Let It Go

Work in Progress

Any writer who has prepared a book for publication knows what the last days of tinkering with the manuscript are like. Second-guessing every big and small decision you’ve made, every word choice and comma, the title, the point of it all, is this even a good idea?

It’s torturous.

Because the thing we all know is, once the book is out in the world, it’s too late. So, if there are errors to catch or final decisions to make, now’s the time.

But how do you know when a book is done? Like, really ready? Everything fixed, good to go.

Answer: you don’t.

Answer: it’s a trick question, because…

It’s never ready

That’s the terrible truth. No matter how many times you read it, how many tiny things you fix, I can guarantee that when it comes out in print and you sit down to read it (if you can stomach it by that point; I usually have to wait several months before I can even look at my own book again), you will find more things to fix.

Whenever I prepare a reading from a book of mine, I invariably get in there with a pencil and cross things out, wondering at some of the decisions I made.

I know that will always be true. I can’t read a book (my own or anyone else’s) without wanting to fix it in some way. Occupational hazard, I suppose, but also perhaps a statement about reality. Nothing is perfect. It will never be perfect. At a certain point, it must simply be released.

“Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

Paul Valéry (or Leonardo da Vinci, depending on whom you believe)

Deadlines are for letting go

Not for finishing. My book was finished ages ago. Finished but not perfect. And guess what? I’ve read it about fifty times since then and it’s still finished. Still not perfect. Every time I read it, I find something new to fix.

So, I set myself a deadline. On Friday it went back to the publisher whether I was done or not. Because I was done.

And I wasn’t.

I’m happy with it—and I will never be happy with it.

And what this really boils down to…

is not just that the book will never truly be ready but that I will never truly be ready to let it go.

It’s yet another thing I’ve learned from racing: you do the thing whether you feel ready or not. And the corollary: you will never feel ready. But you do it anyway.

I leave you with this photo of a street name in Paris (the Street of the Fishing Cat).

And in Vancouver, someone made the decision to release Oak Street into the world. :-(

What I’m letting go of this week (besides my poetry manuscript):

• Any expectations I have about my upcoming race.

• The need to come up with a perfect ending for my novel. It’s a first draft. First drafts are not meant to be perfect. They’re just meant to be finished.

Have a great week. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Good is good.