In a moment of strong-headedness today, I plopped down in my chair, told myself that I was going to write come hell or high water, and just got down to it. I didn’t have anything concrete to work with at first, but I did have a few vague goals in mind: a couple of entries for a new blog I’m starting, a quickie essay assignment by one of my favorite editors, and queries that needed to go out yesterday.
The reason, and the only reason, I might add, that I haven’t completed all these tasks already is that every time I sat down to do them, I felt like I wasn’t inspired enough or feeling funny enough or just generally had the writing blahs and this would show on the page.
Perfectionism, anyone?
It’s not that everything I write is perfect– ha, far from it!– but every time I sit down to write, I want it to be. I know, in that dense logical part of my brain, that there is no way I’m going to achieve perfection every time, but waiting until the last possible minute somehow makes you believe that one of these days you’re going to be in that dreamy state of mind when the words will flow and everything will come to you. Unfortunately, as every writer will attest, we’ve all been in that state a few times in our lives, and hence, we hope that we’re going to be hit by that flash of lightening again. Preferably before our deadlines.
And, you know, that simply doesn’t work. In fact, the more you write, the more you’re going to find yourself in that space. The more you leave it be, well, there isn’t much you can do if inspiration strikes when you’re at a party, now is there?
The more you write, the better you become. We all know that. I cringe looking back at some of my old work (as I’m sure many of you do), but if I hadn’t written that, I wouldn’t be capable of writing what I do now. If I hadn’t made the mistakes, banged my head against the wall trying to find the right structures, looping beginnings and endings, and lopping off entire paragraphs that didn’t work, I’d still suffer with them for hours on end. And yet, I still expect perfection to flow out of my fingertips. As if by magic.
It comes easier now though. The revisions are fewer, the editors are happier. I have more work. It’s because of all the practice I’ve had. And I’m constantly learning.
Isn’t there a saying about how you have to write 100,000 bad words in order to get to the good stuff? I’m done with my 100,000. Any day now, I’ll get to the really good stuff.
But in the meantime, all I can do is write. It won’t be perfect, but then one article isn’t going to make or break my career, is it? Sure, I put in my best effort into everything I do, but let’s face it: it’s not all going to be great. Not everyone will like it. And that’s okay. Because there’s always the next article. And the next, and the next.
Until eventually, I’ll sit down at the page and as a creature of habit, will produce, not because I’ve now perfected the craft, but because I’ve trained my body and my mind to see that every time I open up my word processor, it’s time to write.
And that, I think, is the real magic.