Just do it, already
Taming the elusive process of writing
This week, I have been preoccupied with editing and finessing a short story I’ve written.
At this stage - this will be the fourth short story I have under my belt, so I now feel entitled to have a predictable writing pattern that I can refer to by saying “at this stage” - When a piece of work is oh-so almost at the end, that’s when things come undone. All you have to do is start; that’s the biggest hurdle, they say. I don’t think that’s true. I find starting easier. I’m brimming with excitement and possibility. Notes, ideas, and half-formed sentences dance around my Google Doc with whimsical optimism. It’s finishing the fucking thing that’s the hard part.
In some ways, it’s similar to dating. After a break or a period of no contact, meeting again is awkward. It makes you shy. The vulnerability you showed the last time you met makes you blush with candour. I read and cringe at things my past self wrote. What was I thinking? Quick, exit tab. I can’t bear to look anymore. And so, a mole hill becomes a mountain one that I can’t face, let alone conquer.
“Touch the document every day” - that’s the wisdom I heard from
, who had heard it from someone else, and shared with us at her Substack subscriber dinner celebrating the launch of her second novel, Table for One in May. Even that feels impossible some days. I fumble; cautiously extend a hand as though the document might be brimming with a contagious disease. Then I cringe some more and call it a day.I try to catch myself out by inventing strange reasons as to why I couldn’t possibly edit an existing piece of work. I want to preserve it just as it is! The irrational part of my brain says. A feigned sense of sentimentality clouded my better judgment. Perhaps I’ll manage to highlight areas I know I want to tweak and refine. Still, for this particular short story, I ended up having to make a copy of the document before I could even contemplate making any changes. Don’t ask questions, just accept whatever works.
Complication arises in the form of paradoxes. I have a deep, yearning desire for the work to be finished. To have a polished and completed piece of writing in my hands (Google Drive). And yet, by a certain point, I cannot even bear to take a peek at it. See, I am afraid to commit. If I declare, “it’s done”, then I can no longer hide behind the facade of an eternal work in progress. I open myself up to critique and feedback, which is scary. But what else am I to do?
I am a perfection hunter, running around with a big net trying to capture it, but it slips past me like water through a sieve. What a waste of time. I try to see the bigger picture and remember that in hindsight, days or years from now, everything I write will be subject to my own differing opinions. Loved one day, possibly hated the next. Perfection is not a static thing that can protect me.
Striking at the right time is key. Having the patience to negotiate with my unreasonable demands (like copying draft documents to preserve the originals) helps move things along. Days of a more resilient frame of mind dampen and extinguish the raging fire of fear that my writing will one day be read and judged. Internal feuds must also reach a ceasefire. Words of encouragement only, to help get the job done. “Wow, what an incredibly poetic and original description of that thing. Well done, me”. This week, I have worked with the flow, allowing the positivity and general oomph of the new school year / fresh start of September to galvanise me.
I should complete my short story today. If not today, then definitely by the end of this week. Onto the next, then.
