I thought I wanted perfect.
I chased it with a list.
Until I changed perspective,
And found what I had missed.
Perfection is the ultimate goal.
That’s the incoming message, isn’t it? I see the cover pages of magazines while waiting in line at the grocery store. Perfectly organized pantries, closets and laundry rooms. Glorious kitchens with everything you need, perfectly placed and waiting for when you need it. Pure fiction, I suspect. At the very least, not my reality.
I have a panic room in my house that hides the real me. You know, the room where clutter gets stuffed while guests visit. Most people don’t go snooping in random rooms when they pop in for a quick visit but just in case, mine has a lock on it. For their own safety really.
I’m not proud of my natural lack of organization save the sock drawer. For some strange reason sock folding is a necessary task that fills me with joy at its completion. That drawer you can look in. Not the others.
I have created many lists over the years in an attempt to reach the ultimate goal of perfection. List completion doesn’t happen nearly as often as list creation. And list retention has proven to be a challenge. For the most part I am still the same messy, chaos-loving individual who has learned to live with clutter-blindness.
Except in my writing.
The need for every word of my novel to be flawless is worse than my sock-drawer compulsion. The story, the plot, the tension, the characters, the first line of each chapter, all of it has to be perfect. Is anyone surprised that my novel remains incomplete?
Learn From My Mistakes Moment: I am trying hardest to be perfect in the one area that needs perfection the least.
Why am I doing this?
- Being a good writer is important to me. I always thought perfection equalled success.
- The more I learn, the more I recognize how I can improve. Always.
- Ultimately I am going to share my work with the world. Do I want to share anything that isn’t perfect?
- And the real reason (drum roll): FEAR. Am I brave enough to share?
Fear keeps me working and reworking the same chapters, because until it’s perfect, I don’t have to share. No wonder my muse became completely bored and disillusioned and moved on to a different task. I found her last week reorganizing the Tupperware cupboard.
I have recognized PERFECT for the excuse it is and have struck a new deal with myself. I have posted it on my white board (in an effort to keep the left side of my brain happy):
Author Wanted:
Creativity is a must. A reckless, wild, limitless, crazy flow of unfiltered originality. The you that is you, spilling out onto the page, fearless, confident and irreverent.
Perfect not required.
