Scraping or Writing More with Less

I'm a scraper.

I grew up that way.

I had grandparents who believed in the adage, “Waste not, want not.”
We made sure everything was put to use and reuse. Even the tiniest piece of store bought soap was
re-purposed. I can recall my grandmother standing over a large iron pot making soap, so store brought soap was a treat.

Of course I do not make soap or really live in want now, but I still value scraping.
My son will look at a used tube of toothpaste and say, “Mom, it's all gone.”

I'll pick up the flat tube and reply, “There is enough toothpaste in there to last three weeks.”

“No way, Mom!” he shoots back.


“Watch!” I say.

But wait! This post isn't about how thrifty I am with toiletries.

 It's about writing.

See, for the last few years, I have been learning how to scrape when writing.

Even today I'm thinking about it. Asking myself questions as I look at a piece my colleagues and I got a hit on a few weeks ago.
How can I use the unused remnants of the former piece to create a new one?
If only I could re-see this old piece from a different angle.
What if I used a different methodology?
A different theoretical framework?

Can I really re-purpose this soap, I mean, paper?

I've done it before.
I once used one rich interview with Allison Whittenberg to write two different pieces.
I went for a third, knew I was stretching too far with too little, but tried anyway and was rejected by an editor.

That's the best kind of rejection; the kind that comes after already hitting twice.

I can have a tube of toothpaste or a family size pack of soap in the linen closet, but that isn't the point.

The point is to maximize the minimum.
Use every bit of data of value that I have left, and try to hit again.