"Good enough" agony and ecstasy in proofing your own novel
Happy Fourth, this week!
And, happy middle of the year - we’ve hit the midpoint! At the end of this week, I’ll get together with a couple of author buddies to come clean on midyear business plan progress. What got done. What’s yet to even get started. What idea felt brilliant in January but has fallen by the wayside (guilty). All of this review’s brought up a question:
How do you know when you’re done?
As I zero in on completing my responses/review of proofreader comments on my novel’s manuscript, this question is front and center.
Am I tinkering, or making material improvements?
I know you: You like to do things really well. You find the short cuts, the little efficiencies like keeping your grocery list on your phone or setting an alarm so you don’t have to remember to leave on time for an appointment. *
But when it comes to a bigger project, like a work thing or a home project or a creative venture (for me, my novel), being “done” feels more subjective. Sure, deadlines are one measure, or a boss’ signoff.
But what if it’s all up to you? I’ve been wrestling a few gremlins standing in between me and being “done.” Do you recognize any of these?
Gremlin No. 1: Too Many Choices!
Is there more than one good solution?
Back in the good ol’ days of my corporate life long, long ago I had the pleasure of being in charge of an investment communications group that kicked out a boatload of continuous newsletters: weekly, bi-weekly, monthly, and quarterly. Our production schedule looked like we were planning a crewed mission to Mars. All ably produced by whip-smart, supercharged editors that made the dull sound delicious. Each editor planned, interviewed, wrote/ edited, sought approval signoffs on text about current investment ideas going out to clients.
This controlled chaos with multiple deadlines went on non-stop. Copy due, format due, deadline to go to the printer. Then one day there was a hold-up on a headline decision. I said, “There are always five perfectly good answers. Pick one and go!”
You get it. It’s not literally five options so much as a question: Is your indecision being caused by perfectionism? Fear? Being too precious? It stalls moving forward.
Damn, proofing my own novel is fertile ground for feeling like it’s all precious - lol!
Gremlin #2: Falling into a Hole
Does the missing thing feel like a giant hole now that you’ve spotted it?
In the middle of your endeavor, you’ve swimming in details. For me, when writing a story, it’s keeping track of a character’s trajectory, a gajillion details in location, etc. (especially in historical fiction), ensuring the story structure is holding up and not sagging in the middle. So, when pulling back and re-reading the story from a longer view I’ve stumbled into some holes.
For example, I just had to stop proofing to flesh out a brief incident when Jo first sees Starry Night. (My novel is about Jo van Gogh, Vincent’s sister-in-law, and how she saved his paintings from obscurity).
Basically, in my proofreading I came across my own lame sentence that Jo was “transfixed” when she saw Starry Night.
That’s ALL!
Oops - in my defense, I’d meant to go back with a little more info, but forgot. Here’s a bit of the research I’ve picked up to add to the story:
The painting wasn’t named “Starry Night” until it hung in a Rotterdam exhibition in 1927 (so I removed the title from my scene since Jo is looking at it in 1901). Since Jo had read all of Vincent’s letters to his brother Theo (me too), I have her recall Vincent’s words of “doing a study of a starry sky.” His painting was an abstract, exaggerated departure from the landscapes he was doing at the time from the asylum near Saint Remy in 1889. We readers in the twenty-first century know what Jo doesn’t - the Starry Night painting is a big deal. My omission of simply having Jo transfixed with no explanation felt like a crater I had to fill.
Gremlin #3: Question of Taste
Do you have taste?
Tricky question! Especially to ask of yourself. Standing in the way of being “done” then, is your own taste in which you know it could be better, if only you could put your finger on it. What then? There’s a well-known quote by American public radio personality Ira Glass that casts a little light:
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you.
Fine, we know that, but it hasn’t answered the question: How do you finish when you have a feeling it could be better but are not sure what needs to be fixed? Ira continues:
. . .if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions.**
In that case, I have to move on. Just do more, which hopefully will lead to do more, better. Take classes. Hire a book coach. Ask for reader feedback. Let this manuscript go and move on to the next. . .
It’s a Win
This has been my mental battleground as I’m going through proofreading notes for my novel’s manuscript.
And you know aka Ira Glass, I’m still at it. Doing the work. That’s a win.
What about you? How’s the midyear feel? Are you full speed ahead or do you need a reset button to get started again?
Right here with you.
Warmly,
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