How, Oh How

How, oh how, dammit, did the authors of yore do it: Abstain from being repetitive. Well, some of them simply didn’t, and it didn’t seem to bother them either. But so many good authors I’ve read manage to cover similar ground again and again without repeating themselves. It’s horrible; horribly good. I ask myself whether they had such good memories that they knew exactly what they had written in the past, or if they searched, in the minute and painstaking hours of the night, through their old manuscripts to see if they hadn’t perhaps said that in just that way and change it accordingly if necessary. I am inclined to believe that they simply had good memories. After all, those were the days where one had to remember innumerable stanzas of epic poetry by heart just because someone thought that was an important part of your culture. Try that today with the typical pupil and he or she will tell you: are you insane go fuck yourself.
Baro Foro from Gogol Bordello, for those who are interested.
I write on the computer, like any normal human in this day and age. And, when I have nothing better to do and the crazy world closes on my mind like a bird of prey screaming down out of the blue at 300 mph, I do a search in my manuscript for repetitions. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. And what do I find? More repetitions than I care for, to put it mildly.
My memory simply isn’t that good. I’ve been trained to forget what my mind considers to be nonessential, and that could include some things that are, in fact, not quite as nonessential as my mind believes them to be. It’s a day and age of discarded information, and sometimes I ask myself what treasures are being discarded simply because my mind didn’t even bother to look properly. I read the first three words and already my mind is deciding wether to ignore the rest or not. Maybe i should, after all, at least read the first complete sentence before reaching a decision? At least that much?