!), but I still have plenty, all aflutter with sticky notes and messy with ear-marked pages.

This week I submitted a excerpt from the memoir to one publication and I’m working on a flash piece from a long-ago Thursday Writers for another journal. It’s what we can do when we’re not knee-deep in a longer project and waiting for a “Yes!”

Do you save all your old notebooks and journals to mine for rough stones you might polish up and turn into a gem? What do you do with all your writing practice and prompt pieces?