And it is inevitable. When a seemingly random and inexplicable piece of information (data, memory, story, etcetera) crosses the writer’s path it is no longer questioned.
It gets filed in some way or another for that day that will surely come when the information will answer a question, solve a puzzle, or be exactly what is needed at that exact moment.
This is partly why it is difficult for some writers — certainly this one — to discard; for writers, you just don’t know when whatever it is in your hand above the dustbin might be of some use.
So, the files continue to mount in ziggurats; notes get written and stashed; boxes are stuffed and stored, while books are arranged and re-arranged to accommodate more, and more in our offices, ateliers and writing outposts.
Everything is material, after all. A writer’s defense against a charge of hoarding.
Writers are guilty as need be.