I have never been a perfectionist. Actually, I take that back. I’m a lazy perfectionist. I have never been someone who had to get something exactly right. However, I always start out with ideas of perfection. Whether it was an art project as a kid, or now a project around the house or a novel I am writing… in the beginning I am sure it is going to come out perfect. Just right. I have delusions of grandeur in the beginning of almost anything that involves effort.
Then, halfway through whatever it is, I come to the realization that this thing is never going to be perfect. The art project isn’t going to look good, the cleaning project is taking too much time, the novel is not the masterpiece of this millennia… and I do one of three things.
1. Give up.
2. Finish half-heartedly no longer caring about the end result
3. Work hard to make it the best it can be, but accept that it won’t be perfect.
What’s funny is the art projects usually fall under #1, cleaning projects #2, and writing projects #3… I guess you see where my priorities lie.
Somehow, with my current WIP, I was not following my similar patterns. Instead, I was putting on the hat of perfectionist. I was pressuring myself to make each chapter amazing when I sent it to my CP. I was determined that this novel would be ready for submission once I was done (it is a rewrite after all, not a first draft).
But, I had to be reminded that hey, even if it is a rewrite it is the first draft of the rewrite and it will need work after finishing no matter how hard I work NOW. I had to remind myself to be happy with the parts I liked, not constantly dissatisfied. I had to remember that pressuring myself to be perfect takes all the joy out of writing, and thusly makes the end product NOT perfect.
So, I gave myself permission not to be perfect. And you know what’s weird? I love my story again. I’m writing faster. Nope, it’s not perfect, but it’s good… and it will only get better.
(Sorry for the wonky spacing. WordPress is not cooperating).