A letter from a writer in the middle of editing
This week, I spent most of my writing time editing Fluent, a novella I drafted in 2019. I love editing—but it is hard. There are so many possibilities. So many options for each sentence and character and chapter. I spent about two days on the first chapter alone and rewrote sections of it countless times. By the time I put it in a folder for my writing group to critique, I could barely read it—the words almost hurt my head; I’d seen them so many times.
One of my friends told me a while ago to “respect the process.” I read this week a quote by historian Arnold Toynbee—he said, “All human work is imperfect, because human nature is; and this intrinsic imperfection of human affairs cannot be overcome by procrastination.”
Editing reminds me of how much I wish for things to be just right. And of how I like to put things off until I’m ready enough to create them just the way I think they should be.
But we are imperfect people—how can we actually create anything perfect? The only perfect work has been done by Someone far greater than us.
I don’t have a lot of words to say today. I feel dried up—maybe from editing, maybe from tiredness or anxiety, maybe because my mind is full of ideas and possibilities and I am distracted, fighting against despair and fighting for hope. I suppose that’s very much part of putting fingers to keyboard and pulling words together to create something that draws from both grief and light and attempts to help people see something beautiful.
But I do want to remind you that it is okay to create imperfect things. That’s what we do. (I am reminded of this every day as I edit my novella. Boy, it’s imperfect.) John Piper writes, “My job, while I live, is to speak the truth as I see it in God’s word as well as I can say it, and let God do what he wants to with that imperfection.”
I’m a perfectionist, but I’m not a perfect person. Yet if we tell ourselves the only things we create have to be perfect, then I can tell you honestly that we will never create anything.
Make the thing. Give yourself permission to write ugly sentences. Get the story on paper. Don’t be held back by an imagined ideal. Do what you can to the best of your ability—however imperfect it is. You can only edit what’s already on the page.